On the tiny scale of my life, it’s been a good year. And these are some of the things I want to remember when I think of all the ugly things that have happened in the public sphere this year.
- Visiting my 95 year old great-aunt–the last of her generation and a woman I wish I knew better.
- Ridding myself of the ugly government-issue file cabinet Dg bought me in a moment fire-fearing panic when I was in grad school (no really—he thought my notes and bits of papers so artfully arranged around the apartment would spontaneously combust in the night.)
- Covering up more vile green baseboards–even if it took four coats of gleaming white to make the world right. Only six more sets of green trim to go.
- Discovering an Indian takeout place craftly hidden in a local convenience store
- Taking my first road trip in many, many years with my brother. No politics were discussed. No one was killed.
- Spending time with my far-away niece who turned out to be as wonderfully silly as her cousins.
- Replacing hideous and original pebbledash with dull vinyl siding this disappointing many mice and bats.
- Making progress on the editing project even if it is temporarily stalled.
- Growing genealogy on both sides of the family after a long silence.
- Knowing most of the family is healthy and happy. Wisdom escapes us—we substitute a wide and cheerful range of foolishness.
- Working from home in calm and quiet instead in a cubicle and worry.
- Continuing miracle of the public library and its online request system.
- Cooking: raspberry jam, braised golden beets, curried parsnip and pear soup
- Making it through yet more rolling layoffs with paychecks that allow for necessities, luxuries, and charities.
- Being happy.
Grim news out of South East Asia: rising death toll, bleak predictions, all too easily imagined horrors. And the perverse juxtaposition of tourists returning safely home with the rows and piles of the dead left behind.
An image from the unending flow of television news stories has made me decide to hope: A child wearing a black motorcycle helmet with full smoked glass face screen hunkered down in front of a packing case re-arranging the long black hair of a hairdresser’s mannequin. A small child at play despite it all.
Our donations have gone to the Red Cross; other organizations are listed here.
Like Michelle at Oranges and Lemons, I’m not likely to try the guinea pig that makes the BBC’s list of 50 things to eat before you die. What strikes me about the list, though, is the predominance of meat and fish on the list–only two types of fruit make the list and veggies are missing altogether.
My list would include
Asparagus
Baked Beans (no, not the stuff from a can)
Beets
Brussel Sprouts (preferably sliced fine and sauted with grainy mustard)
Carmelized Onions
Cashews
Dunshire Blue Cheese
Gelato
Oatmeal Bread (no not the stuff from a plastic bag)
Old Cheddar Cheese
Olives
Parsnips
Parmesan Cheese
Potatoes
Raspberries
Red Peppers
Rhubarb
Risotto
Russet Apples
Smoked Cod
Shortbread
Sweet Potato
Tomatoes
Wild Strawberries
A dangerous day. Rain, rain, rain on top of ice. I am not heartened by knowing that the region I live in historically gets 50 hours of freezing rain a year.
Since this is the winter I have decided to get over being pertified of walking during and after winter rain, I headed out into the downpour to get another batch of groceries. 
I fortified myself with the jet fuel that comes out of our coffeemaker and my mad-genuis invention: a Swiffer walking stick. The jaunty teal handle looks ridiculous but the thing is light and can lie harmlessly in the bottom of a knapsack waiting for nasty weather.
I made it down the hill, across the treacherous parking lot full of cranky people who are generally unaware of the pedestrian phenomenon–at least today no young brainless buck yelled at me for having the gall to be annoyed that he nearly decked me with his grocery cart–and back up the skating rink/swimming pool without crashing down and busting myself or the eggs.
The house now smells of wet wool.
Closest to hand and still true:
One may now drive for many miles along country roads and see nothing but abandoned pasture land covered over with spruce trees, with here and there the crumbling remains of a barn or farm-house.
Charles W. Dunn Highland Settler: A Portrait of the Scottish Gael in Cape Breton and Eastern Nova Scotia (1953)
I am very fond of the wee dog in this cover-photo–all because of its name: “Watch”.
And though I never lived in a house like this, its image makes me homesick.
Meme via Little Professor and others
