There is music in the word home . . .

Last night's low temperature was 0 degrees Fahrenheit. That's 32 degrees below freezing. That's -18 degrees Celsius, for all you rest-of-the-worlders. That's cold no matter what scale you use. Today's high is 16.

It's January.


Even though the days are supposedly getting longer, in late January it is usually so cloudy that it feels like it's getting darker earlier and earlier still. This is 4:30pm and the inside of the house is dark, dark, dark as the snow flies outside.

 And in January I'm reminded how lucky I am to live in a supremely cozy brick house with heat and a fireplace and hot coffee and slippers. It may be gray outside. The wind may drive the cold into my very bones. My fluffy half-Samoyed dog may actually want to get back in the house after going out in the morning rather than laying in a snow bank like she usually does (voluntarily) all winter.

But my little boy can tear around his warm house in slippers with fire engines on them. My husband can fix the model train setup in the basement by the space heater. And I can sit inside in tights, a comfy knit dress, a shawl, and slippers and be perfectly content. Add a cat on my lap and a dog on my feet and a cup of hot cocoa and I'm very, very, very happy.

I'm getting through this winter fairly well with only a few moments of despair at the blank sky. I'm getting back to clothes sewing this week and I am continuing my regular exercise as I work up to running a 5k. And next weekend I will spend about 12 hours working the Michigan Veterinary Medicine Association convention for the zoo. I'm slowly but surely gaining the upper hand in the battle against atrophy in the house, moving troops of towels and socks, taking command of piles of random stuff gleaned from various corners of the house.

Sweet the smile of home; the mutual look
Where hearts are of each other sure;
Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook,
The haunt of all affections pure.
                                                   ~John Keble