tea and oranges
I stepped into the apartment entryway to check our mailbox this afternoon. The wind penetrated the slight gap between outer door and floor; the porcelain tile ice-cold beneath my feet. This has been my first direct brush with bitter, winter air since my accident. Our post-war apartment has a glut of windows (bonus!) but far too many radiators. You wouldn’t think that would be a problem given this recent cold spurt, but we’ve been desert-parched by the heat they pump out, despite having shut off two of them (the only two that can be). Sadly, many of my beloved plants, including a three-year old ivy, haven’t survived their battle with the dry air, crumpling like crêpe paper. I rehabilitated my twelve-year old shamrock (begun as a clipping from a plant a friend smuggled back from Ireland many years before that) and it has triumphed against all odds. A cool mist humidifier I purchased just before Christmas seems to help! Adding pure, essential oils to the water provides that much more comfort. Glorious notes of juniper, cedar and pine carry me into the depths of the forest, as though I’m not house-bound at all.
I hear the outdoors calling; I just can’t answer yet. So, it’s been a day for the Hibernation Station: tea and oranges (such good companions); a piping hot bowl of coconut chicken soup as the afternoon sun filled the living room; copious amounts of reading; clarifying and setting goals; unashamedly savouring spoonfuls of the salted butterscotch sauce I made on a lark late at night; admiring the Queen of Cats doing what she does best; dutifully taking homeopathic tinctures to enhance my healing; and thinking about the kids and where the new year might take each of them.
I hope you’re experiencing respite from the cold (or heat, as it were!). Comfort is such a peculiar creature. Back to the kettle I go …