"The shortest day has passed...*"

My mother, making the necessary, traditional cinnamon rolls Christmas Eve.

G.

G’s favorite way to spend evenings…and mornings….and afternoons.

Newt, in a rare moment of stillness.

Snowstorm as seen from inside a tiny, warm kitchen.

mint, jade and onions – enjoying a bit of sun

A wonderful, love-filled Christmas and a blissfully quiet and Schwarzenegger-filled New Year’s Eve.

Despite all my outward protestations that New Year’s is ‘just another day’ and ‘barely a real holiday’, every year I get pulled into the list-making, vow-taking optimism that comes with a new calendar year. I have no logical reason to believe that a 3 where there was a 2 will suddenly transform me into a new being that Dresses Smartly! and Cooks Dinner on Weeknights Regularly! and Balances a Rich Creative Life with Social Outings! and yet I still find myself some time in the early days of January declaring that this is the year I become more/less ____.

In the spirit of my hilarious friend, Sharon, this year I’m trying to keep it a bit ‘mo’ real’;

• focus less on things like ‘becoming famous’ and ‘getting into shows’ and focus more on making art.
• this I will do by cultivating a daily art practice and following through on current projects before starting new ones.
• learn to cook more ‘intuitively‘.
• run 2 half-marathons (one in spring and one in fall)
• drink more water each day than I do coffee (because drinking nothing but coffee and wine in a 24 hr period can’t be great for my kidneys)

ONWARD!

been eating an unreasonable amount of citrus and apologizing to no one.

*”The shortest day has passed, and whatever nastiness of weather we may look forward to in January and February, at least we notice that the days are getting longer.  Minute by minute they lengthen out.  It takes some weeks before we become aware of the change.  It is imperceptible even as the growth of a child, as you watch it day by day, until the moment comes when with a start of delighted surprise we realize that we can stay out of doors in a twilight lasting for another quarter of a precious hour.”
-  Vita Sackville-West

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