And life begins again . . .

with chicken soup and liters of water. My poor hubby wrapped up the term (until January exams) and proceeded to spend his evening Friday getting me cold washcloths. It was the migraine again.

Raise your hand if you hate having to be waited on hand and foot. Yeah, me too. I realized once again, in my semi-delirious state, that I find too much of my identity in what I do for other people. Walker had to load the dishwasher and make breakfast and clean up my trails of blankets---and non-shocker of the day, everything went on smashingly without me. I pulled the duvet up and pushed it off in a slow rhythm all night and the world went on spinning in its happy orb.


This afternoon, the pain is finally slinking away, and I’m feeling a desperate desire to take photos. Alas, the only thing of interest inside is a big ole pot of meatballs. And thin remainders of light.


You can see green lawn in blotches where footprints have melted into fat polka-dots. The snow was lovely while it was here. Alas.

It seems lots of things are leaving. Light. Headaches. Snow. AND: snip, snip! Haircuts for the both of us finally happened Friday. My fringe is back, and Walker’s psuedo-mullet is gone. I’m pleased as plum pudding,

We're stewing and brewing for the last dinner of the term tonight, so I must end here (although, come to think of it, maybe dinner will cook itself if I'm not there . . .) with one last look at Scotland, mid-winter:


Snow plus light equals slush.