Today changed the moment it began. What started in an inward frenzy, quickly turned quiet. Slow. Snow days have a tendency to do that. A little mid-week gift. Wrapped in quiet, sparkling whiteness.
Today is a gift of productivity - for the first time in my memory, I woke up before the alarm clock. Rested. Restored. Ready for the day. Also for the first time in my memory, recent or otherwise, I could not go back to sleep. Like the day had too much for me to let me sleep through it. With the wealth of snow-blowing and napping and movie-watching and NPR listening, I cannot complain. It has been a blissful day. Slow and steady. As it should be.
Brewing: a fresh pot of Earl Grey to sip slowly after dinner. Forcing me to slow down, savoring the moment. Reflecting on the day.
Creating: bringing ideas for upcoming Oscar festivities to life. Smashing the inner voice between pages for preservation's sake. Making a general mess of the living room.
Listening: Lena Dunham's "The Girls" makes my heart happy. In a squirmy, awkward, ohgodwhatintheworldaretheysaying/doing/wearing, yet somehow intellectually stimulating kind of way. This interview does much to explain the hows and whys.
Craving: crostini and cross stitch.
Reading: My Berlin Kitchen. Slowly. But delightfully.
Noshing: Ungodly amounts of Amish Friendship Bread.
Feeling: Happy. Despite the longing for places and people missed. It is inexplicable and unexpected. Much like the snow. It is, indeed, a cold and broken hallelujah.