It is Saturday morning, and I am sitting at the kitchen table writing and Biscuit, the blanket stealing dog, is at my feet. I have my cup of tea with cream and a candle burning. The fire roars in the woodstove. There were coals left this morning, so it started easily. I watch the birds outside the window.

It is delightful, basically the perfect morning, right out of a Hallmark Christmas movie, only in early March instead of December.  (In case you missed it, you can read my reflection on Hallmark Christmases, and how I still long for Hallmark moments, even though they pretty much are not real, here:  https://www.ordinaryholy.com/christmas-movie-world/)

Except this is just a moment, and before long I finish the tea, and the fire needs wood, and there is not much inside, so I will need to find the wood carrier and my work gloves so I don’t get splinters, and go outside to the wood pile and make four or five trips to fill up the wood rack again. And though the dog is lazing at my feet now, soon he will get up and stretch and let me know that he wants to go outside, and then he will tell me that he is hungry for breakfast, and I will have to find his food and wash his bowl and then heat up his wet food for ten seconds or so in the microwave, because he is picky and won’t eat it if it is cold. And then there is the cat! The cat! The cat wants in. The cat wants out. The cat wants in. The cat wants out. Though I have finally realized that the cat is not the boss of me, and I do not have to get up every time he demands it, he doesn’t make it easy. Continue Reading…