Weather stagnation, that is. Even though there is so much going on, the sky feels low enough to reach out and touch, not a whisper of wind, slow slow Super Bowl Sunday. It seems like everyone in town is hunkered down inside. We have nothing to complain about, weather-wise, other than the incredible sameness of every day: grey, still, 40 degrees. I want to run outside and shout at the weather gods to do something, anything. Many many people would tell me to stuff it, especially everyone anywhere other than the west coast. I know.
The main thing has been to get outside as much as possible. The dog thinks she's died and gone to heaven, she's getting long walks every day, even an occasional jaunt up Badger Mtn. It's been a good thing to be able to move outside. I cleaned out the chicken coop yesterday. Huge slabs of poop and shavings. Lovely. But now my eggs will not need quite so much scrubbing before we can eat them. And I like to think the chickens appreciate it. Really, though, they just run after me, follow me around, because I am a walking refrigerator for them.
I finished Grace's nightgown but am stalled out on the sweater for Dave. It just goes on and on, around and around, and I am not so skilled that I can knit and read, or watch a movie, without making a mess of it. I'm listening to podcasts from France Inter. I should be able to listen and knit. Just haven't done it yet. Everyday is a new day trying to figure out a routine, trying not to plan too much or not enough. Wanting to go back to bed and read a novel where it's cozy and warm. The podcasts are great, though. Crazy interviews with James Ellroy or Mikhail Baryshnikov, engrossing stories on layoffs in France, histories of Homer or whorehouses. Really, the whole gamut. I repeat phrases, learn how to pronounce things like ".com", stuff that has come about since I lived in Paris. Hoping to get comfortable again with my French before starting up the quarter teaching.
The stagnation is supposed to lift early in the week. I can't wait.