Winter has arrived and we’ve long been ready, considering it’s almost February. Sophie keeps putting tiny little snowflake stickers on the brass handle of our front door in hopes they will somehow help make it snow. She’s so desperate for the chance to make snow angels, build snowmen and throw snowballs (at her brothers, I’m sure). We’ve played in the snow once, but it was only a dusting. I hope for accumulation, for her.
I love when our old, wooden windows look like this. It makes Andy crazy. He talks endlessly about bad windows and bad insulation and energy bills and then spends the evening putting what looks like plastic wrap over our windows and foamy foam stuff in cracks and crevices. But I love the ice. I love its delicate design, when you look at it closely. It makes the inside of the house feel warm and cozy. It makes me grateful for small spaces, warm air coming out of our heater vents (which Sophie likes to sit on every morning) and hot coffee. It makes me happy to be home.
“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” —Edith Sitwell