The death of a day.

Saturday Jan 19th, 2013
6:30am-2:30pm
19th, 8 hours old, passed away at 2:30pm in the kitchen.  19th was born to Rare Surplus Time and Fully-Accomplished Lists, but sadly didn't see the fulfillment of the dreams of her parents.  19th was a happy child in the early hours.  She saw yoga, a trip to the temple and the grocery store.  She even saw a calendar and lists around 12:30.  Her potential was far greater than any other Saturday that came before her in the last 13 years.  Tragically she suffered a fatal blow just before 2:30pm with a deadly conversation.  All parties were at fault and couldn't stay calm enough to stop the pernicious exchange. Once drive and ambition were drained from 19th's critical minutes, she didn't have enough strength to survive.  There was a ray of hope around 6:45pm when we saw some color in 10 minutes, but it was not to last.  We are deeply saddened by our loss.  The potential of her life would have had far-reaching consequences into the garage, the laundry room, the honey-do list and the children's closets.  We will never be the same without her.
19th was preceded in death by Dec 15th and Aug 28th.   She is survived by Jan 21st and Feb 2nd.  A memorial service will be held tonight at 11:13pm by the bedside.  Come on your knees.  In lieu of flowers, the family requests that you send any free time you have to the schedule listed below. We hope that what we have learned today will prevent the senseless death of beautiful days in the future.

Pine Delight

It's the 19th of January and I'm not suffering any seasonal melancholia yet.  It's a January miracle.  This winter feels... eventful.  Let's credit the colossal snow storm we got 8 days ago.  Jan 11, 2013 (Cosmically 20 years to the day of the last school-closing snow storm.) There are heaps and towers and piles and stacks and mounds of snow.  Of course the day it came down was full of snuggling and warm drinks and feeling like reading and writing for 52 hours straight.  But the continuing majesty of it is keeping me non-melancholic.  This time January isn't just some chilly temperatures, hazy skies and dirty streets.  This is WINTER in all of its glory and spectacle.  This is something to be experienced and appreciated.  See the tree above?  I want to lick it.  I want to pluck all of the pine trees out of the ground and slide the snow off into my mouth like olives off of a toothpick with one graceful slurp.  What will it taste like?  Cream?  Cream on what?  Something that honors the pine, but I can't really go with the prickly thing....

Those trees have been holding onto that snow for days and weeks now.  It's their winter coat, keeping them safe from the elements.   I can't take it all in by just looking at it.  I want to put a hand to the whole thing all at once.  Tricky, as the result would undress them immediately.

When I was little it was popular to put slim silver streamers on your Christmas tree to make it look like it had icicles on it.  I never cared for the look but I also didn't understand it.  Now I do.

It is the year of the icicle.  (The spelling of that word is counter-intuitive to me. Icecycle? Icycle? Eyesikle in German. No wait, that's Eiszapfen) They are everywhere.  On every roof, on signs, bushes, trees, power lines, cars, railings. They are getting long and menacingly beautiful.  (Someone told me in Moscow they have snipers who shoot the icicles off of buildings so they don't drop and hurt anyone walking below.  They're a serious hazard in the spring, killing a handful of people every year in Russia.)

So this is Winter 2013 so far.  Hazelnut steamers have become a house specialty around here.  J is surviving temperatures in the single digits before school with warm breakfast drink and a shot or two of Irish Cream.  d is heating up rice bags around the clock and the electric blanket Rich got me for Christmas is my nightly indulgence.  Ski guards her cherished socks which are only allowed to be washed while she is in a warm bath, and D is hoarding quilts. Staying warm has become a gratifying pastime for the whole family.  40 more days until the calendar says March.  What will Spring be like if I'm not trying to recover from Winter?

  

Bolt the hermit crab.

Little D's hermit crab died this morning.  Well, we aren't sure when exactly, because hermit crabs are not widely known for their lively approach to life.  It's hard to know precisely when he took his last...
Oh wait.  He just moved.  He's alive.  phew.
You know the funny thing?  When D came up to tell me that the crab was dead, he was crying, which was a little surprising.  But I attributed it to lack of sleep, a pretty rough day at school yesterday, and generally a heightened state of emotion all around.  It wasn't just a wetting of the eyes, or a tantrum cry.  It was a genuine heartache cry, and so of course I cried.  I'm pretty sure it wasn't the loss of Bolt that drew out my tears, but my kids' heartache tears are directly linked to mine.   The valves are on the same knob. His tantrum tears, scraped knee tears and anger tears are not.  These tears prompt action or frustration or scowls of disappointment.  But woa - those heartache tears.  Immediate sympathy, empathy, compassion, care, concern, tenderness, ....  get out the tissue, those are Mama tears.