Warm

"Clearly you love Gus more than your own children," said one of my own children the other day, scrolling through the photos on my phone. Not true, though it is true that he is a willing subject and never objects to a picture of himself appearing on the Internets. Both of my beloveds have been around a lot these last couple of weeks, though now Isaac's back to his regular Learning Shack schedule, plus ski club, plus Blunt Youth Radio, and all of the other things, so he's busy. Zoë has been splitting her time between Portland and Max's mom's house in Camden, and before we know it she will be back to New York for school. It has been lovely having a house full of offspring and their sweet friends, coming and going and listening to music and cooking food and playing games this last little while.

Outside is cold and crisp and blue-skied and, according to the dog, full of great smells.

Dogs. They sure do keep you from being lazy, don't they? I pretty much am wearing long underwear all the time. He makes it slightly easier not to sink into a January Hibernation Slump. And oh, his love for snow is epic. He dives into it nose first, digs it, rolls in it, burrows, frolics. Mark and I took him snowshoeing last week,* and we continue to visit his beach pals a few times a week.

Keeping me warm: English breakfast tea with raw milk. Smashed avocado and roasted tomato on toast. Zoë's Indian food. A certain cat on my lap, when he deigns. My famous mom-made flannel hot bag of corn. The sound of my sweethearts filling the house.



*We wore snowshoes. Gus wore his regular dog feet.