We're expecting snow. SNOW splashed in pink and blue and white across a map which yesterday showed clear territory clean to the Pacific Ocean. I looked at the map, then the forecast for tonight and all day tomorrow, and wondered, "Where will it COME from?" Surely they erred.
But this morning, the map was garnished with a huge hulky lurky blob of pastels to delight a Pre-School artist. I could print this out and hang it on the fridge with the other GrandChildren Art which flaps in the breeze of every opening, and no one would question the origin.
This one promises to cover cars, slow traffic, chill bones, and all-around make a nuisance of itself. We'll muddle through---muddle being the operative word for the tracking-in and the coat-shaking and the red-cheeking and the gloves left damp on the dryer, shoes dripping onto the rug.
But this morning, I read of a snow, a magical snow, in a small village at the edge of the Alps. The writer is someone whom I admire greatly for her skills with words and her camera, and for the simple grace and grandeur of her pictures and her stories. I've linked her blog before, but this one today was too wonderful not to share.
It has everything: A snowed-in week with a delightful little boy, the expectations of a homecoming, the cozy charm of a woodstove-cooked meal, and a tableau-in-the-whirling-snow which leaps from the page into your eyes and your memory.
It's from Lucy, from her small Alpenhaus, and see if you can't just SEE it all:
http://kitchen-notebook.blogspot.com/2010/02/le-matafan-french-savoyard-staple.html
And my comment in her "reply" space, of my delight in reading of her cozy time with her family:
Lucy,
What a charming, homey story to read with First Cup, on a day that we're expecting plain old SNOW---the kind which snarls traffic and freezes fingers as they clean windshields and shovel driveways.
You included everything---the warmth of home and of homecoming, the provender brought in for sumptuous meals in your snowy seclusion, your isolation with your little one and your time together, the anticipation of the completion-of-the-family return, and the snow-trek adventure which culminated in a welcoming joy of snow-whirls and hugs---a picture which travels across the world and brightens the day here, so far away.
Thank you for sharing this most personal, most heart-warming tale, simple in its beauty and warmth.
But this morning, the map was garnished with a huge hulky lurky blob of pastels to delight a Pre-School artist. I could print this out and hang it on the fridge with the other GrandChildren Art which flaps in the breeze of every opening, and no one would question the origin.
This one promises to cover cars, slow traffic, chill bones, and all-around make a nuisance of itself. We'll muddle through---muddle being the operative word for the tracking-in and the coat-shaking and the red-cheeking and the gloves left damp on the dryer, shoes dripping onto the rug.
But this morning, I read of a snow, a magical snow, in a small village at the edge of the Alps. The writer is someone whom I admire greatly for her skills with words and her camera, and for the simple grace and grandeur of her pictures and her stories. I've linked her blog before, but this one today was too wonderful not to share.
It has everything: A snowed-in week with a delightful little boy, the expectations of a homecoming, the cozy charm of a woodstove-cooked meal, and a tableau-in-the-whirling-snow which leaps from the page into your eyes and your memory.
It's from Lucy, from her small Alpenhaus, and see if you can't just SEE it all:
http://kitchen-notebook.blogspot.com/2010/02/le-matafan-french-savoyard-staple.html
And my comment in her "reply" space, of my delight in reading of her cozy time with her family:
Lucy,
What a charming, homey story to read with First Cup, on a day that we're expecting plain old SNOW---the kind which snarls traffic and freezes fingers as they clean windshields and shovel driveways.
You included everything---the warmth of home and of homecoming, the provender brought in for sumptuous meals in your snowy seclusion, your isolation with your little one and your time together, the anticipation of the completion-of-the-family return, and the snow-trek adventure which culminated in a welcoming joy of snow-whirls and hugs---a picture which travels across the world and brightens the day here, so far away.
Thank you for sharing this most personal, most heart-warming tale, simple in its beauty and warmth.
Rain here all day long. High of 43, rain, rain, rain.
ReplyDeleteI think hot cocoa and a good book is the remedy.
I've had a whole percolator of coffee, each cup perfumed and sweetened with a little sprinkle of International French Vanilla Cafe'---there's a whole untouched volume of Gladys Taber's Stillmeadow Calendar calling my name, and you're QUITE RIGHT, Keetha.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your sweet sentiments, Racheld. Keep warm and dry. Bisous.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the link. It was a magical story.
ReplyDeleteHi Rachel we are snowed in and now it is raining. soon it will be sleet and then a freeze tonight. I did not get to the post office yesterday. sigh. The snow did though. HA!
ReplyDeleteLove your post and your link to the wonderful story. Your comment is very lovely as well. We played cards all day so far as out net was in and out. Now it is in. Happy dance. I have so many to visit.
I too was amazed about the asparagus info. A good thing to share (I thought). Oops I may have lost my connection to the net. Yep! I will copy and come back. sigh!
Hugs, Jeanne
Rachel, I hope this finds you and Chris all warm and cozy, and you curled up with your Gladys Taber book for the weekend.
ReplyDeleteWe've had more than our share of rain this week, and I'm hoping the sun will peek out tomorrow.
Take care and stay warm, my friend.