"January, month of empty pockets! . . . let us endure this evil month, anxious as a theatrical producer's forehead." -- Colette

Well -- the weekends seem to fly by 
at an even quicker rate than the weekdays do.  

But when you're running behind schedule,
everything seems to move at warp speed, doesn't it?

And distractions abound, of course!  

It probably wasn't very good timing for us to convert one of the upstairs bedrooms into a lovely TV room for two:  large comfy chairs, a big new television -- our first TV actually made in this century --

(Technology has arrived! and it has CABLE!
and the perfect lighting for enjoying Season Five of Perry Mason. 

(Update: Perry's gained a little weight since we started, but he's still smart as a whip.  I've also noticed that Della's hair seems to be growing at roughly the same rate as Perry's waistline.  But then I've got an eye for detail.)

Anyway, January in Minnesota is a great time for a dark TV room, a bushel of licorice and a bundle of distractions, and guess what?  We've almost hibernated our way through!  Although it's snowing to beat the band today, every month we can cross off the calendar brings us closer to a potential light at the end of the tunnel.  And even POTENTIAL light is better than no light at all!

All in all, it hasn't been my favorite winter so far.  My husband started a business last year, and if you like wild rides and haven't been able to get to the amusement park lately, I can tell you that starting a business will give you some great thrills (and even make you want to throw up sometimes, for a little extra roller-coaster reality!)

But we're enjoying the crazy ride together, as always, and can't wait to see where it goes next.  
And it's been great for keeping my mind off my other stresses.

Always look on the bright side.

The pics over at Magpie Tales haven't inspired me recently, but one in an old magazine did, so I'm going to give you a non-Magpie-Monday Tale today . . . a little poem that perfectly sums up how January 2011 has felt to me.

If you've spent some time here, you may know how I feel about flying (although a flight to Santa Fe always puts me in the mood to start packing!)

Well this January has felt like a  

And the destination is . . . 
FEBRUARY??!!  Hmmm.



Clear Air Turbulence

The lurch of  my stomach, the shudder
of the structure as it strikes
nothing, nothing I can see or put
my finger on -- the pilot isn't worried but
the masks have dropped and I
am trying to breathe
normally, assist those around me
while remaining calm, as if
this is just what was expected, another
trip from here to there, flying
blind as always, although sometimes
we hit the clouds
as if they were our imagination
sometimes we hit the blue
hard and thumping
side to side, up and down, weight shifting
in the overhead bins, careful to reach up
and hold everything in place, ready to grab
whatever may fall --
there will be a landing, it's a rule
what goes up will come down again
but let's hope it's just a touch
let's hope we have the gear in place, ready
to absorb the shock


Have a farewell-to-January poem you'd like to share?
How about a few fond words of welcome for February? 
I'd love to read it, and I'd be happy to post it here!  
A Small Works Poetry Workshop
may be just the thing we all need . . . 

Wishing you many Monday musings.


Leenie said...

A bushel of licorice! Yes that is a great thing to eat in a dark t.v. room. January is a bumpy ride. And after hearing it four times in the last week I still wonder how one can breathe normally when the airplane is tumbling toward earth and oxygen masks are dangling from the ceiling of the cabin.

Karen S said...

January was bumpy and February is snowy. I started a Magpie last week, but I didn't finish it in time. I like the idea of a Small Works Workshop!

luanne said...

It's taken me several days to try to absorb your vivid poem. As the daughter of a pilot (Air Force & then private) I was raised to think that flying was nearly as natural as walking. When I became a mother, I became a very fearful flyer. My dad laughed (not unkindly, just with surprise) when he learned of my fears. For him, flying meant absolute freedom and joy, and was never something to fear (even though he'd had close calls in WW2). The bumps and jolts of turbulence didn't upset him at all, but they white-knuckled me. In recent years, I've mostly overcome my fears, though a patch of severe turbulence will still have me searching the flight attendants' faces for any signs of worry. But I remind myself that pilots and flight attendants grow old doing this job, day after day; it's a career my dad wished for, if his circumstances had been different.

Anyway, your imagery was right on. I continue to be amazed at the mileage you get out of every word.

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