Sancho wakes me early, he needs to go out more, and is less inclined to hold either his bladder or his bowels. I crawl back under the thick down comforter, Sancho on the dog bed beside me, Marley under the covers with me and Sadie purring joyfully in my arms. I am so glad it is Sunday.
After some time of hoping to fall back asleep, I get up and opt for the percolator, more coffee, rather than my two cup mini coffee maker, bills to be paid, taxes to be done, laundry and painting. And coffee has replaced cigarettes from my most prolific period 25 years ago and more. I am as proflific now as i was then. At least six paintings still wet in my small studio. And two canvases waiting for gesso.
This winter has been the cold and snowy kind, like the winters of my youth, snow up to my thighs in my man’s backyard. Bitter cold day upon day. Only the warmth of the sun, rising high and blasting down in the way that birds sing of spring. The sky yesterday was bright blue and the sun warm enough to get me to take off my coat, despite the one degree Farenheit temperature, as we drove to the dump.
I start the fire. My supply of logs quickly diminishing. Although my heating and electric bill was only 86 dollars in the last month, something akin to miraculous in a frigid winter like this, I have been more liberal with the furnace. I have a big bin of logs that need to be cut in half, too long to fit in my little stove.
I am anxious for the winter to end. It wears, the cold, like a box of stones on your back. My bones ache from it.