Adieu '22...

 I took the week off after Christmas, and I had BIG PLANS. I was going to reorganize the pantry, pull all my clothes out of my bureau and closet, and get rid of things I don't wear. I was going to do some writing and spend a few hours just thinking and doing nothing. It was going to be great. But the universe laughed, and none of those things got done. I crossed not one item off of my tidy list. I did get all of our inside Christmas decorations taken down and piled in a heap on the dining room table. And I got a head start on the outside décor. 

A customer waited in her car one day while we groomed her dog. Later she said, "I had the best time watching your little goats eat that wreath." She was so happy.  It was like we had offered unique entertainment for her while we worked. And the gate-breaking goats were undoubtedly pleased. I imagine they had sweet, fresh breath, too.  I was not so thrilled because I had made that wreath with great joy and thought it looked pretty hanging on my vintage sled. 

Aimee came to visit the Owlet. And us. But mostly the Owlet. She made her a little family of knitted hedgehogs, a mama, a papa, and a wee baby. And she tucked them into a precious vintage child's cart. She made a pull for the cart with a pretty satin ribbon and added a soft pom she'd made at the end, just the right size for a wee hand to grasp while a little girl takes her hedgehog family for a stroll. 

For me, she brought a stunning vase and a joyful bunch of tulips. Tulips in December are a special treat. She gifted my sister's identical vases, so now we three each have one. She also gave me a small green vintage tin with a crow on it that once held a typewriter ribbon. It rattled loudly when I picked it up. Inside was a perfect aquamarine marble, a sea-glass marble she found on a beach walk. And then gave to ME!  Aimee is a fantastic gifter. 

In return, I made her corn pancakes. When I was a little kid, my mother sometimes set the table for 7 and made the whole family corn pancakes for supper. It was a special treat. One time when Chris and I were dating, my mother gave him some. He took a bite, looked at me, aghast, and asked, "Why are there vegetables in the pancakes?"  I rarely make them anymore because I'm the only one that likes them. But Aimee does. We shared them, steaming and covered with butter and real maple syrup, and were happy. 

I baked a fairly yummy chicken pie for New Year's Eve supper. We had two guests, our neighbor friend, and the Owlet. Both seemed to like the meal. The Owlet stayed for a spend-the-night. We did not stay awake to see the old year out. But the Owlet and I woke to watch the sunrise, and she patted me, kissed me, and told me many things I could not understand. Then she snuggled in with her head on my shoulder and slept another hour. I rubbed my lips against her peach fuzz hair, inhaled her baby scent, and listened to her breathe. The rising sun illuminated the curve of her cheek and the smudge of her lashes. I thought that was a fine way to start the New Year. 

When I got up, the very first thing I did was take a scoop of food out for the wild birds. Then, I looked up to where the crows often wait for me and saw an immature bald eagle perched there. It spread its wings and soared off across the meadow. An auspicious beginning, indeed. Adieu, '22.