Friday, 12 December 2008

Home his footsteps he hath turned...

snow, mild, temps minus 3

Stunning day - loads of fresh snow - about 10 inches...25 or so centimeters. Piled up on the trees and in the fields and on the roads. so beautiful. Everything shades of gray and dark green today. And yet it is so peaceful. Muted.

Not great for travel. Lise was supposed to come this morning but we called back and forth and at first re-scheduled for 1pm, then cancelled completely because the roads really are too treacherous. We drove in to Sutton early before it got too bad and did a few chores. Bought orange biscotti (not exactly a chore) then when we got back home safe and sound we celebrated by making cafe au laits and dipping the biscotti into them. Lunch was home made soup I made yesterday after roasting a chicken and boiling it up. fills the home with such comforting aroma.

Got the Christmas decorations up from the basement. The tree is up in the lving room. Lights on. Fire laid in the hearth...but probably won't get further until Sunday...perhaps tomorrow.

Did some Christmas cards today...then laid out on the sofa in the TV room and watched Gladiator. Wept and wept. (fab sound track too!) I'd forgotten just how wonderful it is.

It is the dream - to be in the country, with husband and dogs, and friends visiting, fire laid, tree up, christmas lights outside, and snow gently and insistantly falling. And no need to leave. No planes to catch. No trains. No long drives.

A deep dream of peace. Hope you've also found some peace, in your own way. Or can see it coming...I know you probably haven't started your vacation yet.

Thanks for reading...I'll report in from the home front tomorrow. Oh, yes. Dropped by the bakery meaning to buy fresh croissants (they were out) but comforted myself by getting a fresh pear and cranberry pie. The place smelled of tortierre in the ovens. Heaven.

Peace and heaven. Of course, I think I appreciate it all the more for having gone away a lot.

'Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
as home his footsteps he hath turned,
from wandering on some foreign strand.'

My grandfather taught me that poem when I was 8. I actually use it in book 4 (THE MURDER STONE/A RULE AGAINST MURDER). Gamache remembers his father teaching it to him - though I use an earlier bit.

I love wandering on some foreign strand...but my heart burns for home.

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