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Nashville, Here I…

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I am wearing a wool hat in my bedroom. This is not a complaint, just an observation.

I have dreaded going out to the chickens for about 3.6 weeks, and today was no exception. I keep shoveling a path and the snow STILL manages to get in my boots. The girls squawk and run around in circles because they’ve been cooped up in the henhouse for nearly a month. The snow is higher than the mini door to the run, and at this point, it’ll be another two months before they see the outdoors. I give them apples and scraps to compensate. They glare at me.

I got a text (a text!) from the airline that my flight to Nashville has been cancelled. They’ve graciously (graciously!) put me on a flight to Nashville on Wednesday, but that only gives us 1.5 days for way more than 1.5 hassle…we shall see. K and I are waiting a little longer to decide how to make the most of this very unwelcome change of events.

I have brewed more tea and coffee this month than the rest of the winter combined.

I’m wearing out my new Christmas slippers.

If I don’t go to Nashville for break, does that mean I have to do grad school homework instead?

[N.B. I love snow. Even yesterday, waking up to the fourth storm in a row, I was glad. Then I drove home slowly and steadily and slipperily and was still glad.]

He asked what I did last Valentine’s Day as we watched the icy snow slant sideways through the light of the street lamps. I had no idea. It’s not really a day I’ve marked in, oh, ever.

[Just looked it up: was on my way to Italy with our school trip. Not a bad way to celebrate.]

This just in: not going to Nashville.

Not renting a car for the first time. Not dancing along Music Row.

Where does that leave me in this ice-snow winter?

Wondering how best to paint NYC red.

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[I’m sure we can dance just as well in New York, and it turns out Nashville is barely any warmer than home.]

[I may or may not be wearing my newly knit hat — it kinda fits in with the hipster vibe of Williamsburg, right?]

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Thoughts on Valentine’s Day

True confession:

I’m not much of a Valentine’s Day gal.

I know, I know, you’re rolling your eyes because, really, isn’t this all about not liking Valentine’s Day when you’re single, Cath?

But there was such a thing as Valentine’s Day before this, 2014.

I remember being in kindergarten and making silly little Disney Valentines for everyone in my class. I painstakingly signed my name, and then we walked around the room and slipped them into the respective white paper bags with huge red letters: Ryan, Jen, Michelle. I remember sifting through my stash and really only noticing the ones with those red heart lollipops with weird white words on them.

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And then I think of my mom’s amazing heart-shaped sugar cookies with raspberry jam in the middle, how she bakes them every year and sprinkles confectioner sugar on top. And I wonder how many I can consume in one day before it becomes uncouth.

Then there was the one Valentine’s that I had a boyfriend, and I was lavished with flowers (snuck in by my roommate), breakfast at my favorite restaurant (where we got Breakfast Monster sandwiches and far too much dark roast coffee), followed by a long day of our favorite things. I remember his mom saying, “Honey, you set the bar too high!”. That’s probably why we broke up – he couldn’t handle the pressure of recreating such a huge event.

But really, Valentine’s Day just doesn’t do it for me.

I’m not particularly fond of pink or red or purple; I’m more of an ocean-colors girl.

I don’t love cheap Russell Stover chocolates (sorry if you do! embrace our differences!), and I certainly don’t like the feeling that you’re telling me you love me because the ads on TV reminded you.

I’m also not one for those terrible-tasting dusty hearts with the weird sayings.

Here’s a sampling:

cool cat     ~     puppy love     ~     crazy 4 u     ~     dream team     ~     fit for love (I’m sorry, what?!)     ~     home run (again, oh my gosh)     ~     book club (?)     ~     dress up (ummm, jerk!)     ~
recipe 4 love

I could keep going. But I won’t.

And even though I love flowers because they’re beautiful, I can’t get over the wilting, the drooping, the stench of the water, or the unceremonious way they get shoved into the trash roughly 3.5 days later than they should be.

Now, if you were thinking of sending me some delightful token to remind me you care, please don’t consider this a warning not to. I want you to. I want to get a card in the mail or a text or a sweet phone call.

I guess all I’m saying is that, kind of like when I wrote about not being as romantic as perhaps I should be, there are some things that feel more natural to me.

And saying I love you because I can’t help it (and not because Hallmark said it for me) is one of those things.

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[thoughts on february]

February is one of my least favorite months (March taking first, I think). I know I can join the club on this one – there’s just something about the post-Christmas-ness of February, the bleariness, the seeming-longness. One of my coworkers has been trying to convince me that in fact, February has a lot to offer. Her biggest argument is a little subjective, though: “Well, my birthday is in March, so February’s great cause it’s right before March.”

Hmmmm….

The days are, indeed, getting longer, as another coworker reminded us via a mass email. There was math involved, and the math seems to show that the sun is with us a full hour more than in December. I am trying to believe it and rejoice accordingly.

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I was asked to babysit on Valentine’s Day. It was innocent, a quick text sent: “I’m sure you already have plans, but…” She doesn’t know that I promised myself last year: Never babysit on Valentine’s Day AGAIN. I love children. I love these particular children, especially. But there is something oddly demoralizing about watching someone else’s offspring while they do such enjoyable things as eat at a fancy restaurant, coo at each other, and makeout. This happens on a regular babysitting evening, too, but it is inexcusable on Valentine’s Day.

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It doesn’t help that when I look in the mirror, I wonder if my skin could get any more translucent.

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When I went out to do the chickens this morning, my fingers stuck to the metal waterer. Just for a moment (not quite the drama of A Christmas Story), but just enough that I got a little jolt of “oh!” and realized that I am entirely and completely and unapologetically ready for spring.

That being said, a huge snowstorm is on its way. I love snow. I love storms. I love being cooped up in my house with a hot drink, a good book, and good company.

But after this one? Bring on spring.

IMG_0501Please and thank you.