christmas in the mountains

I desperately need the gym to open at 6 again. A month of aerobics replaced by Christmas baking has done me no good at all -- although my hair looks great from all the extra time I have in the morning.

Really, great.

All presents were excellent this year. I really can't think of one I cringed at. Much much fine tea, some candles probably, a good little wear-all-day scarf, a culinary miracle in the form of a rice cooker, two (2!) Martha Stewart how-to-be-perfect books, delicious lotions and soaps, perfect big gold stud earrings, an ice cream maker (egg nog + rum + frozen = amazing. repeat, gym must open soon), knitting lessons. Which may begin next week. I should check on that.

I survived a couple days in Darrington. I could definitely (and has) been less enjoyable, but I couldn't help lying awake desperately thinking how incredibly pointless it was for me to go Sunday for a Tuesday Christmas. I was good for the first two wine-enhanced hours at Grandma Joy's. Then everything went boring boring boring until Caitie showed up at 2 Christmas morning. Not only was her visit nicely limited, she got Christmas Eve-generous tips till 1.

But I did get a large amount of knitting done (one polite way to distract myself from the magnitude of Darrington's blandness and family's incessant chatter -- I ust don't understand how some people find so many words to say). Fingerless high-fiving handwarmers for Cait, scarf for mom, more of the Fancy Hat that Melissa and I are both doing. Because I obviously have enough to rant about - I don't need to be chilly as well.

Darrington today. Left around 11:30, arrived around 1:30, with a slight delay for Starbucks.


The weather was nice and the visit was short. Caitie arrived just after Brian, Buster, and me.
Said hello to everyone, spent a little time inside talking to mom, looking at a box of cookbooks she was sending home with me, and the quilt she finished for us -- pinks and purples and blacks and creams, with lots of hearts and words quilted in. Across the bottom, she wrote, "Small quilts help keep you close."

My mom and stepdad have 10 acres, a log house built by a logger who was a pretty big name in the early days of the town. Flower and herb and vegetable gardens, a river a few minutes through the woods, wild bunnies and birds and porcipines, occasional bear. The driveway overlooks Whitehorse mountain.



Buster's rarely off-leash -- I like to hope apartment puppies don't know what they're missing. He didn't go outside until I led him to the back, to introduce him to the chickens. We found them retreating behind a tree, but Buster drove them out in a flurry of flapping wings and squalking -- I've never seen him run so fast. Like the crafty hyena on Planet Earth, he seperated one from the pack chased it across the lawn, where it brilliantly cornered itself behind a potted plant an a shovel. They had a bit of a stand off, until Buster was distracted and the chicken ran home.



Dinner, acorn squash from mom's garden, pie from Caitie's restaurant, then the drive back. With one more stop at Starbucks.