My snow globe

Research

Dear reader, I am conducting an informal pole:

Do you feel a fundamental obligation to answer the phone when it rings?
Do you have to answer the door when someone knocks?
Are you unable to not reply to an email?

If a person answered no to all of the above, does that make them mysteriously reclusive or merely a dysfunctional antisocial?

Cue Christmas

Today I feel like I should start to get ready for Christmas. There's been some talk around the house about Christmas plans, and I know that some little things have been tucked away in secret corners for the Day. We've got the Advent candles on the dining table, and we've been praying the Advent prayers before meals. Advent calendars have been raided each morning for their chocolate treasures, and daily readings have been replete with messages to prepare the way, make straight the path and so on.

With all of that, I still haven't been feeling remotely Christmas-minded. Part of me is tucked away in a quiet place, because I don't want to do this without my dad. But today something happened which poked at and awakened the Christmas spirit: it snowed. Is snowing, actually. I have to squinch up my eyes to see the snowflakes, and they're far too few and fragile to even make it to the ground, but nonetheless, snowflakes they are. Outside my window.

Now I'm longing for boughs redolent with the aroma of winter woods. I want clusters of red berries to display in clear glass vases. I'd like to hang twinkly lights in front of the windows, and dangle victorian icicles in the tree outside. It's time to ponder Christmas baking. More importantly, I need to really devote some time to examining my spiritual state in order to be able to really enter into Christmas fully prepared to receive the Christ Child.

All of this led me to think about people who live in the Outback, or Monte Carlo or...wherever else the weather doesn't really change from season to season. Falling snow is a cue to deck the halls for us in the Land of the Big White; how do they switch over emotionally from ordinary time to 'Prepare ye the way of the Lord'? Is it the incoming flocks of Canadian geese? The blossoming of an indiginous winter-only flower? I'd like to know.

Puttering

I love to putter. Puttering makes me very happy; it satisfies something fundamental in my being. I have done floors and windows, laundry and dishes, even baked a little something. I've watched Band of Brothers, read from Julia Child's account of her life in Paris, and watched a beautiful game of football in which my beloved boys won by a respectable margin of 4-0. It's so good to be productive, and see the results of your efforts.

The key to puttering is to enjoy what you're doing. Do not think about the next job, or rush through what you're doing. It's ok to indulge in a cup of coffee or a glass of something nice. Put on some lovely music to set the mood. There's no need for urgency or stress -- two nasty qualities which take all the joy out of life. They are joy suckers.

It is good to work. It is good to work hard. However, I think we've gone wrong in our understanding of hard work. You don't need deadlines, multitasking, rushing about, unreasonable expectations or an unpleasant boss in order to work. Work shouldn't have money as it's driving principle. Too many people work for money, while their souls wither into prunes without their noticing.

Puttering isn't about being lazy, or selfish. It's about recognizing the value of each day, and desiring to live each moment with my whole being. When I putter, the work I do is accomplished with joy and peace and a willing heart.

I have to go and change the laundry around. Then I'll read the paper over a cup of tea, I think. Happy puttering!

Dibble dop

That's how a picture book described the sound of rain: dibble dop, dibble dibble dop. It is dibble dopping rather ongoingly here, today. Rain has a way of making a house feel cozy and warm, safe and comfortable. I love the sound of it tapping against the window. Tonight it sounds as though the raindrops are wearing ballet shoes - it's a rather soft, subdued, graceful sort of rain. It makes me a little homesick for the camping we used to do in our trailer. On evenings when it rained, we'd pull out Yahtze and listen to the rain hitting the roof, very thankful to not be in a tent. Rain like this calls for a good book, a cup of something warm and welcoming, and flickering light to read by. If at all possible, do so from inside a trailer just once. That'll be a dibble dop to remember.

CTKS

When discussing a young boy the Peanuts know, Two wanted to clarify who he was talking about, he said, "You know, Tommy Smith, who lives in my backyard?"

Five is developing a rudimentary vocabulary. Well, sounds that are starting to resemble words. Among them are:
'kay (when you ask him to do something, he says "'kay")
wa you doon? (He goes up to you, and asks what you're up to)
lello (yellow, obviously)
night night; bye bye; hi; low
eye; mou; bow (for eyebrow)
guy
up
help! Oh! help!
Most of the time, it still sounds like "mng gnk gnk" but he says it with all the love in his heart.

Silence

The house is silent. The phone isn't ringing, elephants aren't rampaging through the rooms, light sabres aren't 'vwooing' at top volume. Occasionally a car goes by, but more often than not, it's a dog walking it's pooper scooper past the big front window, but it's like watching a movie on mute. It makes the empty space in my head echo endlessly. That must be why I tend to put music on so often - it fills up the emptiness, and deadens the echo so I can hear my thoughts. The ocean would serve the same purpose. I'd dearly love to be in my lighthouse right now.