We’ve been having quite a few snowstorms of late here in the northland. Accumulation has taken on a whole new meaning this year with regards to the snow mountains we’ve already amassed. And it’s only January.
It’s wintry days like this when I’m glad I write for a living. As I watch the continual downfall of white cascading from the sky, I take real pleasure in the fact I am sitting at my laptop clad in my pajamas even though it’s two in the afternoon. My hair is up in a messy knot, devoid of even the thought of a brushing. I wear no makeup, just moisturizer with anti-aging stuff ( hey! I’m on the southside of 50…I need it.) My feet are warm in my fuzzy, faux-leopard print slippers. Eventually, I will shower. And by eventually I mean sometime before my husband returns from work and I have to start dinner.
I’ve mentioned several times before I could so be a hermit if need be. Stormy days go by where I don’t leave the house once, even to get to the gym. At those times I use the treadmill and weights we have stored in the basement. I go without speaking to anyone but my husband for a few minutes before he leaves in the morning, to nothing more until he returns back home later that evening. I don’t answer the phone, leaving the old-fashioned machine to do the honors. There are days when I’ve said about 20 words in 24 hours. A solitary existence, perfect for the creative mind.
And you know what? I love it. Love the isolation. Love the quiet. Love the natural beauty I can look upon through my window.
So. Snowy days and being a writing recluse….they’re good things.
At least for me, anyway.