THE HEART OF WINTER

Temperatures started dropping here on Saturday. I grabbed a laundry basket to head down to the basement and as I walked to the kitchen-garage door, I saw Marguerite walk by. I hollered to Michael “there’s a chicken in the garage!” The dog door that leads from the garage to the outside is open. I had already watched that same chicken hop down into the window well that morning only to have Josephine chase her out. I guess she was disappointed in her roosting options and finally decided to check out the garage. She’s the only one of the four that has been remotely curious about the garage. I have seen her little head through the dog door before, but she’s never ventured all the way inside. Marguerite knew what was coming. That afternoon, it started snowing and it has been snowing off on and on every since. The forecast for the rest of the week shows each day colder than the one before with snow every day.

Some archeologists believe that early humans may have survived winter by hibernating. If I could crawl into bed and not come out until the tulips start poking up through the earth without losing my job, this would be the last blog entry for a while. I am not genetically built for this kind of weather. I am not mentally built for this kind of weather.

We left a bowl of queso briefly unattended on the coffee table the other night and Josephine ate all of it. She ate a whole bowl of cheese and if she had problematic consequences from that, she took it outside. Josephine is my spirit animal. I want to eat a whole bowl of cheese and then crawl into bed without stomach cramps or diarrhea. On my not in the office days, I’ve gotten into the habit of not bothering to put on a bra. Three times now I have gotten completely dressed for going into the office only to realize that I had forgotten to put on a bra. So far, I have peeled off my layers of clothing and put on a bra, but I fear that it won’t be long before I just shrug and walk out the door without it. I was raised by a proper Southern woman who was born before the era of optional undergarments. Me not wearing a bra is a big deal. It tells you how much I have grown with being confident with this body. It also tells you how much I’ve grown in apathy.

This weather has me craving warm bowls of food. Except I am not craving bowls of chili or potato soup. I want bowls of Ethiopian food with a plate of injera. I have been thinking a lot about how to celebrate this month of Black History. In fact, I have deleted several posts on the subject. I will never not be mad about how my public education failed to teach me so many things and provide diversified history classes. I will never not be disgruntled about having Black History month in the shortest month of the year. To fill in the gaps of my knowledge, I have incorporated Black authors into my every day reading. I want to be a better citizen and I believe that diversifying my knowledge will help me actually be a better citizen. I don’t limit myself to the month of February for this, but I do feel the need to acknowledge this month in some way. I think I might do that with food.

So that’s my plan on warming my soul through the next few weeks of winter, while at the same time honoring Black History month. I am going to learn how to make misir wat and injera while learning about the culture. I am going to fill my belly with warm spicy lentils and tangy injera.