Wondering … how to get back to clicking publish.
Writing … umpteen drafts; words that question everything; words I’m not brave enough to speak aloud.
Suspecting … my words don’t matter anyway.
Needing … escape.
Reading … The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World. Loving it. Loving knowing my daughter will want to read it too.
Planning … to read more. To fill the year — and quiet the internal chatter — with more and more reading. On the list: Mrs Woolf and the Servants: An Intimate History of Domestic Life in Bloomsbury; Diary of a Provincial Lady; The Tenant of Wildfell Hall; The Return of the Native; Ice Diaries: An Antarctic Memoir; North and South.
Noticing … a pattern in that reading list: classics, classism, feminism, environmentalism; not a single contemporary work.
Continuing … to read aloud to my 11-year-old son. This fall we read Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass). I had read it before, but absolutely loved re-reading it; my son was — gratifyingly — enthralled with the depth and complexity of the story. We’re currently reading The Alchemyst series, and are on book #3.
Feeling … grateful that my son is the kind of kid who, at age eleven, will still lean shoulder to shoulder against me as I read, and who, when I ask, Now, where were we?, is able to tell me exactly what happened at the end of the previous day’s reading.
Realizing … 40-some years on, I can still “hear” my Dutch grandfather’s voice, and can picture him across the table, as he prayed and then read aloud from the Bible after lunch. Onze Vader in de hemel…
Knitting … constantly. A hat, a smitten, a pair of mittens, and three miniature Weasley sweater ornaments in the weeks before Christmas. Another hat and a half in January, some progress on yet more socks, and another pair of mittens requested and planned.
Drinking … black coffee and green tea.
Enjoying … darning socks. Really.
Waiting … for snow. We did have a white Christmas, but then came rain and warm temperatures and now the snow is gone.
Liking … my 2016 wall calendar so much (it was a year of Amanda White’s Writers’ Houses) that I wish I could just keep using it in perpetuity.
Deciding … to put away the sewing machine.
Looking … for reasons to be optimistic.
Watching … hockey practices while knitting.
Ignoring … cold hands while knitting while watching hockey practices.
Questioning … if the word work is losing its meaning as a verb.
Considering … the various scenarios that could arise with Trump as US president. Aren’t we all …
Marvelling … at the ability of a fair few to be willfully blind to facts and to not see that which is right under their noses.
Admiring … a certain young woman who is brave enough to go on exchange.
Embracing … my looming 50th and my greying hair.
Wishing … I knew if some things were worth my while.
Making … inroads in purging sentimental clutter. I’ve bagged some baby clothes that have been sitting on a chair in our bedroom for the past six months.
Cringing … at the fact that some of those baby clothes are 20 years old. And that I allowed 20-year-old baby clothes to sit on a chair in our bedroom for six months.
Buying … new glasses. After three years with a frame I loathed I now have a pair which (I think) says classic with just a hint of edginess, exactly the look I was going for.
Hoping … the people I am worrying about will be okay.
Wanting … that certain young woman on exchange to pick up some locally-made sock yarn. I know I told her not to worry about it, but I really do want some.
Pretending … not to be worried. About everything. All the time.
Trying … to believe that small things matter.