In the realm of noticing little things (that are not little, but nevertheless easy to dismiss), I looked through my Christmas cards last night, taking out the photos to keep, and the letters, and realized I had several beautiful art works among the cards. There is a lovely photo of a Buddha, no doubt taken by my friend, a copy of a watercolor by another friend, an Indian painting/postcard, and a reproduction of a woodcut by another friend's grandmother. So I've set them aside, and will find frames for them this morning. Saved treasures that did not register with me during the hurly burly of the holidays. What a treat!
Yesterday we got the decorations packed and put away, lugged the heaviest tree we've ever had down to the street, exhausted ourselves going to the basement with plastic bins filled with what felt like bricks, and then swept and vacuumed and dusted (well, we didn't dust, that would have been contrary to our natures) and flopped down and called it good. We had made a winter wonderland and we unmade it, like the Chinooks that used to sweep through Colorado and whirl the snow away.
Today my husband went off to work, I'm for the grocery store and to buy a new pot for a plant that broke on the porch during a windstorm, and life returns to normal. Routine is good and bad, or rather neutral. If I sink into it, then something is lost. If I resist it, something is false. It is what it is.
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