Winter in One Minute

The news is on in the background. The weather forecaster has just announced that winter officially begins in one minute. Silly, isn't it, that we mark time in minutes? "I'll be there in a minute" or "Any minute now?"

This is the shortest day of the year. We felt it approaching yesterday as we skied our way around a loop that passed by a lazy spot on the Wenatchee River. We stopped, hearing the sound of our own breath, the rapid beats of our hearts, and the gurgling call of three Ravens tumbling overhead. Later, a Pileated woodpecker would bounce up a dead snag leaving large chunks of bark at our feet.

The skiing was good especially after the storm of last week. A million people without power and we were two in a million. We bundled up in a sleeping bag and sat seance style around mountains of candles. We listened intently to the battery operated radio to a show not worthy of our time, but we felt it necessary seeing how it was the storm of the century.

And then we ate as much as we could from our fridge, fearing food would go bad. Our stovetop operates with gas so I made scrambled eggs with cream cheese, fried up some bacon and lightly toasted some homemade bread by flipping it in the pan. Ann made Indian food from cans in the pantry and then Lisa and Jeanne, who were staying with us then, decided to go out only to find that nothing was open. So they ate PBJ sandwiches as we giggled in candle glow.

We faired well. Only 20 hours without power, while others are still waiting today and will wait, so it is predicted, until after Christmas.

I spent my birthday on Saturday with Peggy, the horse woman, and Ann. It was exactly how it should be on one's 48th birthday. Peggy's house had no power, but she had a woodstove and parrot, Tao of Parrot, who entertained us with his impressions of donkeys and horses and his need to "rock and roll." Peggy is delightful and Ann and I have vowed to visit her more when time allows. We went out to lunch after playing with her horses and treated ourselves to pie as it was Peggy's birthday the day before mine. Small wonders, eh? It was delicious.

We left on Monday for Jeanne and Lisa's cabin by the river, arriving late in the afternoon, too chilled to do anything else but lie on the couch and read. We woke early, had our coffee and cocoa, and then headed out to ski. Though we started at the golf course, our route took us up a ridge where the skiing was perfect if only a tad bit too cold to plop ourselves down for lunch. So we ate quickly, standing up and smacking our frozen lips around homemade bread and thick layers of peanut butter.

The ski down from the ridge was frosty, but fun and what took us three hours to ski up, took us only an hour to ski down. Brrrrrr!

Back at the cabin we warmed up by the stove and feasted on pasta with olive oil, olives, and a pile of parmesan cheese. Skiing is great exercise, so we felt obliged to feast well and we did.

We read more, solved Sudoku puzzles, and when the darkness surrounded us completely, we fell to sleep wrapped in a soft downy comforter atop a warm feather bed.

The next day we packed up to leave, but before we got on the highway, we put skiis down for one more tour through the woods. This time, the trail took us into the trees, down by the river, and back round again. It was rough going, but we burned enough calories to eat our sandwiches of homemade bread, French brie, and smoked salmon. Cardiac Sandwiches. Blood Thickener Sandwiches. Perhaps the best sandwich I've ever eaten out on the trail.

On the drive out toward the highway, we pulled over the truck and Ann snapped this picture.


Funny how we measure our lives in minutes. One minute until winter has passed. Minutes ago, the sun set and autumn left.

Any minute now we'll leave to join our friends for dinner. Any minute now we'll laugh at the silly Christmas gifts we got each other. Any minute now we'll smile at each other, share our time over pizza or soup, and then head home. Any minute now we'll lay our heads on our pillows and float off for just a minute until tomorrow, when the minutes count themselves right back into today.

I shall be there in a minute.