Socked in and loving it

by Lorin Michel Sunday, January 15, 2017 9:37 PM

At 7 o’clock this morning, I rose up from my snuggly bed and looked out the big windows in the master bedroom. It had been pouring for hours. I could hear it pinging and pounding on the skylight in the bathroom. Sunrise wasn’t until 7:24 but the darkness had given way to a bright gray, brighter than I expected. The entire valley below was fog. I couldn’t see anything but the glowing air. 

There’s something so isolating about fog. It seemed to wrap up the house in a veil of wet gauze, keeping it safe from everything by keeping it completely separated. Our house is up on a hill. Normally when it’s dark, we see nothing but lights, from the sparse house lights near us to the distant barrage of twinkle in the city. It’s comforting, because even though we like to be away from it all, we still like to know that it’s there. This morning there were no lights; no light. 

The fog stayed all day, ebbing and flowing like a tide. The rain continued, too, sometimes hard, sometimes just a drizzle, but constant and comforting, as was the blanket of air.

 

We made a nice breakfast, had a fire going in the fireplace nearly all day. The temp never rose above 46º outside but it was warm in the house. On the mountains above and beyond us, it snowed. We couldn’t see it because of the fog that kept rolling over the hill and blanketing the house. I wondered how it looked from our neighbors below, to know that there was a house above them and not be able to see it. Such an odd feeling. With fog, it’s as if what you know to be true has suddenly disappeared. Of course, a great many of us feel that way right now about a great many things. 

For a long time, I had George Winston Radio playing through Pandora. His piano is always so melancholy, and yet not depressing. It seemed the perfect accompaniment to the fog. I did laundry. I put some chicken in the crock pot for later. 

We watched football and did some work. I caught up on some of the projects I’ve been behind on; Kevin worked on a couple of small house things, and then moved on to his truck. He loves that thing, rightly so. It has such character, and while it needs a bit of work, it still looks and runs great. Today’s project: removing the front brush guard in order to repaint it. 

Outside the rain continued. The dog, at first thinking he was being punished because we didn’t allow him out on the deck (way too wet), finally settled down into his bed, curled up and slept the day away. 

Today we were socked in, isolated from the world. It was just the three of us, up here where no one could see us, and we loved it. A perfect Sunday to live it out loud.

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