My feet are actually, literally very cold today. I sit at my desk, fully distracted by how uncomfortable the two of them are. It's not astrophysics, though, is it? I have these nice Uggs Jesse and Annie brought me for Christmas last year so on they go.
I wonder if there is something cozy for my mind. Is there something I can wrap up in to warm this corner and get me to stretch out into this thing, this season, I've looked forward to for so long?
I have not, most definitely have not, looked forward to the off-spring being gone. One, two, three, four- they are away. And this is not about that. They are well. And I am well.
Oh, I'm not going to pretend empty nest didn't arrive with a sudden, shocking grief. Even though I saw it coming. Even though I welcomed the silence as I wept, embracing them on their way.
There were parties when each baby arrived. No parties to say, "All gone!"
But even so.
This faffing around, this inability to settle at my desk, is not that.
This is a binding cold.
I am a writer.
And my feet are freezing.