brrr

Is there anything worse than frigid days without snow or sun? It's just bitterly cold in Philadelphia, the kind of cold that freezes the pissed-on newspapers in dirty sculptures along the sidewalks. It sounds artistic and interesting, but it's just gross. I keep wishing that it were more snowy and that I could step out my door onto a pair of old cross-country skis. It must be in my blood, this longing for snow and skis. All winter I've been thinking about the white days Arlo and I spent while I was teaching in the northwest corner of connecticut. We used to strap on the skis (well, I did at least) and quietly float around the lake on campus. When I think about the moments when I've been most at peace in this world, those afternoons would be at the top of my list. This is why I'm feeling the need to get back to a snowy climate. It just seems that my heart pulls north even as my brain--and my marriage--is cajoling me south.

But enough about my meteorologic desires. It's just plain cold. So I've hunkered down inside with pot after pot of herbal tea; The New England Primer , which I'm teaching this week and about which I'm not sure what exactly to say; with a stack of books on Whitman, whom I plan to teach at my interview next week in Arkansas; with plans for a wheat berry salad that I keep calling "winterberry" in my mind; with a fresh idea for this blessed yarn.

Finally, thank you all for your thoughts here and in emails about my recent employment anxieties. I feel so lucky to have friends--old and new--that will tell me what to do.