Today was busy.  And cold.  So cold I lost feeling in my thighs walking two short blocks.   So I’m eating cookies and chiding myself for  not wearing my fleece lined leggings.

I woke up this morning at the normal school/work day time, only to find out that the kids were on a two hour delay. By the time I picked up the phone to text my boss at 8am, there was a notification that school had been cancelled entirely. Luckily, the boss said the weather was awful and it was bad driving and not to worry about trying to make it in. Interning has its perks, and by the time I am working a real job, the kids ought to be old enough to look after themselves for a few hours on no-school-but-mom-has-to-work days. Probably under threat of death and dismemberment, but whatever.

I threw on a huge pot of hamburger with tomatoes and seasonings to make into chili and tacos and nachos, and my house has smelled delicious all day. We’ve eaten from it twice today, and there are a few more meals worth in there still. I love a good planned-over. I just need to figure out how to fit it in the fridge.

I thumbed through a couple more big, fat art books.

I encountered more memories that made me smile, and I thought about what it means when I knit for someone. On the whole, I am glad I have knitted for those I have knit for, and really very pleased that I didn’t knit for those I thought I should knit for and didn’t.

I dealt with a medical mishap.
I told someone I loved them because of their wonderful attitude.
I made plans for another adventure. I love adventures. So much dopamine.

I read this afternoon that Nicholas Sparks has separated from his wife of 25 years. Call me a sarcastic bitch, but my first thought was, “Well, maybe he can write some books with depth now.” That’s mean, I guess. But real life doesn’t work like those romance novels. Sometimes you do everything right, and it still blows up in your face. I firmly believe that the laws of cause and effect are often suspended when it comes to interpersonal relationships. Which segues nicely into a conversation I had this evening about letting go of outcomes. Because I can’t control what other people do. All I can control is what *I* do. And once I know I have put my very best into a situation or relationship, I need to let things go and let them be what they will.

Here’s something else I ought to do, unrelated to anything I have already talked about today. I need to stop expecting people who have shown an inability or refusal to really think through what they accept as normal and right to start thinking about whether what they consider to be normal and right is actually the correct thing to do/way to be. Because they won’t. Because their hearts are hard and their necks are stiff. Their pointer fingers are also usually out, but that’s just my opinion and not a Biblical reference, and I really can’t say a whole lot about that since I am pointing pretty hard myself right now. Sigh. See sarcastic bitch above.

I should go look at more art books, now, having unloaded my stream of daily consciousness on the unsuspecting public. But hey! You clicked!

Well, it’s been a day. One you probably won’t see 500 words about, but I didn’t say I was going to publish 500, just write them, so journaling counts and the night is young yet. I spent most of today doing laundry. Those girls had a lot of clothes in the floor of their room. I calculate that I’ve done roughly 60 bucks worth of washing and drying over this weekend. Now that included my stuff, which was substantial in its own right as I have managed to avoid doing it for a couple of months. It wasn’t on the floor, mind you, but it was stacked pretty high in the basket.

I also did a good bit of reading in Barron’s Complete Guide to Materials and Techniques for Drawing and Painting. Apparently, I will do anything about art except actually make it. Bleh. But I also learned a good bit. I’m trying to get the rest of these library books read and turned back in before they are overdue.

I accepted delivery of six more pairs of Muk Luk socks. These socks are so very warm. They kept my toes and calves toasty while I walked around New York right after Christmas, and I am sure I will get equally good use out of them here at home. It’s not even supposed to get above freezing for the next few days. I also like them because they are thin, and in a skirt they look like patterned tights. I’m not sure how they got all that goodness in there, but I’ll take it. Also, I am amused by the fact that I now live in a place where my clothing, including socks, must be seasonal. Amused and glad. I have too many beautiful sweaters that rarely saw the light of day in North Carolina, where wool season lasts precisely 28.75 days.

Then I had a debate about the practice of locking churches and how this may or may not violate the intent of same as recorded in the Bible. That debate has been deleted after an ad hominem attack which was not initiated by me. I tell you what: I may split hell wide open one day, but it won’t be because I refused to apply the principles of right living as defined by Christ to my life. So there’s that.

Then I painted my nails this lovely green with black, white, and pink dots for the accent nails, and mattified the rest. I love that mattifier. It’s so unexpected, particularly with a popping accent nail.

Tomorrow is back to work for me. I’ve enjoyed my time at home (and away), but I’ve missed client contact, as well. It will likely take me most of the rest of the evening to get myself ready for the week–laying out my clothes, gathering the art supplies I will take with me, and packing my work bag.

I looked at my TimeHop app today, but I didn’t post anything from it. Here’s the thing: when you have loved someone intensely there are reminders around every mental corner. There was one yesterday, too. I think…no, I know that I am glad of that. I smile even as my heart squeezes. I understand how the thornbird feels as it sings.

Oh, look. I hit the 500 after all.

The children arrived home about 6:00 last night. We ordered Chinese Take-out and hung out together. They had a great time visiting with family back in North Carolina, and came back with lots of new goodies. This morning, we took down the Christmas tree, and then I pulled this chair out of the girls’ room where it has been languishing for months. They use it as a catch-all, but not for actual sitting. I put it where the tree had been, and then I sat down in it. I liked it just as much as I thought I would.

From my perch, I announced that this was my chair, and that they had encroached on every other sitting spot I had made for myself in the living room, and they were not to sit in this chair, even if it was empty. And to underscore this, I put my art basket underneath it. There are, for the record, five other spacious seats in the living room, and there are only four children here. When I was through sitting, I put my sketch books on the seat. Those won’t have to stay there very long, just long enough for them to absorb the habit of not sitting in my seat. I’ve put my journal and daily reading material to the side, and installed a cup holder on Grandmother’s sewing machine to hold my coffee/tea. I can see the television for those rare times I want to watch, although the angle is a bit odd; I can look out of the window and admire the now barren willow; and it’s very comfortable. The only thing lacking is a light source, and I will rectify that when I go to the store again, perhaps with a “natural light” floor lamp. That might allow me to cross-stitch again, and it might not. At any rate, it will supply good lighting for all manner of other things up to and including not sitting around in the dark. I’ll probably end up putting a knitting basket on the treadle of the sewing machine. Speaking of which, I need to figure out a new knitting project soon, because I want to watch the Tudors tonight. From my dedicated chair.

I also need to do some laundry, and the memory journaling I threatened to do on the first, and the drawing I didn’t get to on the second. But I digress, as usual.

Why is this chair important enough to write five hundred words about, you ask? Because I sometimes feel displaced in my own home. This is not a new thing–it was frequently the case in North Carolina. It has happened much less often here, but it’s not a pattern I plan for us to fall into. I am the queen here and this chair is my throne. Even when I am not sitting in it. Maybe especially when I am not sitting in it, because the sacrosanct seat will serve as a symbol of my beneficent monarchical matriarchal reign. At least my reign will be beneficent until I find somebody else’s happy ass in my chair.