“A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”
– James Joyce, The Dead

I’m tired of snow.

I’m tired of complaining about snow.

I’m tired of wearing work boots, down jacket, gloves, and hat to go fetch the mail.

I’m tired of taking my boots off every time I come in the door.

I’m tired of a landscape that reminds me of those cheesey styrofoam rocks they used on the set of the original Star Trek series.

I’m tired of hearing the snow sliding off the roof and making the whole house shake.

But most of all, I’m tired of dosing the dog with Rescue Remedy so we can sleep through the night without her trying to crawl up under the quilt because the snow sliding off the roof freaks her out.

Technically this week is just the beginning of winter, but the thermometer reads zero degrees Fahrenheit this morning, we’ve had more snow than usual and I have a head cold. It feels like it must be midwinter.

I was hoping to get through Christmas without being sick this year. I was feeling great up until last week when I succumbed either to the bug visited on my parents by a thoughtless insurance agent (what was he thinking visiting two octogenarians living in a senior community while he had a cold?) or some other random infection. I just shook the wrong hand somewhere down the line.

I haven’t been up to blogging much because I am obsessed with how much work we seem to have to do. Obsession doesn’t necessarily make me a more effective worker, but it does mean that I mumble about ad deadlines in my sleep and wake up at 2 AM with an unending list of to do items in my head. We’ve recently lost two employees, which is frightening because we are really slow at hiring full time people and the work is all still there to be done.

Hiring is such a risky venture, and the nature of our company is such that it usually means I have to register the company in a new state and figure out a whole new bunch of crazy state requirements for tax withholding, unemployment insurance, business profits tax and whatever. And of course there is the risk of hiring the wrong person.

Putting all that aside, the stuffed head, scratchy throat, annoying administrivia and fears of economic ruin, the truth is this past week has brought us a huge blessing. We had dinner with Dave’s daughter after a separation of over two and half years. The dinner was her initiative. It’s a long sad tale that I have not been able to write about because it is so hurtful, but we have a glimmer of hope that patience, perseverance and love will prevail.

In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.
-Albert Camus