The pink fairy roses have a quality even in the winter snowscape.
Gimme all the pink fairy roses in the land.
Not much gets cut much back in the autumn, because these winter garden views are what get me through the snowy cold that is Canadaland.
Of course, if I lived on the east coast — New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Newfoundland and Labrador — this frontscape would be buried.
In Other News
I’m hibernating. We’ve yet to have a fire in the fireplace this winter, because that sucker just eats warm air for breakfast. It feels too cold, and the second floor pines for a hot water bottle. Me, too!
Five Hour Stew and home baked bread is the order of the day. Warms the gut and expands the butt. Always a double-edged sword. Anything hot. Get it? I’m living on lemon ginger and peppermint teas.
The tree is down and the stockings are off the doors, but the other remnants of the season remain. The G-Man whines if everything red and shiny suddenly disappears. I get that. The only poinsettia I bought this year is limping along on my desk. It was the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of poinsettias. Still is.
I might have eaten my weight in clementines in December. It’s one of my favorite holiday harbingers.
Speaking of the season, we went the non-trad route. It just felt right for this year. A French Canadian Tourtière for the eve. Okay. That is traditional, but not in my family. A Tuscan Bread Vegetable Soup for Christmas day. We didn’t miss a turkey or ham and all the trimmings. We had a Nicolas Cage film marathon and schlepped around in sweats and socks. Peeps visited. We visited peeps. A good time was had by all. The new year was ushered in with a great deal of hope, but without fanfare. The end.
And Monday is in the house in all its wintry glory.
I’m glued to Big Dell. Yes, I named my laptop. And flexing the writing brain. That’s gonna hurt.