God, I detest this weather. These Winters on the prairie. I am not Laura Ingalls Wilder. I am a weaker vessel. My bones ache in this weather, so hungry for the cool sweetness of Spring. The seering heat of Summer. Even the soft death knells of Autumn. But Winter? Ach. No. I wake up with my hands knotted into fists, Bing rubs heat into them, helping my joints move again.
Today the high will be 3 degrees with a wind chill of below 30. Tomorrow, worse. A high of -1, with a wind chill of -43. Liv's first day back to school has already been cancelled. All schools are. Too cold. The rest of us, though, the teachers and us working folk...we will venture out in it. Something to be thankful for: Liv is old enough to stay home alone now and besides, Tinton is here. They are talking about going ice skating. I have already vetoed it because I worry about frostbite. Bing tells me to back off, let Tinton parent. I reluctantly do so. But, I think I know better. I KNOW that I know better. Oh, well. They will go out for ten minutes and get too cold and come back. Let them learn on their own.
Today, there are good things. I need to stop being so bitchy and see this. Bing is making tortilla soup with the leftover turkey from Christmas that has been in a bag in the freezer. Tinton, Liv, and I are all going to see Saving Mr. Banks. I was reluctant to go, not really my sort of movie, but Liv sweetly talked me into it, promising that we will go to the theater that serves that really good coffee that I love.
But, mostly..it is Bing who pulls my black dogs away from me. She pulls up her guitar and noodles around with it, searching for tunes. I smile at her across the room, zeroing in on her wedding band that she has never taken off since the day of our wedding, despite the fact that she hates jewelry of any kind.
I sit reading my book, a hot pack on my aching back. And then I hear it...those opening guitar notes. The ones that made me fall in love with her, that still make me fall in love with her each and every time I hear them. Our song. She leans into the music, singing softly, playing with such deftness in her fingers. I watch her, smiling.
There will be this movie and then this soup for dinner. And then bedtime with this woman. January is a long month, yes, but February is a short one. And then....Spring.