The great flying elevator

2009 greeted me with a harsh winter cold that made my voice deeper and hoarser than normal.  I bought a dungeness crab and a bottle of champagne and proceeded to get more drunk than my health would have preferred.

Last night I saw the girl off to her father’s and went straight to bed, covered in a mock bearskin blanket we call “Horse-ee.”  The old bear and I snoozed the winter evening away and dreamt of riding elevators that could perform trapese tricks and giant tidal waves that were both invigorating and terrifying.  I awoke, washed the sand from my eyes and set out to buy a calendar.

The new year is like standing on a precipice where it’s unclear whether I’ve just climbed up or I’m about to tumble down.  I have more opportunity then I know what to do with and more alone time than I feel comfortable about.  The cold in my head, however, whispers just one thing.  “Sleep, my dear.  Sleep this one out.  I have an elevator in mind that can show you some new tricks.”

So I submit, curl up with Horse-ee and wait for the frigid air to break, the days to grow longer and sunshine to return and warm this tired, cold soul.

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