THE PROMISE OF JANUARY

I don't know many people anyone who love January as much as I do. It is a time of year so sharp and clear, laid bare and lovely, and yet so under-appreciated.
For me, January symbolizes the beginning of things--wide open with promise, gentle and quiet. Life slips into an immediate and dramatic pause from the high activity of the Christmas season and general over-indulgences of New Years Day. Hubby returns to full-day work weeks, children are back to school, and my thoughts are anxious and ready to settle into the challenge of serious brain work.
Even from the first appearances of autumn, when the future things of winter have commenced to accumulate -- pockets of fallen leaves missed by the rake, scattered pine cones, nippy temps oh so stealthily creeping -- hubby begins singing whining his yearly lament, the lines of which never vary from "I hate the winter, I despise the cold," grumble, grumble, bitch, moan. 
For several years I made great effort to extol argue the joys of winter, when the frenetic activity inherent of warmer months is eased into a restful lull, bringing a settling sense of peace to a world forever reluctant to slowdown and simply breathe now and again. 
Nevertheless, despite my extravagant winter cheerleading sessions, I have never actually succeeded in adjusting his opinion, so I leave him to grumble, while I pile-on extra layers to ward off the perpetual chill iceberg forming cold in our 133 year old, un-insulated house. Settling in before my keyboard with a heating pad tucked up underneath my eskimo uniform, (and thank you, Cathy, for this excellent tip!) a perpetually warming cup of caffeinated brew, blessedly free of the nagging duties and pressing urgency that define the warmer months (lawn mowing, weed pulling, exterior house maintenance...)
The days lay wide open and glorious with clear white space. They fill quietly--these blissfully gentle afternoons that darken early and yawn empty. With any luck we'll even have snow...