Early Times

Yesterday, a sprinkling of snow brought beauty to the monotony that is January. Three inches fell evenly on all that remains outdoors, and a bright sun made the barren landscape sparkle and shine. For me, the first month of the new year feels like 31 days that must simply be endured, and this is a characteristic I do not associate with the other eleven. Try as I might to find it, not a hint of spring is showing, the ends of branches still closed tightly against the bitter elements and the dirt of my garden hard enough to break my spade.

At yoga this morning, the view from the upper level studio showed only bare tree branches and flat rooftops against the pale blue sky. In the other months, when the windows of the studio are open, I can hear the rustle of the leaves and the bustle of the streets below. Today, however, windows and sashes were tightly drawn, and I could only catch glimpses of the unadorned tree limbs swaying and scratching in the wind, unable to hear the rattling of their frozen bones.

Tonight, a foretaste of the feast to come as we've been invited to an anesthesia group's holiday party. To be held at a downtown hotel, it promises to be quite the event. For Gus, a suit has been drycleaned and shoes shined and for me, a glamorous outfit has been carefully assembled. Best of all, finally, a chance to showcase my sky-high, knock 'em dead red-soled shoes.