Clara's Window

The allure of a "room of one's own" seems to be timeless and universal. My heartfelt thanks to everybody for your well-wishes as I begin moving into my room of my own.

So far I've made just two significant discoveries about my space.

First discovery: There's a reason they sell double-paned windows.
When it's 12 degrees outside and the wind is blowing at 35 miles per hour, a sparkly winter wonderland spreads across all my windows. I knew there'd be insulation issues with the single-paned windows but was not in a position to fork out four times the cost for the fancier double-paned ones. So, well, this is the result. (Note to self: Keep towels handy on warmer days. All that water has to go somewhere.)

Second discovery: Despite these single-paned windows, the space is snug as a bug in a rug. The heater heats both floors like nobody's business, and it's warm enough for this little scene to play itself out on my windowsill.
See? She's wearing a skirt, that's how warm it is.

And third (ok I've made three discoveries about the space): My most prized knitterly possession has nowhere to go.
It's a cherry umbrella swift I purchased years ago. I love this swift. I use this swift. It needs a place to go. The place where it was supposed to go is too thick. Ken will be summonsed.

In the meantime, I'm loving spending time in this new space and simply looking out the windows. Every 10 minutes the view changes. The light shifts, the clouds move, the pond freezes and thaws and freezes. And, for the last two days, the snow has fallen.

Maine's yearly cycle has, for me, two magic moments: The first time you hear the peepers in the spring, and the first snowfall. It is exquisite, pure, and beautiful.