Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Happy New Year from Ivy and Revel

     I never go out on New Year's because I'm terrified of the drunk drivers; I usually just wait for it to pass and am glad when it's over.  But yesterday was wonderful, my best New Year's so far.  Another perfect day, weather-wise, as you can see from the blue sky and my husband's short sleeves above.  One boy had a friend over and they jumped on the trampoline so long I wondered if their brains might be sloshing around in their little skulls.  I helped the other boy hang some model airplanes from his ceiling and we admired the air battle occurring in his room.  My husband worked on a long-awaited tree house for the boys.

     The dogs were being so helpful with the tree house that I decided to take them around to the back of the house for a while, where they almost never get to go because it's a deer hangout.  I figured the racket from the trampoline jumpers and Bruce's power tools had probably cleared the deer out for the moment.  Ivy and Revel had a good time sniffing and peeing everywhere in an attempt to reassert their right to that part of the property.  Ivy was tremendously pleased with herself.

     So was Revel.

     The back of the house also gave the dogs a new-and-improved view of the chickens, who despise the sight of my darling Aussies.  I don't think they will ever be friends.

     Our big plan for the evening involved lighting a fire in our fire pit and roasting marshmallows.  Our county recently lifted the burn ban that has been in place since we moved to this county a year ago, so we were all genuinely excited about burning some stuff.  Just before dark the twelve-year-old built a beautiful fire, the nine-year-old said goodbye to his friend, my husband put his tools away and we all sat down with our roasters and began to debate important things like golden vs. blackened.  Golden all the way for me, but it's important to take enough time to golden-ize, otherwise the inside won't be sufficiently melty.  The night darkened and cooled enough to justify a heat source, the stars looked crisp and bright and very close, and the dogs seemed mesmerized by the fire.  The twelve-year-old had said this to me earlier, as we were going around together: "I love that our celebrations are so small.  Like it's just us and we're staying home and roasting marshmallows."
     Life is big and good, and the best parts of it are the small within the big: a dog warming your feet, a shriek of happiness from the direction of the trampoline, a hen enjoying the sun.  My family showed me how to have the perfect New Year's, and I thank them for it.

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