is beautiful. I sit at the kitchen table looking out at the bare armed maple tree. Rust coloured leaves adorn young evergreens and sword ferns. As I write this it's plus five and raining lightly. I don't feel inclined to be outside anymore. After insulating the loft and even with the stove burning interminately during the day it is enough to keep Babygirls hands warm. Still it's nice to go outside just a little. The other day I went out walking with an island friend I hadn't seen since spring. When we were first reunited in the whirlwind of joy Babygirl dropped her sippycup and by the time I noticed and retraced our steps it had been blasted into a million pieces under a tire. Probably by another friend who had gone to rescue my friend whose truck had run out of gas on her way home when the fuel gauge quit working. As for the sippycup when you are 42.00 dollars from town and half a days worth of time you try not to be careless and make errors like this. Babygirl is drinking from a cup albeit messily but life is messy. Why do we expect life to be perfect? Is this a reflection of the selfishness of the human heart? Is it sometimes necessary to change our expectations? Is the spiderweb so beautiful because we know how ugly the spider is?
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