January

I always feel this way in January. Some have what is known as 'cabin fever'. But this isn't that! I take an inward look, and think 'My Lord, Miss A., but you're boring!' The thing is, I'm perfectly happy with that conclusion, which is slightly worrying. Could it be that I don't really believe it? Or maybe I understand that it's only temporary, and, like the wind, will be gone. Possibly, but highly unlikely, we're supposed to slow down in January, take an inward look, make plans for spring, by the way, where are my seed catalogues? Used to be that, come January, our mail box would be stuffed with seed catalogues. Haven't seen one in years. Last year, around about this time, I spoke to Papa Roger, his birthday was January 24th. It was a lovely conversation, and after a few minutes I told him I loved him, and he replied, "I love you, too, sweetheart." They were to be his very last words to me. How perfectly lovely. Last January, I was looking forward to Sophie and the kids coming, hoping and praying for snow, before they came on the Saturday after Valentine's! Last January, I turned 60. Last January, my Mum was still alive, and Papa Roger, and Caleb. Sometimes, but only in January, I wish I was an old bear, then I could just skip January, and wake up in the spring to start digging in the garden. How lovely and boring that would be!