Winter Storm this weekend.

Unaccustomed to winter storms, I'm kind of excited.  Could be snow and ice--reminiscent of the visit with  Bob and Jocelyn and Carlene two Januarys ago.   We chose that particular week having no idea that we'd have extreme cold and that we'd be going to HEB looking for fake logs for the casita.

I've laid out some of those fake logs in the casita in case the power goes out.  Bought three big sheets of paper in case my paper runs out.  

I read somewhere that "Home is where your story starts" and I'm using that anonymous quotation as a theme for my early years in Georgia book.  

Also hope to finish a concertina book made out of botanical gel prints.

But for tonight, I'm watching "Blanca" on PBS, after having finished the sixth season of "All Creatures Great and Small."

When we walked into Jerry's to buy paper, one of Luci's favorite stops, the manager yelled out, "Luci's in the house!" and everyone came to greet her.

From there, we went to Sawasdee's for some Thai soup and the bowl of chicken Kitty always brings her.

Day says they are expecting one to two feet of snow this weekend and she's going to be happily ensconced in her brand new studio, completed and ready for her finishing touches.  

Mold

 In the past two weeks, I've taken on a time-consuming experiment.  

Years ago, I discovered that I was highly sensitive to mold.  I'd been having body aches consistently--so much so that I suspected I had fibromyalgia. A fortunate accident revealed that the space between the foundation and the floors of my house were infested with mold.  I'd left the AC off during one of our scorching summers when I was out of town, and a leak had occurred while I was out of town.  The floors were buckling so badly that you could literally trip on them.  

I moved out of the house for weeks while the floors were being replaced, and when I came home, I felt so much better.  The mysterious ailment was caused by mold.

Since my foot pain began, I have tried every course of action I know of--including the installation of a spinal cord stimulator.  But every day, when the pain takes me back to bed at almost exactly 11:00, I try to think of one more thing that could work.  

I had all the air ducts in the attic replaced after a worker spotted black spots on the registers in the ceiling.  Anti-mold agents were sprayed into the tiny attic that's barely a crawl space for a small man.  I slept in the casita while the work was being done.  I talked to my pain management doctor who wasn't on board with my theory, insisting that I had neuropathy caused by an injury.  

But I couldn't let it go. 

Here it is 11:00 and I'm going back to bed, unable to stand any longer.  I had started a book and got the first step done and felt, as I do every day at this time, like Cinderella at midnight.  

I'm glad the mold is gone and the pipes are new, but the effects of it on my feet have not been impressive. 

Taking down yesterday's post

Yesterday I wrote a fairly long post called "Choosing and Belonging"--in which I referenced a video I had seen about dogs and cats choosing their humans.  

Afterwards, someone suggested--probably rightly--that that video was likely not real, that it was all AI.

I was embarrassed that I hadn't been savvy enough to detect that, so I deleted the post.  Why?  Because I don't want to reveal my stupidity in this new world of fakery?  Because it always stings to have one's ignorance exposed?  

My second reaction was to look at why that video affected me so much.  Was it because belonging and being chosen are important to me for reasons I won't go into right now?  Was it because one of the best love stories of my life is with a dog?  

There are millions of stories floating around.  We gravitate to some and are unmoved by others.  It's not too big of a stretch to say that our lives are often lived around and shaped by the stories that impact us most. 

Maybe the stories we respond to and believe tell us more about ourselves than the stories themselves?

"The Guest House" in a Tiny Book.

It's been a week of getting rid of mold in my house.  Given that my attic has a very tiny crawl space and the pipes up there were probably approaching the age of the house (77 years), it was a tedious and hot and messy project for my workers, but it's done.

I'm very sensitive to mold, and already  I'm feeling some relief.  I slept in the casita while the work was being done to avoid breathing in those nasty spores, and I also bought a couple of air purifiers.

Meanwhile, my floors are all covered with curls of paper and snippets from pages I'm using to make a whole different kind of book, following the directions from last month's "Book of the Month" in the Handmade Book Club.

The first step is buying one of those board books written for small children, and peeling off all the shiny paper--which is very satisfying.

Collage papers are glued to each page.  I went for neutrals, old book pages and sheet music, dress pattern tissues and tea- and coffee-dyed papers. 

The next step is to type or write a poem.  I chose Rumi's "The Guest House," printing the lines in chunks to fit the pages.  Here's the poem:

The Guest House

Every morning a new arrival, 

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

Some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor. 

Welcome and entertain them all,

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows 

Who violently sweep your house empty of all its furniture.

Still, treat each guest honorably. 

He may be clearning you out for some new delight. 

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. 

Be grateful for whoever comes

Because each has been sent as a guide from above. 

One day, when it's lighter than it is right now, I'll post a photo or two of the finished book.  I am finding it such a satisfying project that I have five of them going.  

A Brand New Year Has Begun--welcome 2026!

70 degrees after a few chilly days, this has been a good day!

I've found a wonderful team of handymen who have accomplished almost everything on my list this week.  Four guys and two of their wives (haven't met the wives yet, but one is a painter, the other a house cleaner and artist) seem prepared to keep me in this house for the long haul.  Sometimes home ownership, especially of old houses, can seem overwhelming, but with trustworthy competent helpers, it's starting to feel less so.

I rarely go to a mall, but Luci accompanied me to North Star Mall and Museum today.  I wanted to take a class at the Apple Store and she wanted to sniff every rock and weed surrounding it.   She also got tons of attention and countless hugs and pats, so she's a happy girl.

Made banana bread this morning, and am just now starting a big pot of bolognese sauce and finishing a tiny book I'm making featuring "The Guest House" by Rumi.  It feels really good to get back to some making!  

The old year turned into the new one without my witnessing it--as I fell asleep after watching the excellent movie, Goodbye June, starring Helen Mirren. 

My intention for 2026 is to witness and observe more, to play more, and to create more.  My bird feeder is hosting all my usual gold finches along with their many friends and neighbors.  

We have a neighborhood fox, a family of skunks, a raccoon or two, and who knows what else in our peaceable little wildlife kingdom.  

Happy 2026 to you all!