I’m fighting a general funk today. The sun, it appears, has called in sick for the rest of December. I’ve been kicking against the edges of the blog post I had intended to finish by Tuesday. I can’t get my mind to settle down to work on anything in particular. And, every item on my to do list makes me feel like I’m crawling the walls inside my own skin.
As I say, a general funk.
Luckily, the tomatoes stepped in to save me. Just as I was in danger of giving the day up for lost, I happened upon the tomatoes. They’re sitting on the kitchen window sill ripening, in anticipation of tomorrow night’s soup.
Even in my current stupor, my heart couldn’t help but be lifted by the sight of the tomatoes.
They sent me on a safari of sorts around my home, in search of found vignettes. It was an entirely rewarding experiment.
What I found, to my surprise, is all sorts of suspended anticipation, pooling in objects around our home.
There are cookies in anticipation of a little festivity tomorrow.
There are candles and tiny drawers with their own attentive watchmen, in anticipation of tonight’s Adventing.
Christmas trees don’t traditionally go up in Poland until Christmas Eve. While we’ll put ours up sooner than that, we’ve been holding off for a bit. Still, there are signs of the season that begin to hint at our anticipation of merry making.
There is temporary hammock in our living room and piles of washed sheets in anticipation of Christmas houseguests.
There are scraps (always—there are scraps) in anticipation of a bit of play this afternoon.
And, there are books. Stacks of books. Piles of books. On every possible surface and in every conceivable combination, there are books. They speak to our happy anticipation of long days ahead without the strictures of daily schedules to interrupt our reading.