Juxtapose

Enjoying my kids today. One is snuggled up against me asleep, the other playing with her little farm animal playset on the floor. The Christmas tree is out on the lawn,  my kitchen once again open and no longer scattered with pine needles. Everything seems fresh, even the warm, snowless January weather outside. It's a pretty good morning so far, as those go these days. If I have my caffeine, a little something in my belly, and the kids are happy or at least somewhat occupied, I can't really complain.

    I'm reading Ruth Reichl's twitter and cracking up over her descriptions of the food she eats in the morning - "softly melted cheese," "sweet plump briny oysters," and "spicy Sichuan peppers" all feature in these tweets. It's no surprise, she was the editor of Gourmet mag for years so it's what she does, but sometimes the mental picture of her - of anyone - sitting in a breakfast nook in the mountains, eating oysters and crepes with sour cream and roe is enough to make me laugh while I'm drinking my jug of coffee and generic brand Total cereal. My tweet about my foodie morning would  often be something like this:

Cloudy New England day. Peeling bonded leather sofa. Coffee. Handful of stale raisins. Two smelly children. Already have a headache. 

I was reading her twitter, though, and smiling as I thought of her description of one of her mornings as Still and Cold. When I think of that I think of our few little mornings up in Vermont a few weeks ago. We had all been up later so Amelia slept in later than her usual 5am, and when I rolled over to look out the giant picture windows, I saw the snowy mountains, felt the coolness of the room, the down comforter warming everything but my face, and the perfect silence. No cars, no humming appliances like the ones we have in our little house, just the gentle breaths of two little and one big human sharing the room with me. I got up quietly and ate a little peppermint bark chocolate out of the gift basket left on the bed for us when we arrived to the house, a gift from our hosts, savoring the cold air and the view and the calm. I wish every morning could be like that. 

   I think of that morning there in the mountains, right before the holidays, our mini vacation with a newborn and a Terrible Two, and to me that picture in my mind tastes just like dark chocolate peppermint bark. 

Sharp. Minty. Chocolate sharply snapping with each bite. Breathtaking view. A perfect morning. 

So I guess Ruth isn't such a windbag after all.