and I love them. They're cozy and perfectly fitted and she added pockets in the front and carefully stitched my name across one. Truth be told I haven't taken these pants off except to go to work and lucky me, the library was closed for two days due to a snowstorm, so I was able to get even more wear out of them. I am all about comfort these days. It's cold out there. (See: snowstorm),
and mostly we're stuck inside. Even the dog doesn't want to do our three-times-per-day walks. I wish she had told me this before I spent fifteen minutes bundling us both up, me in my layers of outwear and the dog in her sporty jacket, but three steps out the door, and she was glaring up me like, Immediately No.
Ah well, it is warm inside, and for several days, there's lovely company, my son and his girlfriend who are presently van-life-ing across the country, stopping for a visit with us along the way. The first night I complimented my son's pajama pants and barely an hour later, I was presented with a pair of my own. She's MYOG-ing for you, my son explained.
MYOG, if you're not up on the lingo, means Make Your Own Gear. In addition to clothing, his girlfriend makes bags of various sizes, intricately sewn and handy for carrying whatever you might need on cross-country trips. I love this for them, the sewing, the cross-country-traveling, but I realize lately, I am happy to stay where I am. Maybe this is a GOT
(Getting Older Thing) or maybe I'm just more content with simple pleasures, curling up on the couch to read books and doing the Wordle in competition with my husband each morning, (Okay, it's NOT a competition. We just each do the Wordle and then gloat at each other when one of us solves the puzzle faster), binge-watching Netflix shows and making more dinners at home. Oh, and here's something fun:
friends of ours sent us a gift box subscription to a drink of the month club, where you get all of the elements to stir up a drink and the first box came and it looked like an elaborate chemistry experiment, complete with vials and adorable little spritzer bottles. Why do I feel like we are all fiddling while Rome burns, people dying from the virus, the crazy conspiracy theories and threats of book bannings, and what ridiculous privilege I have to burrow away in my warm house,
wearing my lovingly made homemade flannel pajamas and snuggling up with my finicky dog. Some days, most days I don't see how to balance it, the wider world with my inner one and how lucky I have been and how can I possibly give back, and my only answer seems to be:
It is February and I am here. My husband stirs up the drink concoctions, and we clink glasses with our son and his girlfriend before they continue on their way.
WMTA (We miss them already.)