While we await the arrival of the first genuine snowstorm of the season, we are sitting, at 6:48 pm, in front of a comfortable fire after finishing an "acceptable" dinner prepared by me. (Well, purchased by me at McQuade's deli, to be honest.) The dishwasher is humming in the kitchen, and the furnace below us just kicked in again, keeping the house at a cozy 66 degrees. (We're experimenting with lower temperatures in the house in the winter. I would love to have it at 70, but I certainly don't need to have it that high, and Cia would probably be comfortable at 60!) 

A quiet day today. I worked happily on my writing, editing a manuscript of meditative paragraphs, tentatively called "New Kinds of Light: Words from an Old, Grateful Heart". It's 71,000 words long, and, if I'm perfectly honest, I think it would make a great book. We shall see.  Cia kept up with her reading of Dickens' biography, and shared many interesting facts with me about his life. It's great to learn so much about the life of one of my all-time favorite authors!

Yesterday we had a silent dinner in front of the fire, and it was a very pleasant experience, I think for both of us. I have been reading one of Thich Nhat Hahn's books on meditation, in which he says all the meals in his Buddhist monastery were silent, and the monks tried to chew each bite at least 30 times -- so I suggested to Cia that we try a silent dinner. It was a peaceful 25 minutes, and I'm sure we'll be doing it again every so often. 

We'll be cozy tonight in bed, dreaming of the coming snowstorm.

Fridge poems for today . . .