Winter                                                                                 Settling Moon

The wall space necessary for rebuilding the IKEA bookshelves is free. Almost all of the books are deboxed. (well. deplane, detrain) Slowly, slowly. But steadily.

(the loft before any unpacking had begun)

The temperature here, right now, is 56. 56! Apparently not unusual for this period of January it collides directly with my pulling inward as the third week of January approaches. That’s the coldest week of the year on average in Minnesota and often means well below zero readings. And here we are with even the ice preserved by the shade of a lodgepole pine grove melting. In spite of the Minnesota we-will-not-be-stopped-by-the-cold attitude, forty years of fortitude lifted to a civic virtue, this feels pretty good.

Less than 10 book boxes remain, but they will wait until the ones I’ve emptied have been flattened and the bookshelves are up. Then, only then, can I begin the process of creating a library especially for my current projects. The classics and their supporting literature will get their own area, so will all of my art books, poetry, books related to Colorado and the West. Once those areas are in place, then the remainder of the books will find homes: Asia, Islam, travel, depth psychology, the Renaissance, Modernism, the Enlightenment, Romanticism, history, Celtic studies, Scandinavian studies, Lake Superior, environmental matters and others.

Winter                                                                Settling Moon

The post-Chinook day, today, is bright, clear and warm.  Snow in our north-facing back remains while the snow on the south-facing driveway has begun to disappear. Yeah, Chinook.

Up and down the stairs to the second-story loft, clearing out misplaced boxes plugging up Kate’s sewing room. The exertion did not leave me breathless or dead, evidence of acclimatization. Not done, but much better.

Opened an area around Kate’s sewing table. She can now set up her Bernina if she wants. We’ll continue clearing her sewing area out until she can resume sewing. Having a creative outlet is key to our mental health and she needs to get back to needle, thread and cloth.

We’re learning to pace ourselves better and acclimatizing ourselves at the same time. Makes for a much improved settling in process.

Winter                                                               Settling Moon

Our first Colorado business meeting this morning. Aspen Perks Cafe. We’ll have a lot to discuss. The various costs incurred recently and upcoming costs. A to do list that includes get medical insurance, find a doctor, register the car and get a Colorado driver’s license. Not to mention the CLF, the Cardboard Liberation Front that has been active here since Christmas Eve.

It’s cold, -2 this morning. Just like a regular Minnesota December.

When Holly and Eduardo came over on Christmas, Holly said, “Yes, I like to say it’s nine months of snow.” Eduardo moved his hand back and forth out of her sight. We’ll have to live here awhile to understand, but the last frost coming on average on the Summer Solstice makes me think she might have the spirit of the place right.

We’re trying to get the dogs settled into a new routine. Dogs, like humans, need some structure to their day to feel free, a paradox.

Winter                                                                     Settling Moon

A disappointment of ravens. A phalanx of snow plows. While driving into Denver this morning, Kate and I reached an entrance just as four orange snow plows with monstrous blades and tiny whirring salt and sand spreaders drove onto the 285 in front of us. They fanned out in what is known as the snow plow blocking maneuver, with one on the left shoulder, then, a full snow plow length back and a snow plow width over, another, then the third, the fourth covering the right shoulder. The drive became slow, about snow plow speed.

We were on our way for an important settling task, buying a washer and dryer. Not good to be without them. We found a warehouse like place that sells mostly to contractors and got a good deal.

An interesting phenomenon. The Colorado drivers seemed stumped by the snow, then cold, which left the highways often covered with compacted snow. They went very slow, braked into curves and seemed generally flummoxed. First hint of this came going down Shadow Mountain Drive when we encountered a tow truck with a long cable snaking down into a twenty, thirty foot drop-0ff, the other end attached to what looked like a Subaru with a Thule ski-carrier. It was hard to identify for sure because the only thing I could see was the car’s roof.

Kate thinks, and I agree, that Colorado drivers are used to snow that comes, then goes away. Quickly. We drove, Minnesota style, on past them. No sudden movements and no close following.

Winter                                                                        Settling Moon

No Denver Post newspaper sleeve to fit under our mail box yet. Paper, wrapped in orange gets tossed on the driveway. Makes sense. First morning with my new whiz bang snow blower, all yellow and rust free. I set out toward Black Mountain Drive from our garage, learning the various maneuvers: joystick turns snow thrower, tilt joystick snow thrower chute changes angle, right grip engages movement, left the augur, various speeds and the “power steering” which consists of levers on each handle that, when pressed, disengage the wheel on that side. It was a cold morning, around 9.

When I got to the road, I picked up the morning paper and tossed it back toward the house, not quite making the covered area over our front door. More fiddling with the controls, learning to seat them in muscle memory. Though the snow was powder, the driveway had slushy matter from a previous snow storm and made the going a little tougher than I’d imagined.

By the time I hit the front of the house it was a surprise to see orange come out the chute of the snow blower, followed by, yes, shredded newspaper. Today’s Denver Post went through the augur, up the chute and out in many pieces over our driveway. A lesson.

The small plants and patchy grass, the rocks and lodgepole pine stumps have disappeared under a blanket of white and the dogs come romping in, shaking snow as they run. I’d say they like it.