"I thought you were going to be in by winter?"
That raised eyebrow. That mocking tone. That taunting posture. That laughing. That smirking smile. She spoke aloud what the others were thinking. Their doubt feeds my self-doubt. And I have enough of those sounds in my head already...

"Today is the day!"
It is wintery dark. In a flash from asleep to awake comes this bright realization. "Tonight I will sleep in my own house that my own husband built with his own hands!" Ideas and effort, dreams and determination, these intangibles have become reality.

The night before last night we slept in our last stop-over in the cozy camper. It was a real resting place. There was no work to do. No chores. The camper be was clean and new. The little framed addition was so small that it was toasty warm from the large wood stove heater.

My nose knows, poking out of my sleeping bag.

The fire is out. Brrrr! It is way too early to get up. Besides, there's no alarm clock today and it is ever-so-cozy to snuggle up wrapped in the arms of my warm husband and snooze some more.

Today is Christmas Eve! Some wonderful librarian in my mind swiftly supplies my inner senses with the crisp precise notes of the Nutcracker Suite Ballet. In the darkness I let the music fill me...

Well, I'm feeling a little fragile this morning. The emotions yesterday came so swiftly and so deeply. I feel drained and cautious. My head is tired from the interrupted sleep. Am I OK? Will the storm of emotions overtake me again?

We have been invited to Fran and Archie's place for Christmas Day. Yes, come for breakfast. Yes, stay all day.

So we do.

The day after Christmas, December 26, is an additional national holiday in British-based Canada called 'Boxing Day.' Tradition held that after the servants cleared away the empty wrappings, they had the next day off. An 'at-home day' allowed both the employer and employee families time to relax and enjoy their treats.

Where shall my mind wander?

Where can I revisit and find comforts, security, welcome, warmth?

With the closeness of Christmas still echoing in my heart and the distance of separation still aching in my heart, I summon the sweetness of the past and compare and contrast my experiences before marriage and after moving. I follow the trail of my own decisions.

...When our family moved into the Church community, I was offered my first babysitting job. I was twelve years old.

The personal possession I would most like to destroy is my little wind-up traveling alarm clock. It folds away cleverly into its own brown case to slip safely into a suitcase or bump along in a backpack. When it unfolds the triple sides form a stand so I can see the face measuring off the seconds, minutes and hours.

Somehow incongruous in a log cabin, this tiny reminder of the outside world is really an instrument of torture.

I can't find the wires that signal my limbs to move. I can't figure out the complexity of arranging my muscles to shed the sleeping bag, locate the flashlight, balance my weight on the ladder. 

The cold is too terrible. What good does it do to keep the fire going anyway? I can't feel the warmth rising up into the loft.

Although the fire was kept smouldering all night the outdoor temperature is still -40'C. 

A scoop of snow melts, oatmeal is ready.

By lamplight we bundle up, scarves around our faces, wearing empty backpacks. Kevin locks the door.

How fragile the link between health and daily bread. How terrible the thought that the man could be laid up sick and the woman would have to carry the full load of work to survive. 

Facts are like puzzle pieces. In the pre-dawn hours I turn them this way and that, trying to solve the problems.