December was a grueling month. Six-day weeks and long hours at the bookstore – ringing at the cash register, looking for obscure or in-demand titles. Mark Twain was this year’s sleeper success and difficult to get hold of, Cleopatra and Keith Richards were more predictably popular and easy to find. (Imagining the three of them – together for a fascinating and funny chat, delighted me.) Customers sure the book they absolutely must have because it is the perfect gift, follow me about the store, desperately. Cynically, I can already see this same book, sometimes with wrapping paper still attached, coming back to us. ‘Reason for return: Unwanted’, the cash register will ring again and again through the next few weeks.
But the holidays are almost done (only New Years – less an event for books) and today, I do not have to do anything. There is a daunting pile of laundry and in the refrigerator, only enough left-overs for another day or so – but no presents to buy, no major meals to prepare for. I feel free! After writing this, I may even get back under the flannel sheets to read or sleep some more. Oh, joy! This feeling began yesterday afternoon as soon as I returned home from work (the dread day of returns) and pulled into the slippery driveway. I drove home so slowly through the treacherous, slushy streets, cheering on my little Subaru each time we made it up or down another hill without spinning out. Settling into the couch in front of the fireplace as Rob vigilantly stoked the flames all evening, I read three days worth of newspapers and a bit of my book between dozing and listening to the howling winds, grateful for our good walls and Rob’s amazing winterizing techniques.
Today, I get to stay home. As if to underline the point, the snow is still swirling, the roads from my window look totally white: I am snowed-in. Oh, bliss! Not even the dog is asking for a walk yet.