No, I don't have sled dogs, but that would certainly make it easier to get around Minneapolis today. So would snow shoes, which I also don't have. Right now we're in the midst of what is, if not an actual blizzard, pretty close to it. And about half an hour ago I decided to venture out into it on foot in order to pick up a package of ours that was delivered to the wrong house about three blocks away.

Now, I knew driving there would be foolish (I'd already gotten the care stuck about twelve times just moving it from one side of the street to the other so the plows could get through), but I thought walking three blocks would be a cinch. And it kind of was, at least until I hit the snow drifts that came up over my knees. And when I walked back with the snow and wind in my face that truly was close to blinding. But, man, was it fun!

Yes, there were the five cars I passed that were stuck in the street (one of which I helped push. Three of the others already had helpers and the fourth was just left abandoned -- still is, as a matter of fact, just in front of our house), and the snow was cold and it took a while to get to where I was going, but at the same time it felt like I was an arctic explorer or some prospector in the Yukon, tramping through the snow piles and making sure I didn't lose my way. The snow is falling fast, and the wind is whipping it everywhere in huge clouds of white fury. The sidewalks were nearly unnavigable -- even the ones that had been shoveled earlier in the day -- so I had to walk down the car tracks in the street, leaving them only to walk around the cars that were stuck. Those of us who were out all had huge stupid grins on our faces as we braved the elements, thrilled at the sheer joy of being alive and out in the world.

Back home, in the warmth, I looking at our backyard and at the snow still falling and the piles and mounds and drifts growing steadily throughout the day. Here and there little eddies of snowflakes swirl viciously through the air like whirling dervishes and occasionally sheets of white nearly obscure my view out the window entirely. The storm is beautiful out there, in all its chaotic fury. Watching it, at times it feels like it's picking up my very soul and lifting it to the sky and heavens, twirling it through the firmament like a bird dancing through thermals in the air.

The sun is shining, the windows are open, and the last bits of snow are nearly gone from the back yard. A Red Sox spring training game plays on the computer as I fold laundry and boys play quietly yet enthusiastically nearby. In a few minutes, we'll be heading out to the library, and then we'll return home to ride bikes and enjoy the afternoon outdoors. It's not spring yet, but damn if it doesn't feel like it's already here.

Last week while towing the boys, I was passed by nearly everyone on the Greenway. Today as I was towing Éiden, I pulled away from a couple of twenty-something, hardcore cycling-dudes while heading up a steep hill. Then on the down-slope and a straightaway, I left them even further behind until they finally disappeared from my view.

Today Arie was given the choice between staying at his brother's preschool (which is always his choice when he doesn't have school but Éiden does) or spending the morning with me. I was prepared for the inevitable, "I'll stay with my brother," but instead he said he wanted to go with me! So the two of us went to the Minnesota Historical Society (his choice) and spent our time looking at old vehicles and trying to assemble artillery shells (as part of an exhibit called "Minnesota's Greatest Generation"), and had a great time together.

I haven't been posting lately because I really haven't had a whole lot to say, but I do now:

For the first time, a friend from school invited Arie to her birthday party!

It is most definitely the best news I've had today.

Because on the first day she got them, I stepped into the kitchen to see her grinning from ear to ear as she leapt from the sink all the way to the other wall in a single bound, even though she was sick with a death-bringing cold.

Because even on her very worst days, she is able to walk from one end of the house to the other without once falling, stumbling or having to stop and regain her balance.

Because she snuck up to me and whispered, almost as if it were a secret, that she could dance with them.

Because after I heard her say that, I put on a Sam and Dave LP and she ran to the living room to bump and groove to the sounds of "Hold On, I'm Comin'."

Because after all that, she beamed with joy and delight, flashing a smile that I don't see often enough and that I haven't seen in some time, thrilled to be alive and able to dance again like nobody's business.

That's why I love haddayr's new crutches.

Being 38, I, like the rest of my generation, am a child of Watergate and what I mean by that, is that I've never known a time when I didn't distrust our presidents or our government. I've heard countless members of my parents' generation talk about how, before Nixon, that wasn't the case. It seems hard to believe.

I can be horribly optimistic at times, but, even in those times, there is still this sneaking cynicism that colors my view of the world. And the changing of presidents does nothing to diminish that. Today is different, though.

I have no idea how Barack Obama will do as our president. I have no idea if he will ever come even close to fulfilling the hopes, dreams and expectations of the people who, like me, voted for him. But all the same, there really is something different about today's inauguration. Watching the people in the audience, listening to the news commentators and seeing the our new president sworn in, there is this overriding feeling of change and hope and optimism that I really can't ever remember seeing before.

Like I said, Barack Obama may never be the president so many of us hope for but I just don't find myself thinking about that right now. It's hard to stay cynical when 147 years after the Emancipation Proclamation, 55 years after Brown v. Board of Education, and 44 years after the Voting Rights Act, you've seen a Black man finally sworn in as President of the United States.

Holding it in my hand makes it seem so much more  real than seeing it on a screen or holding in a memory stick.

 Back in April I started writing this thing.  Before that I'd started it a few times only ever writing a few pages and then abandoning it.  Before that, years before, in fact, I'd been writing it in my head while showering, walking the dog, riding my bike, washing the dishes, watching the kids.  I kept seeing scenes and memories of my past and feeling like I should write about them but I was always too scared.  What if I started and it turned out I had absolutely nothing to say?  In April I kind of had this break through (well, actually it was more of a break down) where I realized that if I didn't start writing it (or start writing something) I probably never would and I'd always regret it.

At first the writing was a little difficult.  I could sit and write for maybe an hour or two, at the most.  If I tried to write the next day I just couldn't so I'd give myself a couple days off and then write again.  I slowly moved along like that until I could write more  in one sitting than before and eventually I could write in consecutive days.  It felt like getting back into shape after not having exercised for fourteen years.

I'm really amazed at how quickly the writing finally came.  I really enjoyed writing this first draft.  There were days when all I could do was smile because I was actually writing again and I looked forward to getting the kids in bed so that I could sit down and get to it again.

I have never written anything even remotely this long before.  At times I'm just kind of flabbergasted that I even did it at all.  When the kid behind the counter handed my my two boxes filled with paper and words I couldn't help smiling as I took them and walked out to my car where I opened a box  and pulled out a ream of paper filled with my words.  I have a lot of work in front of me in terms of revisions but for right now I'm just so incredibly happy.  A little over three months ago I sat on my bed crying because I thought I'd never write or paint or make music again.  Now I'm sitting with the first draft of my book.

I really am a very private person, as haddayr can easily attest to.  However, today is our sixteenth anniversary and I feel I should say something about that.  I really have no idea how I found her or why she ever took an interest in me (if it hadn't been for Haddayr almost literally throwing herself at my feet, I'd probably still be sitting somewhere, eighteen years later, wondering, "Gee, I wonder if she likes me?"  I really am very good at missing obvious clues, hints, and out and out statements, like being bribed with chocolate and lemonade, being asked to lunch, going to a planned group outing to Coney Island that mysteriously turned into just the two of us, and being told, "You know, Jan, I really like you," or something similar that Haddayr can probably give you the exact words for since even then I somehow completely missed it).  My only explanation is that it seems to be dumb glorious luck that either of those two things happened (and even more fortuitous that it was both).  I really couldn't have hoped, even in my wildest dreams, to have found someone so perfect for me.  Despite her gruff, flippant exterior (which I do love), Haddayr is one of the most loving, caring people I know (though she'll probably be pissed now that I said it).  She has never hesitated to support me in whatever I do, no matter how crazy she thought it was.  She really is wonderful and I truly feel blessed to be in her life.

I just got a phone call from his teacher telling me that he has only had one day in which he reached a three (at the beginning of the month and it was at the very end of what had otherwise been a good day) and, coming on the heels  of such a hard April, she wanted to give him some recognition.  I am so proud of him!

ETA:  Months back, in October, Arie told Haddayr and I over dinner that his plan was to be Citizen of the Month for October.  That was then pushed ahead to November, and December, and so on.  Neither of us said anything to him but our feeling was that there was no way our son could ever control his behavior at school for a whole month.  As much as it pained us to admit, neither of us believed he would ever be Citizen of the Month.  I'm so happy he proved us wrong.