year's ends, knives and egg yolks

tomorrow the lens of the days will constrict to its smallest aperture, then, with a sigh, it will begin to open back up. this eclipse of dark has always stunned me, happening as it does at the exact moment when one loses hope about the lack of daylight. it is a small offer, yes, but not a meager one. stretched out minutes of daylight hearten everyone, especially growing things.

on a different note, today the air in the valley was so terrible it could probably be dipped through with a spoon. going down on a few errands i was stunned to see a bank of fog heave up in the canyon and slowly, sickly, turn from pearly gray to moss brown. cyclists ticked by and so did runners, i sneezed fitfully in the passenger seat and grimaced. we were grateful to escape the western smog for the sharp blue of the eastern summit but were dismayed to find the car covered in salty grime- from merely driving about.

following the ascent, everyone felt he deserved a traipse in the shattering cold.

i guess this pinnacle of the year always stirs me. for one, because it asks us to consider what we can leave behind- following the solstice there is a shift in light from stoicism to abundance (or at least, the promise). so what can we give up? give away? ignore? release? cut off? 

most years i take the tassel off my braid as an offering. i write a list of things that do nothing to nourish or embolden me. i eat sweet oranges and bitter chocolate and put my face in the light for as long as i can. and the following day i carry on. in some ways, part of the rejoicing at the widening of the light lens on the 21st of December is allowing oneself to give up on the things we clench in our back teeth during our sleep or the habits we insulate ourselves with that keep us from the bracing whip of bravery. in part the solstice is a kind of New Year's without the glitz or spangles, without the need for a date, the champagne or the pinning down of festive plans. the solstice is a quiet window opening and then closing that simply lets us let out so we make room for letting more in. what things can anyone hope for?

i have small fears about changing routines, about larger Plans for being Grown Up, finances, bald snow tires, thin ponytails and loneliness.

but, wiping my hands of them lets me open up my cache for new notebooks to fill, new books to read, new things to let rise under a tea towel in an oiled bowl, confronting the small anxieties and putting on my telemark skis.

the Universe's generosity is a mixed blessing- rather like a shattered glass pane: no more window, but innumerable spangly diamonds in the wake. how very lucky.

oh! and also it's prime fodder for doing the things that heap up on lists but never get ticked off. and so, in the honor of that approaching day we got our knives sharpened! now we must get to chopping something proper.

also, an interesting article in this month's edible wasatch: caffe latte con uovo (yes, coffee with milk and egg would be the translation.) bravery demands we try it:

1 egg yolk

1 tablespoon sugar

2 tablespoons coarsely ground coffee

4 ounces whole milk

heat the coffee and milk together in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. ideally this should take about 4 minutes and the coffee should be just about to simmer. in a small bowl beat the egg yolk and the sugar together until the mixture turns pale yellow. slowly strain a splash of coffee into the bowl with the sugar-yolk mixture [to temper] while beating vigorously with a fork. continue beating while slowly straining in the rest of the coffee to create a frothy, warming, jumpstart to a cold morning.  (-- Carole Fontana, Issue No. 7 * Winter 2012 page 43)