February

I was hoping to open the curtains this morning to an overnight snowfall. It had been promised - and it’s been bitterly cold - but there was just more of the same: fog.

I do like the fog, and the dankness, but a flurry of snow would be a nice way to welcome in this new month. It might still arrive. In the meantime, I’m grateful that our five trips to Leeds are done. The last one was on Monday and we took the train, and ate Polish cheesecake from the market, visited the Corn Exchange and bought frivolous things. All suitably celebratory activities. I have new pairs of earrings, a helix piercing (I had to mark the end of my treatment with something out of the ordinary), a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and some little things for the kitchen from Anthropologie.

I’d wanted to take my camera but it’s pretty hefty. Cue a bit of research on smaller models. They’re not cheap. I might start a savings fund. The increase in my bookshop hours in spring will help with that…

This morning I had to go down to the pharmacy, and took a little walk while I was out. Looking for green shoots (snowdrops, actually) and in need of some fresh air.

Despite the greyness and the murk, the sky was loud with birdsong and there was a sense of things stirring both below and above the earth. I found lots of drifts of snowdrops - many on the brink of opening - as well as a few early primroses and the odd hellebore.

It was good to be walking and observing. I’ve been feeling a bit out of sorts emotionally (probably something to do with the past six months’ worth of surgeries and treatments) The physical trauma is one thing, but I’m keen to just move on, count my blessings and live life as usual. Yet perhaps I haven’t really acknowledged the significance of it all. Placing too much emphasis on stoicism. Minimising, feeling guilty of admitting it’s been A Lot because my prognosis is good and things were caught early and dealt with swiftly. Many people aren’t as fortunate.

For example: I received an email from school yesterday. The Sports Council students have organised a Neon Disco for tonight to raise funds, and ‘would love to have as many students there as possible to dance the night away’. There’s table tennis and face painting, and neon everything, and Joe and his friends have absolutely no interest in going. So they’re not.

It makes me feel a bit choked that they might not get much of a turnout. I know it’ll probably appeal to the younger ones, but it just seems so earnest and these lovely kids are trying to raise money for their school - oh, what’s wrong with me? The whole thing actually kept me awake last night.

So yes, up and down a bit. I’m pretty sure the medication isn’t helping.

And it’s now all about finding comfort in simple things. Nothing new there, but we’ve amped up the bread making like there’s no tomorrow. I know bread (and carbohydrates in general) have been demonised for a long time. But it’s the staff of life, isn’t it?

I like the process of mixing, and proving, and kneading and baking. And buttering or drizzling or dipping. Long may it continue in this house.

Tonight, we shop. I usually find it a bit of a chore but I’m actually looking forward to picking up some interesting ingredients as well as more humble things like baking potatoes and what we now term ‘liquid gold’: olive oil.

Along with bread making, and reading, and making plans for all kinds of things, I’m finding solace in TV.

Yes, I’m rewatching Howards’ Way. The mohair knits! The skinny belts, the statement necklaces and the pastel colours!

It’s hysterical that I still remember most of the characters’ names from 1985, when it first aired. I’d watch it with my mum (being absolutely clueless about the storylines) and then discuss the outfits with my classmates the following day.

Yes, it’s silly and dated but I cannot stop watching it. Send help.

The bookshop was reasonably quiet yesterday. The forecast of the Snow That Never Came might have had something to do with it, plus just the general winter blahs keeping people at home. I took the opportunity to update the Valentines display (poetry, recipe books, stationery and Klimt’s The Kiss immortalised in a jigsaw).

Much of my shift was spent tidying, and arranging, and catching up with some of our regulars. The system we use for pretty much everything was playing up, and by some miracle I managed to navigate my way out of a bit of a situation with the delivery.

But I had soup, which was warming and delicious, and plenty of tea and coffee, and there’s a big pile of catalogues and brochures for the coming year from various stationery companies and publishers. One or two were things of beauty, like those from Museums & Galleries.

It’s good to slow down after the pre and post-Christmas rush. There are things around the house I want to do too (including a thorough clean) but now is not the time.

Early February is for rest and reflection, for making plans and staying warm on the still-dark days and evenings. March will be the real beginning.

Until then, my ambitions are small. Bake an apple crumble and a marmalade cake, and more bread. Keep an eye on the garden. Stay in touch with friends, with the intention of getting together when we all re-emerge. Read books. Watch Howards’ Way (I know, I know. As a student, my addiction to Lovejoy was the cause of much hilarity. Things don’t change that much).

And write. Always.

February is a good month. It’s short, and it offers us a last chance to really embrace winter before spring steps in. It’s about pots of tea and hot baths, heavy blankets and dreams of snow. Maybe it’ll arrive tonight…

Thank you for reading.

Sarah.