February Delights

Even a short month can hold delight in every day. That is, if you seek it out. Writing "Today's delights" at the top of a dedicated space on the journal page is a bit like picking up a fresh piece of stationery, getting a nice pen, and writing "Dear Person I Care About" at the top of the paper. (Sidebar: This is a thing people do still actually do, and sending or receiving a letter definitely counts as a delight.)

That is to say, once you've started and you've put it down in writing, that blank spot waits for you to fill it with something.

Early this month I finished reading the delightful book Things to Look Forward To: 52 Large and Small Joys for Today and Every Day, written and illustrated by Sophie Blackall. The inspiration for the book came out of the earliest days of the COVID era (which we're still in, by the way, along with all the other overlapping eras that create a deep need for small delights in our days). She suggests writing our own lists of 52 things to look forward to, or things that bring us joy (or delight). That's one per week, and surely you can manage to find delight at least once a week.

I build a list of far more than 52 things every month, a few at a time. Some delights definitely come up again and again. I "reappreciate" coffee and good food and chocolate again and again, flowers and trees, sunshine and seasons, birds and mosses, hugs and belly laughs, my body reaching up in yoga, our home of four years and the way we've made it more ours, changing weather, shifting seasons, and the night sky. All right there, gifting me with fresh delight every time I pay attention.

February delights:

1. Good progress on a new jigsaw puzzle
2. Ordering a tin of Cougar Gold cheese as a gift for family who work for the federal government
3. The spinning windcatcher in our front yard rotating fast, twinkling in the sun
4. Snow on the ground when I got up
5. Mesmerizing flakes drifting down past evergreen boughs tipped with white
6. Satisfying ping of canning lids
7. Rich flavor of tayberry jam
8. Bright sweetness of raspberry jam
9. Winey depth of blackberry plum preserves
10. Sitting down after something like 7 or 8 hours of canning
11. Snow frosting everything
12. A storyteller's skill
13. Arriving at the headquarters exactly when two coworkers got there and all of us waving as we walked towards each other
14. Knitting in a meeting--tons of progress, beautiful colors
15. Two couples walking our neighborhood loop at different times, holding hands
16. One of these women saying to me as I left the housing wearing a big teal wrap, "I love that color!"
17. Walking fast in the cold on a downtown sidewalk feeling as if I were flying
18. One of the students bringing ginger cookies to improv class
19. Laughing
20. Waking to a snow-covered world
21. The sound of rain on the roof when I don't have to go out in it
22. Sweet and salty pickled cherries in yogurt with almonds
23. Blue sky peeking out
24. Lush flavors of mushroom soup I made
25. Birds twittering
26. Having all that counter space to do lots of cooking
27. How much light our living room holds on a cold, sunny day
28. Ducks paddling at the shore as waves rolled in
29. Mossy roof of a tiny sign kiosk with a jaunty fern growing out of it
30. Fresh zing of homemade raspberry and tayberry jams
31. Flurry of jays' cries high in the trees as I listened to a podcast interview with adrienne maree brown talking about connecting with the natural world
32. Curving up in Warrior 1
33. Buttery-good mushroom soup with oyster crackers
34. Hot bath
35. Walking with my sweetie
36. Moss-covered tree posed like a dancer
37. My sweetie describing how he'll fix the hummingbird feeder to make it nicer for them to land on with their tiny feet—such sweetness in that thought
38. The beautiful kitchen light fixture my sweetie made
39. Being inside warm and dry when cold rain is pouring down
40. My sweetie making a new bigger platform for Tiggs to perch on so he can watch kitchen action while not on the island or range hood!
41. Seeing Jupiter in the sky from my bedroom window, then Rigel and Sirius
42. Birds in the tree and on bushes doing their bird thing
43. Quiet sense of home stuff moving along while I work: washer and dryer humming and chugging
44. Printer putting out actual page, not weird tiny symbols and gobbledygook
45. Black-capped chickadee, perky on the suet cage
46. Finding the credit card, ID, and transit cards that were hiding in a backpack after a trip
47. Felting with wool for the first time, to fill a small couple of holes in a favorite blue wool jacket
48. A nearly full moon shining in the early morning darkness
49. Morning sun's rays shooting through tall pines
50. Riding my bike downhill
51. Full moon in the night sky
52. Venus shining over the neighborhood
53. Sun's warmth on a cold walk
54. Softness of Tiggs' fur
55. Holding my sweetie's hand on a walk
56. Spicy tingle of Bengal Spice tea
57. Seeing 3 other people on bikes as I rode to the office on a very cold morning
58. Driver who waited in the slip lane for me to bike past uphill, then waved and smiled when I waved at him
59. Softly falling snow
60. Energy of an in-person meeting
61. Little ferns growing out of the moss on the Dr. Seuss tree outside the living room window
62. Freshly baked bran muffins with melted butter
63. Speedy help from the data/GIS whiz on my work team
64. Finishing slides that are the right length
65. Sweet potato fries with garlic aioli
66. My body's curve as I reach to the sky in yoga
67. Warmth of Tiggs on my legs
68. Fresh homemade oatmeal cookies
69. Rain, gentle on the roof
70. Beautiful results of framing a big puzzle I started over a year ago and finally finished
71. Insistent train whistle in the distance
72. Hot fresh biscuits with butter and local honey
73. How great the kitchen counters look (new, after a big remodeling project)
74. Birds swooping joyously from fence to bush to feeder to tree and back around
75. Being outside in fresh air
76. Bright gold tall yolks of fresh local eggs
77. Satisfaction of pruned raspberry and tayberry bushes
78. Not needing my coat on a walk
79. Mossy sculptures in the woods composed of tree limbs and stumps and trunks
80. Feeling good about finishing a set of slides I need to present to a legislative committee
81. Belly laughs
82. Bright yellow leaf on the path in the nearby forested park
83. "Spread Kindness" on the display sign on the #21 bus
84. Creamy mushroom soup with lots of paprika, eaten fresh after making with oyster crackers
85. Frogs' chorus in the night
86. Crocuses poking up out of a mossy planting strip
87. The deep cushion of moss, not grass, in that planting strip
88. Night chorus of frogs bellowing for love
89. Tiggs playing with an old toy I got out that he hasn't seen in a while, pouncing again and again
90. Smell of wood smoke on a walk
91. Walking with my sweetie
92. Sitting in a coffee shop/bakery with the hum of people
93. Assyrian flavors in lemon labneh, roasted cauliflower steak, zoug
94. Tiny purple flower blooming by the sidewalk
95. Sleeping in, warm and cozy
96. Trying a new recipe that's a keeper
97. Sea salt dark chocolate truffle
98. Coziness
99. Rain on the roof, a steady drumming
100. Flowers blooming on the capitol campus
101. Unexpected scent of lily of the valley on a downtown street
102. Homemade tomato jam and Cougar Gold on crackers
103. Birds twittering on the suet cage
104. Tiggs making that chittering sound from his tower seat by the window where he can see those birds
105. Bird going for a ride on the wind spinner in the yard
106. Hearing a barred owl hooting in the rhododendron park midday
107. The way the blue paint I picked for the bedroom picks up colors in a painting and a framed jigsaw puzzle hanging on the wall
108. Perfect timing to roll through stop signs on uphill stops riding home in the dark (which, by the way, is legal in Washington thanks to Safety Stop legislation enacted in 2020)
109. Biking at night
110. Spring! Blue sky and sun! 60 degrees!
111. Trees budding
112. Flowers blooming
113. Calls of a jay
114. Tiggs fully stretched out in the sunshine (on my puzzle table)
115. Tiggs doing his "roll and scroll" on the living room rug, tipping his head back to look at us, beaming happiness and chirping/talking
116. Glorious warmth of the sun!
117. Flowers blooming in so many places
118. The way the rust orange of a thrift store jacket went perfectly with a top, scarf and hat I already owned
119. Taking a selfie with my mushroom "pinecone" stump friend just because
120. Beautiful glassy water in the bay, ducks floating here and there
121. Stars and planets in the night sky, and being able to see those overhead in our neighborhood

Putting this list together tells me even more about the themes and delightful resonance than I originally thought of when I started the post. Listing them chronologically lets me recognize the way I tune into seasonal shifts. 

And so many! I don't aim for a specific number per day since I can't force delight. It just comes, every single day, as long as I expect it.

Reading this list makes me feel delight-full. What's on your list?

Related Reading

• January Delights
• Riding Always Makes Me Happy. Yes, Always.
• Go Ahead. Make My Day.
• A Solstice Post: Gifts I Give Myself by Riding in the Winter
• 30 Days of Biking, Day 30: Happy!
• Walking in February: Of Woods and Water
• A Year of Poems: February
• Reruns: February Posts Worth Revisiting

Winter Solstice 2024

In the Northern Hemisphere where I live, winter clamps down cold and dark. Wet, too, now that I'm in western Washington, and if it isn't actually raining it's cloudy or overcast. But then, that last condition is pretty common from October to June, according to a very detailed description of Olympia's weather.

Winter here is more like a long, gray slog than a magical season. It isn't like what we used to experience in Spokane with icicles hanging from the eaves, snow deep enough to build snow caves and enough on the ground to have a good snowball tussle when our kids were younger. 

And yet, and yet.... We have the turn of the seasons. We have the transition from the heat of summer to autumn's cool temperatures and blazing leaves. We have the closing down, the retreat into waiting and stewarding our energies, that comes when the light grows shorter and the darkness longer, longer, until we reach the longest night. The earth has tilted away from Sol, which rides low in the sky.

My ancestry is primarily from England and northwestern Europe, followed by Scotland, Germanic Europe, Wales, Denmark, and a bit of Ireland. In other words, my ancestors lived even farther north than my current latitude. My genes have survived through many, many long, dark winters. I'm good at this.

This is a quiet season, but not a dead one. As poet M.K. Creel writes in "Before the Longest Night" we can "Take inventory of what is becoming—". Seeds lie underground awaiting the signals of temperature and light to awaken, insects go dormant, trees deepen their root systems because they're not expending energy on leaves, blossoms, fruits and nuts. We human animals can learn from this and take this time to rest and restore.

Taking care of ourselves, taking care of others, matters more now than ever. The winter solstice can serve as a reminder to reflect on time passing, on our lives we live moment by moment, day by day, on tending our interior as well as our exterior selves. It can serve as our personal New Year's Eve, the pause between one season and the next.

How might you care for your body today? You might feed it lovingly with good food. You might move it around, gently or vigorously, indoors in the warmth or outside in the cold. How about a walk or a bike ride? Years ago when we lived in snowy Spokane I wrote A Solstice Post: Gifts I Give Myself by Riding in the Winter. Perhaps this is the day you commit or recommit to trying a practice like yoga. You might give the body you inhabit every day a nice, long nap or a hot bath.

For your brain or your heart, maybe you'd like poetry about the winter solstice that I collected a couple of years ago.

How about your senses? Last year for the winter solstice I compiled a selection of ways you can experience the winter solstice through your senses (and more poems). I'll add the Winter Solstice playlist on Spotify from the All We Can Save Project.

For your spirit, I offer these readings, excerpted here with a link to the complete piece:

"Winter Solstice"

Ray McNeice

Late December grinds on down.

The sky stops, slate on slate,

scatters a cold light of snow

across a field of brittle weeds.

Interview with Ross Gay and reflections from Carrie Newcomer and Parker Palmer on The Growing Edge newsletter and podcast.

"Thank You"
Ross Gay

If you find yourself half naked

and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,

again, the earth's great, sonorous moan that says

you are the air of the now and gone, that says

all you love will turn to dust,

and will meet you there, do not

raise your fist. 

"On the Winter Solstice"
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Let’s reach toward each other

with gazes gentle

as midwinter sun—

with a seeing so generous

we can’t help but turn

toward the other

to let ourselves be seen.

"Winter Solstice"

Hilda Morely

It is from

the moon this cold travels

It is

the light of the moon that causes

this night reflecting distance in its own

light so coldly

(from one side of

the earth to the other)

A brief excerpt from a long and wonderful essay, "Burn Something Today"

Nina McLaughlin

"What now? Now it’s now it’s now it’s now and we are burning. Light the fire. We move through flames. We clutch hope in our palm like a tiny burning globe of snow. It’s painful, the flame of the snow of the hope that you will be okay and I will be okay and we will be okay, we will be here to see another season, to see, second by second, the light return to the world."

A beautiful gentle blessing from William Ayot on Philip Carr-Gomm's site, reproduced here in its entirety:

May the stars in their circling comfort and guide you.
May the great oak give you strength in troubled times.
May your hurts be healed and your soul be deepened
And in turning towards home, may you know you belong.