One Sunday

Yesterday afternoon I spent three hours outside playing in the snow. Something I haven't done in a decade probably. My husband, his two siblings, his brother's finacee, and his sister's son.

We made a fort. That turned into an igloo. That got a chimney. And a mini snowman sentinel.

I carved a mermaid in the snow, and gave her hair (ie sticks from the ditch). Got coloured water and made her tail green. Took pictures before she melted away.

We chased the dog around the igloo/garage/sculpture. My nephew (3 years old) would throw himself down, stomach first, into the fresh snow, and eat it. It would become bubblegum, or sometimes ice cream.

There was a slide, and a "crazy-carpet" thing (but better), which we would pile onto (two adults, or one adult and one child, or sometimes one adult and one poor puppy). We went down head-first, or standing up, or on our backs. Once my husband even climbed the garage and slid down the roof into a snow bank.

Then we piled inside, ate some nice warm seafood chowder, and played games until 11 pm. We drove back home in a mini snow storm that quieted down just as we pulled into the village. From our driveway, my husband could see the utility light he had left one in the barn. So we went together, in the hush of new snow and bright moonlight, to the barn. He had spent many hours cleaning up a section of it, and in that warm golden light it transformed into a magical place (one of many here at this house).

Last year, when we decided to move back "home", it was to relish these luxuries - a Sunday family visit & a home so enchanting it makes me jealous of myself. Love love love.