JANUARY

". . . whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul. . . ."

--Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

If you're wondering why Thursday's Child is running late today, look outside . . . if you live in the northern part of the northern hemisphere, you probably have snow, or ice, or freezing drizzle/mist--maybe all of the above.

That's what we have here in NE Indiana.

As you readers know, Thursday's Child tries to celebrate . . . whatever. I have to confess--celebration in January requires a lot of effort. I have to struggle with a feeling of a "damp, drizzly January in my soul" (apologies to Mr. Melville).

I don't mind snow and even wind. But I draw the line at ice. That keeps me inside.

Charlie Brown...my alter-ego

Now you're probably wondering why I whine about a little ice that keeps me from going out and about. Well--#1, I don't know how to ice skate. #2, my vehicle is the automotive equivalent of "a hog on ice." And #3, I can sew/knit/read/watch movies/nap only so long.

This is the second day this week I couldn't get to the Y. I may have to start doing laps around my rooms.

[A big ginger cat just padded across the street. Didn't slip or slide one bit. How can he do that? Does he have little suction cups on his paws?]

Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes, celebration.

January in the Palmer Family is known as Birthday Month. Or, if it isn't, it should be. We have six birthdays, stretching from January 3rd to the 31st. High concentration in the last nine days of the month.

We birthday people live rather scattered around the Midwest, so there's no big family party for birthdays--we save those get-togethers for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

But I'm rather pushed to get five birthday greetings out on time: two grandsons, two granddaughters-in-law, one great-granddaughter. I'm the sixth one. Or if you go by age, I'm the first.

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So today, near the end of January, I celebrate the lives of the five people related to me who share January as their birth month. I give thanks for each one of them, from the 3-year-old to the 30-somethings.

May they never grow bored with life, despite January's damp, drizzly efforts.



Filled feeders yesterday