photo of Sun Dancer, detail

Last night, my husband informed me that I should quit with the posts about snow and dogs. Now, you might imagine I could take affront at such criticism (you know, if affront = emotional outburst whereupon pens and scissors and thick magazines were thrown in the general direction of said soothsayer).

Alas, that is not my way. I am simply not a hot-blooded pitta type personality. Nay, I am cursed with that frigid, aloof, temperament passed down by my Gallic ancestors through generations like so many pairs of silver chromosone candlesticks. Worse, I can always see logic and reason, no matter what my emotional response to a situation might be.

So, I sighed. My chest, already depressed, sunk lower in the face of this honest observation. I turned to look out the window and watched as a new storm rolled in with another heavy quilt of snow to drop on top of us. I looked down at my bare foot where Daisy was resting her cheek on my instep and, sighed again.

My appreciation for Russian novelists was at an all time high.

Now, before you assail my husband with slings and arrows in my defense, well, okay?go on, you can let him have a few, just a couple more?there, okay, that?s enough? I should say he is one of my biggest fans and he was offering constructive criticism. The problem is, I KNOW.

Share some stories, he said. That would liven things up.

Hmm, was pretty much all I said before we went to sit in front of the television where we watched two back-to-back spy thrillers Day of the Jackal and 3 Days of the Condor.

(Oh, Robert Redford in 3 Days of the Condor is just too yum-- this is one of my all-time favorite movies that never made it onto my top ten list-- in case you're wondering, there's probably another ten more. I can even tolerate Cliff Robertson?s head rug and Faye Dunaway who has always annoyed me. Why? Why do I not like Faye Dunaway? Please explain).

Went to bed.

This morning. A new month! The first day of a new month! Surely I could rally. So what if we got another 10 inches of snow that which shall not be named and it is still coming down. Surely I can come up with SOMETHING. ELSE. TO. TALK. ABOUT.

But, you guys? I can?t. I?m toast. I?m buried. It?s been like this since the first week of December and sure, I?m stoic and a homestead queen and able to take things one day at a time, you know, some of the time. But really? I am so done. And the sad thing is, I just can?t see when I am ever going to dig myself out of this place that I am in.

so, I am calling on the Sun Dancer.

My Indian spirit is a sun warrior. Always has been ever since I was a kid and read about how the Plains Indians would have warriors hang from a 16 foot pole by a piece of rawhide that was sewn under their breastbone for three days, whereupon they would be cut down and sent off on a vision quest. Nothing emblazoned itself on my mind more clearly.

Gimme a little sunblock to protect my neck, and I?m all over that.

So this morning, this first day of March 2008?I give you the "Sun Dancer". An artwork that belonged to my mother-in-law (another sun worshipper) that is made entirely of cut pieces of paper. My photos don?t do it justice.

But I love it?and I wish for us all? Sun Dancer power to come into our lives and blast it with energy and light.

Blessed be.

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