I thought this morning, rather ironically, that the 21st century is not what I expected. I was thinking this as I was lugging an arm load of firewood into the downstairs laundry room, bundled into Grandma's old gray corduroy coat and my bright green snowshoes.
I removed the lids from the cooking surface of our new "boxwood" stove and fed it two more small logs, taking the poker and stirring up the hot coals. It made me realize how arbitrary man-made time is. I very well could have been a housewife on a cold January morning in 1900, rather than 2000.
I made two loaves of sour-dough bread this morning, letting it rise downstairs next to the warmth of the wood fire in the cook-stove.