6:30 a.m. I'm waiting for coffee, waiting for the woodstove to start emitting heat, waiting to be in the mood to keep reading Pamuk's Snow. I can only seem to read this novel in tiny bursts, so it's taking me forever to finish it. There's no particular reason to be up this early: the boys don't need to be forked out of bed and sent to school, and I have no hysterical urge to start cooking for my dinner party.

Outside the sky is very dark but the snow on the trees is beginning to glow. The big poodle on the hearthrug is still asleep. The kitchen clock ticks, and I have a small pain, a vague sensation, as if I may be getting ready to start writing something again; but what or when that might be remains mysterious. 

from Psalm 137

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. 

We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.

For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.

How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?

Time to snap out of this not-writing-yet melancholy and revert, as promised, to the topic of dinner preparation. This morning, after I feed the barn animals and haul in firewood, fresh orange gelatin is first on my list of things to make. And if you've never eaten homemade Jello, now is the time. It's a lovely delicate way to end a big meal, it's easy to prepare, and, better yet, it's not the color of Legos.