Cozy.
Right now, I am curled up on the couch with a blanket and my warmest wool socks. The tv is off. The Christmas lights are on. A fire is crackling merrily in the wood stove. And outside my window the world has turned to ice.

As I write, I am trying not to listen to the conspiratorial whispers coming from Santa’s Workshop (aka: the studio with a blanket pinned over the doorway) where Mr. Frantic and Girl Wonder are busy crafting a little something for me to open Christmas morning.
Earlier today it was our turn. Newt and I are sewing Daddy a new tie. We giggled over our choice of fabric, red with Bah Humbug! written on it. We just finished reading A Christmas Carol and my girl found the pre-changed Ebenezer to be oh-so-funny – I daresay, even more so than Spongebob. I am constantly amazed at who she is becoming. And I must admit, I frequently underestimate her. She can’t wait for me to read more Dickens to her.

But I was talking about the snow, or as the news refers to it: The Arctic Blast.

It had snowed every day for a week; then yesterday the freezing rain began. In our normally moderate climate that spells disaster. In fact, just now as I typed a major limb from the tree across the street, overburdened with ice, crashed to the ground. There will likely be many more to come. The roads are impossibly impassible. Even church was canceled today.

But we are home, warm and dry. Our freezer is stocked with plenty of food. The Christmas shopping is as done as it needs to be. What we don’t have, we can make. What we can’t make, we can do without.

We have all that we need, and all that we need is enough.