"I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything."
Anne Sexton, in a letter to W.D. Snodgrass on November 28, 1958.
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...
At the end of a very challenging week, I'm tired. Not speechless, but not particularly able to concoct a story, recount a fable, or state a position. I'm tempted to make no entry in WPF. But, this moment is exactly the kind of time I should push myself - to see if I can create something - anything - out of thin air.
It's for the brain exercise. For the challenge. I don't want to do it. But, I'm stubborn.
We had a lot of weather this week. We, the residents of Highlands Ranch, Colorado; and we, the people of the United States of America. From Saturday to Saturday, almost two feet of the white stuff fell on our driveway. As recently as Friday afternoon, as the temperature managed to reach up into the 40's again, we still had 12" white borders all around the concrete sidewalks.
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens....
Meredith thought she had developed bronchitis - she's so rarely sick, she doesn't know a common virus when she gets one. A trip to the Student Health Center yielded prescriptions, a reason to go off-campus to eat, and an upbeat spirit.
I thought I had sinusitis. I so frequently get it, I almost think I have it all the time. Next to the Zyrtec tablet I swallow daily, year-round, I found what is clearly a Wonder Drug: Sudafed Triple Action. A pain reliever, nasal decongestant, and expectorant. My life is likely changed forever. I didn't have sinusitis. I worked 24 hours the last two days of the week, ending on a relative high note.
Brown paper packages tied up with strings....
I'm not depressed by weather - moving to Colorado in 2002 and re-engaging in four seasons made me stronger. I don't apologize for not driving on frozen streets, but I can drive on six inches of slush with the best of them.
I chose not to do either this week, sequestering myself in my wonderful home on purpose. I know a time when I would have felt that I had missed something by not being out and about. But, I think those days may be over. Nothing left to prove? Maybe. Nothing left to do? Never. But, I have more ways to do the things I want to do now than I did in the 20th Century.
Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels...
Is this feeling the dreaded and awaited aging process? Maybe. A consequence of social networking? Naturally. A seasonal predilection? Likely.
My biggest challenge is suppressing my frustration when, within a month following the demise of daylight savings time, I realize that "day" has always been defined in my mind as "daylight." On those days when "day" ends at about 4:30, when the sun falls behind the Front Range and disappears into the Rocky Mountains, I am at my most sullen. It's not that I can't do "day" things in the dark. It's just that the "day" seems over. Did I get my fair share of "day" hours for my "day" work?
Sunlight deprivation. Isn't there a vitamin pill for that?
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles...
I'm not very sentimental during the winter months. That's just wrong, isn't it, what with Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and Valentine's Day all wedged into this section of the nocturnal doings. How can that be?
A complex world - with wars, revolutions, disappearing fortunes, incessant unemployment, and all the uncertainty that goes with all of that - seems to be reducing to me to appreciate micro-seconds of good health and good fortune in a very different way. I'm still willing to stop and smell the roses (a figure of speech, here in the high alpine garden of 80126). But, I'm more about moving on. Progress. Next steps. The next move. The hope of a new day.
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings...
I've never thought I was one to wallow in trivia. But, I am thankful for very little things and massively big things now -- all at the same time.
I believe I enjoy a very long list of those very little things. I KNOW that I own a very long list of very big things. I'm not the type that weeps at the sight of the first snow every year. I'm more into appreciating that moment when everyone in the household returns safely to the house after having to commute in it. Does that make me a stone? Can I be both a cock-eyed optimist and a surly pragmatist?
Time it was, and what a time it was; it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you.
Anne Sexton, in a letter to W.D. Snodgrass on November 28, 1958.
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...
At the end of a very challenging week, I'm tired. Not speechless, but not particularly able to concoct a story, recount a fable, or state a position. I'm tempted to make no entry in WPF. But, this moment is exactly the kind of time I should push myself - to see if I can create something - anything - out of thin air.
It's for the brain exercise. For the challenge. I don't want to do it. But, I'm stubborn.
We had a lot of weather this week. We, the residents of Highlands Ranch, Colorado; and we, the people of the United States of America. From Saturday to Saturday, almost two feet of the white stuff fell on our driveway. As recently as Friday afternoon, as the temperature managed to reach up into the 40's again, we still had 12" white borders all around the concrete sidewalks.
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens....
Meredith thought she had developed bronchitis - she's so rarely sick, she doesn't know a common virus when she gets one. A trip to the Student Health Center yielded prescriptions, a reason to go off-campus to eat, and an upbeat spirit.
I thought I had sinusitis. I so frequently get it, I almost think I have it all the time. Next to the Zyrtec tablet I swallow daily, year-round, I found what is clearly a Wonder Drug: Sudafed Triple Action. A pain reliever, nasal decongestant, and expectorant. My life is likely changed forever. I didn't have sinusitis. I worked 24 hours the last two days of the week, ending on a relative high note.
Brown paper packages tied up with strings....
I'm not depressed by weather - moving to Colorado in 2002 and re-engaging in four seasons made me stronger. I don't apologize for not driving on frozen streets, but I can drive on six inches of slush with the best of them.
I chose not to do either this week, sequestering myself in my wonderful home on purpose. I know a time when I would have felt that I had missed something by not being out and about. But, I think those days may be over. Nothing left to prove? Maybe. Nothing left to do? Never. But, I have more ways to do the things I want to do now than I did in the 20th Century.
Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels...
Is this feeling the dreaded and awaited aging process? Maybe. A consequence of social networking? Naturally. A seasonal predilection? Likely.
My biggest challenge is suppressing my frustration when, within a month following the demise of daylight savings time, I realize that "day" has always been defined in my mind as "daylight." On those days when "day" ends at about 4:30, when the sun falls behind the Front Range and disappears into the Rocky Mountains, I am at my most sullen. It's not that I can't do "day" things in the dark. It's just that the "day" seems over. Did I get my fair share of "day" hours for my "day" work?
Sunlight deprivation. Isn't there a vitamin pill for that?
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles...
I'm not very sentimental during the winter months. That's just wrong, isn't it, what with Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and Valentine's Day all wedged into this section of the nocturnal doings. How can that be?
A complex world - with wars, revolutions, disappearing fortunes, incessant unemployment, and all the uncertainty that goes with all of that - seems to be reducing to me to appreciate micro-seconds of good health and good fortune in a very different way. I'm still willing to stop and smell the roses (a figure of speech, here in the high alpine garden of 80126). But, I'm more about moving on. Progress. Next steps. The next move. The hope of a new day.
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings...
I've never thought I was one to wallow in trivia. But, I am thankful for very little things and massively big things now -- all at the same time.
I believe I enjoy a very long list of those very little things. I KNOW that I own a very long list of very big things. I'm not the type that weeps at the sight of the first snow every year. I'm more into appreciating that moment when everyone in the household returns safely to the house after having to commute in it. Does that make me a stone? Can I be both a cock-eyed optimist and a surly pragmatist?
Time it was, and what a time it was; it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you.
1 comment:
I like your thoughts about being sequestered in your home. I also do this, and like you stated, it's not for lack of something to do. I can happily stay in for 5 or more days at a stretch and still have more to do than there are hours in the day--and I'm not talking about laundry either. I also think it may have something to do with age--I'm 57 and there's not much 'out there' that exictes me enough to put aside my writing, art or creative pursuits tangible and intangible. Of course, there's also not much to do around our neck of the woods, especially in the winter. I could shovel snow, or slip on ice, but I think I'll pass.
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