Are We There Yet?

Someone told me yesterday that the snow in march is only to be expected. She said that March to her was like a sulky adolescent. The days vary from cold damp to moments of blissful warm in the shelter of the south facing terrace pocketed between the porch's el and the two overly large arbor vitae. The is still a considerable amount of snow on the ground, added to yesterday by another few inches. It was a lovely storm. Thick blanket of fine tiny flakes that obscured the mountain entirely. I had an appointment out Guilford way. Along the Weatherhead Hollow I could see little. A few geese were skating low over the pond and the road was covered with snow. So I had to slow down. Take a look at this and that- the funny farm house that rests so to the road- angled so that its front a left side are inches from the curving bend. A mail box is nailed to the side, rusted and looking unused. The clapboards are grey, and the roof slates peaking through the snow are dark and glossy. I love that...

We had another day of winter weather. This was punctuated by power outages, car stuck in the driveway, another car stuck out on the road, and a declining spirit. The day seems to swallow me whole! But its almost over, the cars tucked away where they need to go and all well with all involved. The fire is burning hot. Pasta in my tummy. I'm off to bed.

0 degrees this morning. A long night of no sleep made this moment particularly poignant.  When the brain is deprived of the essentials, everything has a peculiar caste to it. 

It must be 8 weeks now. Back when the Thanksgiving meal was still settling into my belly and the prospect of Christmas was keeping me awake at night. I got a cold. It was nothing, a non-cold, a couple of days inconvenience and then back to the business of life. But this cold left with me a visitor. A little tickle in the throat and a small wheeze in my chest that has kept me company ever since. Each week I watch the light get just a bit brighter, the shadows changing from main event to supporting members and think, this week my cough, this constant ahem in my throat will fade away and the mornings will become moments of silence once again. No more clearing my throat, no more blowing my nose, no more hack and snarf. No more buying kleenex in bulk, no more sneezing three times in a row. This is not fun or entertainment or occupation. Well- perhaps occupation of another sort- my body has been occupied by an invader- unwelcome guest. The strategies to oust the interloper have included ...

I just found an article about a man who has made a world out of action figures. It seems so real. He had his world taken when beaten to the point that he has no memories. He now makes his own world from his imagination. Fantastic thought. Though we may have no past we will create one to occupy what is gone. His world is occupied by violence and stories around WWII. He is too young to have gone through this, but has recreated what he imagines to have happened were he there himself. I am looking forward to seeing this film for myself.

The dawn has not arrived. Dark and chill at 3am. The snow catches all available light and creates an illusion of moonglow, though it is only the reflection of sodium vapor street lamps as they hiss and buzz through each hour of the dark. I am awake at this time more often than not, releasing the half- remembered dreams and regrets of the minutes and hours that have slid past me, unnoticed. I am full of resolve at 3am. The list is created and starred and underscored with firm intention. But then, as the light grows in the east, the day begins and all those things that clutter each day seep into my intention. The meditation is shorter, the dry toast is buttered, the 3rd cup of coffee added and all without more than a passing thought, "Shame on you." I have noticed something about that resolve I mentioned. It was strong and reliable not so long ago. Something changed. As simple as just not caring. I am unsure why this has happened. Procrastination? They call it sloth in five s...