April 20, 2013
3 disparate thoughts awakened me this morning.
Thought 1… CNN pushes captioned in red on my iPad – News of the capture of the second suspect in the Boston Marathon bombing. This morning, Watertown, Boston and America sighs with relief. Yet again, hundreds are left to grieve the loss and wounds of loved ones, stunned at the violence that brought them to this day. Yet another family agonizes over the inexplicable and evil actions of their children. Relief and grief.
Thought 2… My friend, Sharon, is gone from this world after deciding that loving her family while she was here was better than the pain of continuing to fight Stage 4 Lung Cancer. Sharon, I love you and am so proud of you. I miss you, Shining Woman.
Thought 3… And then I saw the date and realized that today is the 84th anniversary of my dad’s birth! Daddy was a brilliant, happy, thoughtful man his entire life. A truly loving man who dedicated himself to God and pastored people through joy and pain and the daily business of living a life. I picture him humming Beethoven (always a Classics Man) over the stove while he concocted something ugly yet surprisingly delicious for supper. Or talking quietly with someone as their pastor and friend, offering encouragement or comfort. Dad consistently, daily, taught us by action and word how to love, forgive and accept people where they are; a Christ-like man. He went Home 7 years ago this month. I miss him.
3 disparate thoughts awakened me this morning.
I guess what ties these all together is this. You cannot put off telling someone you love them, that you accept them. If needed, tell them you forgive them. Tell them now. You have to pick yourself up and get over to see the people you hold dearly in your heart, hold them in your arms for a moment when you walk through the door. Listen to them while they tell you stories of their daily life. Ask questions and don’t hold back. Hug them again when you say goodbye. And tell them you love them. Say the words. Again and again.
How many of us woke up to snow yesterday morning? Quite honestly, I’m not a big fan. My choice is the kind that is heavy enough to beautify the neighborhood and slow life down for a morning, maybe a day… and next morning, it’s gone. Not plowed to the sides of the road. Gone. Not masking the shrubberies or merely lingering in clumps on lawns. Gone. Gone and replaced by golden skies, spring colors and the promise of a balmy day. Even when I was addicted to alpine skiing – that’s the kind where you hitch a ride to the top of a mountain and then let gravity get you back down to the bottom; never to be confused with cross-country skiing which requires actual work – I only ever wanted to visit snow until I was tired of controlling my descent down trails of the stuff and could head back to dry sidewalks and open windows. What can I say, I like my weather warm. (Give me a few months and I’ll be moaning about how hot summer is in the DC area! My kvetching all balances out.)
So how to explain the joy that shivered through my waking. The sky was heavy with white fluff and every surface softened under inches of bluish glitter. Throwing a heavy robe over my flannels and shoving bare feet into a pair of booty slippers, I grabbed a camera on my way down the stairs and out the front door. Fortunately, it was early enough that no neighbors were subjected to the spectacle as I trudged around the yard trying to capture … magic. What is it about the susurrating crunch when you are the first disturbance? Or the way light is captured and returned, glowing, by each tiny, perfect flake? The thrill of the chill. Simple awe of God’s world.
Snowfall lasted almost all day. Soon, all was melting. Almost gone. Almost the way I like it.
So why am I a tiny bit saddened that this happened at the end of March instead of the beginning of January? Why am I looking forward to next winter, my least favorite of all seasons, when perhaps there’ll be another opportunity to sneak out of the house while man and dogs slumber, to lose myself in the glory of snow?
We’re on our way back to the big city, my lovely husband maneuvering the now-familiar twists and turns through beautiful farm land. We’d planned on making the trip back last night. It turns out that a crisp blaze in the fireplace backdropped by ocean driven rain is just too seductive to pack up and leave. Being able to change our minds and stay one more night is one of the great perks to getting older with adult children in their own home, not needing us this very minute to be safe and happy. I truly miss my son as a little boy jumping into my arms, thrilled to see me after a morning at pre-school; and having energy to go out with friends for BOTH dinner AND dancing. Waking up without so many aches wasn’t too shabby, either. But this place in my life is exactly where I want to be right now. Life is a blessing. Life is good.
It’s mid-March and it looks like Puxatony Phil was wrong about an early spring. It’s a cold 41º here at the ocean front house we’re sharing with a group of friends for the off-season. But as I sit beside a crackling fire and look out a window streaked with rain, this is what I see. There’s really no such thing as bad weather at the beach.
Good morning! We woke up early this morning to the sound of pounding rain and even now the sky is deeply gray. Our windows resonate with the sound of tires in water passing by and I’ve lowered the shades again to give some privacy as if it were dusk. It is a glorious day.