Snow stories. . .

I enjoy winter mornings, peering out my windows at daybreak and seeing all the fresh wildlife trails in the snow. They reveal what a busy place my yard has been all night long. A story unfolds as I visualize the deer meandering here and there, nibbling away at plants I carefully nurtured all summer long. If I examine the deer tracks more closely, I notice if they have been made by a buck or a doe--depending on imprints near the rear of the hoof. Mouse tracks are cute little prints and usually include traces of tail lines between the footprints. Sometimes, I have an "aha!" moment when their trail leads to the discovery of mouse entrances, leading either into my house or other buildings on the property. "Silly mouse," I say, as I make a mental note of where to set a baited trap. Not surprisingly, the mouse tracks are often criss-crossed with those made by the neighbor's cat! (Mine are indoor cats.) Perhaps, if I were more astute in my nature studies, I might be able to determine the timing of each. But, for now, I simply surmise that cat and mouse were on different schedules when I see no signs of a tussle. Or blood. Bird trails are a little more difficult to follow since they seem to hop about in a flurry of no particular direction. I suppose the continuous movement might be a means of self-preservation. Or, maybe it's just hard to keep those disproportionately round bodies balanced on those spindly little legs with too few toes.

When winter is over and the snow all gone, I sometimes look out at my yard in the morning and wonder what invisible night stories are left untold.

Thoughts on Winter. . .

These January days are bittersweet. I am so awed by their snowy beauty that, at times, I think my heart will burst from my attempt to absorb the peacefulness of it all! Then, there is the unsettling restlessness that accompanies the unpredictable interruptions in all that--the forever memory of broken hearts in winter. I do not immerse myself, indefinitely, in this sadness but I do think it's important to acknowledge when it occurs and even to invite it in, so to speak, and to take the time to honor (what I call) the nudge. In this case, the nudge is to take an opportunity to "be" rather than "do."

As I already mentioned, it is never a good idea to become immersed, indefinitely, and that is not always easily avoidable. It takes a certain amount of strength and practice. Or should I say practice and strength? Probably the latter, since strength is more likely to be the outcome of practice, rather than the other way around, I believe. (It would seem, therefore, that we must begin a practice, based on faith, since we can only know the result through hindsight. But that's a whole other topic.)

To be continued. . .

Backward Tracks. . .

I smiled as I traipsed through the snow, following my own footprints, going to and from the garage this morning, thinking of Thoreau. He mentioned how methodically he used this procedure to make his way between his cabin and Walden Pond to procure his winter mornings' water. Facetiously, I said to myself, as I stepped carefully into each of my own backwards tracks, "Thus, eliminating the need to fuel up the snow-blower, I suppose." As that thought developed further, I imagined what an intrusion our (then) futuristic world would have been on the solace he sought. Which is the more deprived Era? I wondered. Then? Or Now?

While I am a firm believer in the art of moving forward, lest we wither and stagnate, I think it is a shame that, in the process, we sometimes deprive our souls of the nurturing that Simplicity has to offer.

Candle wax. . .

This morning, while I was removing candle wax from its container, using boiling water, I had a flashback. One frigid winter day, early on in our marriage and while I was still under the veil of my lack-of-experience youth, I melted wax and thought it was safe to dispose of it by pouring it down our kitchen sink--because it was "liquid." At the time, I even prided myself in the fact that I "knew" to run hot water after it, to flush it through the drain. Well, I guess you know what happened! It was almost instantaneous. Bob, of course, being a jack-of-all-trades--master of many, immediately donned his plumber's hat and resolved the issue.

I learned the valuable lesson that day that sink drains and wax, even in liquid form, are not compatible. More importantly, though, I marvel now as I did then at Bob's restraint as he patiently went about his unexpected task. I hope I told him that enough. Even so, I'm sure he gleaned some satisfaction, himself, by adding it to his comedic material, under the subject, "Stupid Things my Wife has Done." (My own terminology.)

How fondly I have tucked the incident away into the corners of my memory, reserving it for days like this.

Christmas tree gazing. . .

I am sitting in my darkened livingroom, a rarity these days since this is a room I hardly ever choose to spend my evenings in. It usually doesn't make sense to linger, alone, in a room that, in my mind, is meant for socialization. But tonight, the last night of this year, I felt drawn here, realizing this is my last opportunity for quiet Christmas tree gazing before the "magic" disappears. Everything is very still except for the motion of the anniversary clock on the shelf. The clock glitters with the reflection of the lighted tree and a trio of glass angels glows softly, adding a celestial aura to the room. In contrast, Mr. Grinch, who is seated on the floor in front of the tree makes me smile. His expression is entirely mischievous and his eyes seem to follow you no matter where you are in the room. Beside him sits Max, whose pathetic expression is just as realistic--exactly like the poor hound dog in the show.

Today has been kind to me and I am grateful. After several days of allowing myself to wallow a bit in a little self indulgence, I feel my spirits lifting and my perspective improving. It is my prayer that I will never become so self absorbed that I lack compassion for others when their days are not being so kind to them.

Moments in time. . .

What a beautiful day! The sun is bright. The snow is pure. The ground is blanketed under the soft white fluff and the trees are as still as they can be. Serenity. The only busyness going on is the ever-changing hovering of chickadees at the birdfeeder. Through the window near my desk, looking out at the snowdrifts surrounding the "Hobbit Hole," I see evidence of pending "peace on earth, good will toward men." It is an "all is calm, all is bright" sort of day. Oh, if we could only adjust these moments--pause the slideshow, so to speak.

I have always been intrigued by the concept of timelessness and tend to believe that it is as close as we can get to fathoming what God's time is really like. Sequential timelines, I believe, were contrived in our attempt to comprehend the incomprehensible and perhaps as a means for learning from our mistakes. But how could that which always was and always will be, what has no beginning nor any end, be contained in such a way?

There are timelines for everything. They measure days, weeks, months--eras and ions! They dictate our growing up and our growing old. They can be stifling or stimulating, depending on our attitude. They do offer an opportunity to retrace history in hopes of improving the future. How is that working for us, I ask?

A blank day. . .?

Lately, there has been something lacking in my emotional well being and spiritual growth. I haven't been able to pinpoint the missing ingredient, exactly, but I have begun to discover what I think it might be. The exercise routine I maintained so faithfully for so many years has gradually become low on my list of priorities and I think I am beginning to realize how such a routine can benefit, not only our physical health, but our mind and soul as well. This afternoon, I donned my walking shoes and set out for a power walk. I only walked a couple of miles but since I'm a little out of practice (and it included some pretty steep hills), that's enough to start with. I was pleasantly surprised to be able to maintain my pace and not feel "winded" at the top of the hills. I did notice, though, that my muscles were rebelling a bit. I'll probably feel a little stiff in the morning.

Sometimes we aren't aware of a change in routine until after the fact. In this case, I was fully aware of changes as they were taking place. My whole life had changed. Daily patterns changed. Responsibilities and workloads changed. Yardwork and home maintenance became my priority and were more than ample substitutes for Curves workouts. As for power walks--I simply lost the initiative. I'm not sure if I will go back to Curves but I definitely know I am craving the walking experience again and the meditation it inspires.

This morning, when I saw that my calendar had absolutely nothing written on it for today, I felt a little uneasy; like I was forgetting something. Now I see the "open" day as a nudge toward keeping an open mind and taking time to immerse in the "now" rather than to focus on the "next thing" on a to-do list. What unexpected pleasures there can be when we do this! There was nothing about this day I might have planned, yet it has been emotionally rewarding, physically fulfilling and spiritually nurturing.

Another day in the journey comes to a close. . .and my soul is well.