To Us, With Love

This week I’ve been drawn back in time through memory and face to face, spinning into decades ago when I didn’t focus on my future but ran with a few dealing with the very immediacy we were facing. The day to day. We were late to college, already having babies, divorcing and reconfiguring, shifting apace with the swift seasons. We leaned heavily on each other each and every hour. Generally desperate to laugh or write or cry or paint or sort out a way through life’s obstacles. Our twenties and thirties are woven into a shared crazy quilt that binded all our loose strings. Last weekend, after decades apart, we were us once more.

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take a stroll

I know there are plenty of folks who love putzing around on their own floorboards, padding between one room to the next, chatting it up with Fluffy or Fuzzy, and although I enjoy those evenings when my sweetie and I arrive home with enough energy to listen to each other and make our time together meaningful, I love to wander too. Waking in a new sphere. Listening to bird chatter that is unfamiliar. Discover the new terrain with all that exotic flora and fauna. Perhaps this is why I am a fan of living in a region with drastic seasonal changes. Here, today, Spring is forcing its way into being, through heavy skies and cool temps, finally making green. Blooming into color. Reminding us to see the changes. To look around in the everyday.

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surviving the politics

Today I had a colleague call me out for an error, which was fine, but they then threw me under the bus by highlighting the mistake to my boss. Yeah, whatevs, thankfully I have no real concerns there. I mean, I know my value and all that, but who needs more crap, right? So much bad news streaming through our stream. Always more fear. More despair. More bad shit for us all to endure. We search for that one light flickering in the shadows, desperate for one bright second in the dark. What to do? Head to the pool to shake it off the best way I know. Diving into the green and stroke after stroke letting all that cool water slide over my stream till I’m smoothed over again.

indoor swimming pool

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Snow day

My school district is infamous for never calling a snow day. Perhaps there is some logical reason we never have one even when in every direction other schools have cancelled, but I’m not privy to any reason beyond yankee pride. Thankfully, students and teachers alike miraculously make it despite the scary road conditions or the below freezing temps. But yesterday school was called, and it felt like a gift for sure. No rising in the dark, no trying to figure out how to maneuver out of the snowdrifts before our plow guy does his job, no slippery slide hoping to stay on the road, just me in my pj’s for hours sipping tea and watching the white stuff fall fast and heavy. Been living in a snow globe for months on end but today felt like a peek into a wondrous winter wonderland.

snow covered evergreen

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My small world

These last weeks I have kept close to home, venturing to work and back with little else filling my days or nights. Mostly because I have been battling one of those winter colds, (and finally winning) but also because the roads have been icy, and getting back to our cozy world seems smart and safe and more important than anything. On this schedule I have gotten home while it’s still light, so a slow meandering stroll to take in the forest and field is a must do.

snowy field at sunset

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Remembering King’s Dream

Not sure why specifically but I guess it’s the whole stinking pot of shit news that’s got me remembering icons. The great ones, who touch down for short snippets of time to do good for the planet. You know the type, those who cure, not infect. Not as almighty as the Christ or as grandiose as an übermensch, but ordinary folks who strive and march and work tirelessly for the betterment of other ordinary folks. I don’t know if those people just don’t make the headlines anymore or can’t yell over the frenzied hype, but I am desperate for their comfort, their strength and their vision. Desperate for those who can lead us out of the status quo state of collusion, corruption and chaos.

MLK in Washington DC

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Oh Christmas Tree

There is a cut-your-own tradition in Vermont with Christmas trees. Decades ago when my family first started to have Thanksgiving here, we’d tag our tree during that long weekend. Then, weeks later, we’d head back to the farm, with sled in tow and saw in hand, we’d try to find our special tree. There were years when we’d have to trudge through feet of snow, and on hands and knees, dig our way down to find the trunk. Frozen fingers wrapped around the saw we’d tug back and forth until it was cut through. Oh those fresh trees would fill the house with everything Christmas. Sweet pine. Cold air and snow. Even the mountain view came into our living room with that smell.

Christmas Tree Farm

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