Moments of Lightness

I've been having difficulty putting together a post these past few weeks. I have resisted writing because I know that whatever I write now will be tainted by the darkness that is nipping at the edges of my life. The winter has taken it's toll on me. That, combined with three deaths now, in the past month.
Three wakes, three burials, the light of three lives now missing from this world, and as always, the cold and darkness of a northern January are weighing heavily on me.

Though we speak or exchange emails about once a week, I never really recovered from the loss of the relationship I once had with my daughter that happened as she approached adulthood. This grief is a constant pain that I bear, but never more so than in this dark season.

I know that my fascination with television shows like Forensic Files and Paranormal State probably contributes to my dark moods. It seems that these dark subjects are the only things that capture my interest in these gray days.
I've been reluctant to post something depressing or excessively negative; it feels self-indulgent and I know it doesn't do anyone any good. Who wants to read things that bring you down? So I decided to write instead about the moments of lightness that sustain me as I struggle to navigate this dark sea.

I thought I should write about the smell of the crysanthemums that decorate our church, and how the light looks as it filters through the stained glass above the altar. Or, the way the winter sun feels on my back when I walk the side streets of our town on weekend afternoons.

I have my husband, who is my best friend, to rely on. I have the knowledge that my children are healthy and employed.

Although they are growing old and their siblings are dying now, I still have both my parents.
I have all my brothers and my sister, their wives and husbands, my brothers and sisters in law, and their children, my nieces and nephews, who provide laughter, camaraderie and support.

There are the mourning doves that forage at the edge of the woods behind the barn, taking flight with a whistling flurry of wings when I appear. And the troupe of house sparrows that occupy the forsythia hedge next to our garage; how their gentle chirping lifts my spirits in the early mornings, as I walk Rigby out to the back yard.

Speaking of Rigby, I have only to see her smiling, brown, button eyes or hear her contented sigh as she snuggles next to me for a nap, to feel comforted.
Her sweet face and precious spirit is a constant and powerful source of grace in my life. Although they now require a lot of medical attention, my aging cats still have the ability to give and receive an enormous amount of affection.

I have the rising and setting of the sun, the colors of deep rose and amber and lavender mingling on the horizon, and the crescent moon, like a Cheshire cat grin, hanging in the western sky at night. I have the constellation Orion, moving from the south to the west, holding his bow, foretelling the coming of spring, making a promise.

I have coffee in the morning, hot, dark and rich, and cool green tea at night.

And tomorrow, I have a new job to start. For better or worse, it will be a new experience; God willing, it will prove to be a new source of satisfaction and fulfillment.

photo courtesey of J.Choate, 2008

It's been a long December...

Wow, it's amazing how much time has slipped by since my last post! I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, so I don't do well in winter as a rule, and this one has been marked by two deaths in the extended family, to make it even more depressing than usual.
Now that the bustle of the holidays is over, I find myself looking at the clock each afternoon and longing for the night, so I can snuggle down and hibernate in my bed.
Things are about to be shaken up, though, because I FINALLY heard from the state about that job I interviewed for back in August. They offered me the position, and I have accepted it.

I will be reporting to a new job in a new office in just a few short weeks.
I am excited and a bit apprehensive. While I look forward to the shorter commute, the change of scenery and new experiences, I will miss the familiarity of this place I have worked for the past eight years. The new job is only a two-year position, but I will have the opportunity to apply for other state jobs that may become available. I had to take the risk of trying something new, but I hope I haven't made a big mistake. Only time will tell.

One of my resolutions for the new year is to get back to posting on a regular basis. I am also way behind on reading all my favorite blogs, and it is time for me to catch up. I hope you all had a lovely holiday season, and all the best in 2010!

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Winter's Requiem

Last evening, about an hour before dusk, a front rolled through. Suddenly, the sky grew dark and the wind picked up. Greenish grey clouds gathered overhead and started spilling wet snowflakes. The wind drove the snow sideways as it picked up in intensity. It stopped as quickly as it began, but the air had changed. After a taste of spring and a few weeks of moderating temperatures, it was cold again.
This morning when Rigby and I set foot outside, the sun was shining brightly, but it was barely above freezing, and the breeze made it feel much worse than that. I was wearing an insulated fleece under my suede ranch jacket and I wished that I had also worn gloves.
As we started out along one of our usual routes, I noticed how quiet it was. Traffic was unusually light and there was no one else out walking. The sidewalks were empty as far as the eye could see. I decided that it must be too cold for most people to venture outside for very long. People seemed to be staying inside their homes or cars if they could help it.
The only sounds were from nature. Two tufted titmice called back and forth to one another across a backyard. The sound of the north wind, high in the tops of the white pines, was like the roar of some distant lion. All along the street, the music of wind chimes echoed, some deep and resonating, some light and tinkling like mandolin music as we made our way down toward the brook. I was eager to turn a corner to get the wind at my back and out of my face.
Rigby kept shaking herself, as if she could somehow shake off the cold the same way she shakes off the water after her bath, but it wasn't working. She startled each time the bully wind tumbled a big brown leaf across her path, ready to give chase. I reminded her that the chipmunks weren't out yet and they were only leaves.
Down at the brook, we arrived just in time to see the fat little muskrat crawl up the bank and sit on someone's lawn. He seemed to root around a bit, then sat back on his haunches eating something. Rigby stared intently at him, and I was glad she didn't bark. I'm trying to break her of the habit of barking at anything that moves.
The trees around the brook are usually full of birds. On most days, there are black capped chickadees, cardinals and sparrows by the score. Last week, I noticed that the blackbirds are already back. Grackles, redwings and cowbirds were squeaking, squawking and clattering high in the branches and flitting about the tall, mauve-colored rushes that rise out of the marsh. Today though, there is only a lone, downy woodpecker making his way up the bark of a bare tree next to the road. He looks at us and gives a nasally snort before disappearing around the trunk.
We started back up the hill, toward home as the wind picked up again. It buffeted my hair about, whipping my face and it flattened Rigby's ears against her head. She looked back over her shoulder at me with narrowed eyes, as if to say: "I thought winter was over! Why is it so cold?" My fingers, ears and nose were stinging.
The wind slammed into us, pushing us back a few steps. The noise it made was like the voice of the dying winter, howling in protest as the season turns, sapping its strength. It is forced to leave, but is vowing that it will rise again and return to hold us in it's icy grip, soon,...much too soon.

Say It Ain't So!

The winter is about over. It's mud season now, and the scenery is somewhat less than pleasing, but that's okay. Even though the ground is still mostly brown and the dead grass is yellow, the trees gray and leafless, things are starting to get that windswept, waking-up look about them. There are pools of icy water just off the sides of the road and the trees that stand in it look somehow like they just sprouted there, moments ago.
Plaintive bird calls echo through backyards. Today I saw a blazing red cardinal and heard him trumpeting his spring call; "Toooo-weeet! chew,chew,chew!"
The little black-capped Chickadee was singing; "See-mee, See-mee!"
Two turkey vultures found a thermal above our street and circled each other in an aerial ballet, gradually drifting upward toward the sun.
Snow drop and crocus stems are starting to poke up everywhere, through the cold, crusty mud. The sky this past week was a nearly forgotten shade of blue. The only remaining mounds of gray snow are hiding in the shaded areas that the sun never reaches. The rest has melted and evaporated away. Today, although the wind was high and brisk, the ground radiated warmth. Winter is over for all intents and purposes, so why...why...WHY are they saying we are going to get a foot of snow over the next two days....WHY!? I know why. It's because this is New England; land of the meteorological practical joke. Wake me when it's over please...

Sun and Snow

For a few hours this morning, it was like a different world here in our neighborhood.
We live on one of two main roads in our town. If you drive from one end of our street to the other it will take you straight through, from the adjoining town to our east, straight into the one that borders us on the west. Running parallel on the north side is another main road which is a heavily traveled state route eventually leading into Boston. These two main roads are separated by a matrix of short, quiet little streets with almost no traffic where Rigby and I like to walk. Most of the houses are fairly close together here. There are little Cape style homes with screen-in porch additions and shoebox ranches interspersed with stately Colonials and gently decomposing Victorians.

My husband and I rent the second floor of a very old house, built in the early 1800s. There are many other two or three family homes scattered around the area as well. We have been here for almost thirty years and we raised our two children here. It is the next best thing to owning our own home, as it has an acre of lush backyard of which we have full use. It also has a barn that my husband uses for his workshop and maintains along with the rest of the property. It's surrounded by a narrow margin of woods.

Around us in this part of town are hills and flat stretches, and in places you can walk along the Charles river, or one of its tributaries for a spell.
Yesterday we got two rounds of snow. Together, I would estimate they totaled around 14 or 15 inches of light, sugar powder.

This morning Rigby and I ventured out into a sparkling, impossibly white world. The air smelled fresh and wonderful, blue jays were calling and the sun made diamonds appear on front lawns. We made our way across the neighborhood, drinking it all in. Suddenly, a great clot of snow fell from near the top of a huge hemlock tree and a thick, white curtain of snow plummeted to the ground a few feet away from us. It hit the ground with a muffled thud and billowed out like a little mock avalanche to envelope us for a moment in a cold and glittering fog.
Surprise and delight are found in the simplest of things.

Snow Wonder

Good Sunday morning! Another snowstorm is in full swing. Outside the drifts are growing. We have had such cold temperatures this past week that there was not much melting at all, so the snow banks along the driveway are pretty big.
One good thing is that the temperature has climbed to about 28F this morning, and it feels almost warm by comparison to yesterday and Friday.


I am a beach bum by nature. I love summer weather, and there is nothing more appealing to me than lying on warm sand for hours, listening to the herring gulls cry and the waves slap the shore. So why do I still live here where the outside world that I so love to be in is frozen for so much of the year? Because I know of no other place where you can experience so many kinds of weather, culture and so much diverse beauty as in New England.

Here, after a relatively short drive I can experience the lights of Boston or Providence or New York city. I can ride the ferry to Block Island or the Vineyard. I can be in Kennebunkport, Maine in Dock Square or strolling on the cliff walk in Newport, Rhode Island in less than 2 hours time. I can savor lunch in the North End and dinner in Chinatown if I mosey over to Boston. In my limited traveling, I’ve often thought that I might like to stay at a sunny locale permanently, but I know I would miss this magical corner of Earth where I was born, not to mention my loved ones, most of whom are all around me here.

So now, the flakes are sifting down cloaking the spruce trees in the yard with a pristine, white mantel. The juncos are scrapping with the titmice inside the labyrinths of the forsythia hedge and I am warm and dry. Maybe winter in new England isn’t so bad after all.