The first light this morning was a pale golden quiet color. How softly the sun proclaimed the day . . like it was telling a secret, in a whisper. . . meant only for the early birds.
I spent the new year with my three oldest children-and the grandchildren. The weather was unseasonably warm. We exchanged gifts right off and then had all sorts of fancy snacks. It reminded me of “old Christmas”, though it was too early for that. The whole time we were together seemed like a constant celebration and I think we were all sorry when it ended. Cold, windy weather was coming and a slight chance of snow, with it. In the south, even a “slight chance” causes a commotion.
I left early on Monday, in thunder and lightening, wind and rain . . .and it was cold! That afternoon, snow fell on the rabbitpatch, but not a single flake stuck. I spent time just watching it fall and paid no attention to dust and dishes.
I have mentioned before, that I do not make New Year resolutions, for first, I can not keep them . . .most especially if the resolution requires some rigid routine or restrictions of any sort. I am weary of them by February-and disappointed in my self. I do self reflect and revaluate and clearly define my priorities, regularly. Once, I am convinced of something, I am likely to be successful . . .but it could happen on a Tuesday in May! Prompts seem to spring up , when I am least expecting them! I became a vegetarian, one year in October and I did a massive decluttering, several years back, in the hot month of July- I stuck to those things.
Oddly, though, just before Thanksgiving, this past year, a “prompt” popped up “out of the blue” and another one, this week. One, is another way to simplify-and the other adds more enrichment in my life. I value authenticity and both ideas support that, so now I am once again pondering “lofty notions”, while I peel potatoes.
I finally took down the Christmas decorations. I always wait for “old Christmas” to do so. “Old Christmas” helps me admit that Christmas is really over and it is always a very spiritual thing for me. There are less distractions, for one and I find that I really can focus more on the Gift, the grandest of all, bestowed on this world. I take it personally. While I disassemble the tree and pack away the wreaths, I feel melancholy and grateful, all at once.
Now winter seems to have finally settled in, in the little coastal town, that I now abide. Skies are often pewter and the trees hold no secrets. I love their bare branches and want to be like them, for their beauty changes , but is constant, in all forms. Jade leaves in spring, scarlet in fall, blossoms, fruit or nuts , resting or not . . . I love trees. In winter, their shadows fall in lacy patterns and I have yet to see two tapestries alike.
Winter is the time to make creamy soups and stews. It is a time to make bread and roast potatoes. . .or make a good pot of beans The smell of a kitchen in winter is cozy and warm. It is a happy time, when the family walks in to such a kitchen . I remember well how good it was to come home from school to Mama frying chicken. Daddy would pull up from work and every day we celebrated, when all were safely in. Those were “golden” days.
I am often accused of being old fashion-and with good reason. People my age certainly know about progression, for we have lived through it and have seen the results. Some of our new methods are wonderful . . .and some are not. It is just that simple. As the world rushes on, I will pause, as needed. I will daydream by still waters and grow hyacinths and read poetry and linger with wild things in wild places . . .so maybe I am old fashion, after all.
The time of winter is a time to remember what things matter. The heart may be fickle at times . . . but not always. Somehow, regardless of intellect, culture or worldly status . . or whether or not we are listening- we know our truth, for it rings out like a church bell. . . and most especially in the quiet of winter.
Now snow is in the forecast again and what an uproar that causes, amongst the southerners ! Southerners either love it or they don’t. It is only a “chance”, but those of us who love it are clinging to it. No one has to shovel out their drive way, for the place shuts up altogether. If we get any snow at all, it is gone quickly, so I am not sure what all there isn’t to love.
In light of even the possibility, I am already plotting. What will I read, what will I cook and most of all, what will I ponder? .