Staying in

We stayed inside most of the day. Snow, then rain — general wintry precipitation and temps hovering around freezing. The snow is heavy now and difficult to shovel.

I did a few things that I’ve been procrastinating about. I went through a small stack of old mementos, among which I found this photo. Me in the glasses, my sister with the raised mitten and my brother. In Illinois. Probably snowing, although my sister and I don’t have adequate headgear to protect us. I think we were dressed up for a special occasion.

My sister, the one in the photo, wants to have a “burn party” to honor and let go of the past by burning letters and other papers. It was supposed to be this Sunday at my house, but will probably be postponed due to the weather. I was inspired to begin looking through some old letters and saved mementos. I didn’t agonize too much about each item — just caught the initial feeling “Keep” or “Let go.” The whole time thinking of the ephemeral nature of life and the relative closeness of death. A sobering thing to do, but I was left with a good feeling that I could do it, even though I just scratched the surface.

I also finished knitting this shawlette. Look at that cable! This pattern was my first time knitting cables and my first time knitting with a single strand of unspun yarn (Nutiden from Sweden). I wanted to see if I could do it, and yes I can. There was a long period, maybe a month, where this sat around because I convinced myself it was too boring to finish. I’m glad to say I prevailed over my boredom.

I found this poem in an email and it seems to express exactly how I feel. Reading it makes me feel better. It’s unattributed, so I’m not sure if it’s current or historical.

Blazing yellow flowers to the left of Guanyin;
Red geranium blossoms on the right.
Beyond is the winter world of bare apple trees
and snow. And, for the moment, sun.
My country is in the hands of drooling vandals.
How will history remember this year?
Considering that nothing I see has intrinsic meaning,
and yet expresses the nature of light,
I find I am no longer watching the snow,
but am the space through which snow falls.

From The Whole Health Center’s newsletter. Author?