Death & All His Friends

Ask me what I did this past weekend and I'd have to really think about it to come up with the answer. Loosely translated, I did nothing of much significance. It was just another weekend in my life, neither memorable nor noteworthy.

One town over it was playing out completely differently for my coworker J. What started out, no doubt, as an ordinary weekend, turned into one of the most horrific of her life. Her husband went out late Saturday evening to go snowmobiling. Something normal, something he went out to do regularly. But due to the repeated thawing and freezing, his usual route was covered in ice. But still, it was not too bad to turn back home. But once further up the trail, as he neared the railroad tracks, he lost control of the snowmobile. I'm not sure entirely of all the details; what I do know is that he slammed into the iron railroad guard rail, flew off his snowmobile, and died of massive head trauma.

I knew nothing of this until Monday when I came to work. The whole office was somber. J doesn't work in my branch, but I have served on several committees with her through my years working there. J is now a widow at the age of 36. Her children, ages 14 and 9, are fatherless.

Grief was back in my life.

Grief, for me, is one of those things that's never too far off. He's always lingering somewhere in the back of my mind. He never seems to leave me be for too long. And it doesn't seem to matter how removed a situation actually is from me; He will just sock me right in the gut at the mere mention of a tragedy. I didn't know J's husband. It in no way tangibly affects my life that her husband is gone. I can't even remember the last time I saw J. Yet my mind has been in overdrive praying for and thinking of her, my heart has been breaking and crying out to God for her and her children.

The interesting thing to me about death, loss, grief, is that just when you think the elevator of 'how low you could possibly go' hits the bottom floor, it lurches down another floor deeper. And yet, there is something of the human spirit that cannot be held down there for too long. It is my experience that your spirit will start pulling you up and out much sooner than you may feel prepared. As does time. I have felt cheated by time, pulling on me to move on much sooner than I would have liked too. And yet, even in the depths of loss, life can be found.

A natural example of this is my lavender plant. I bought a lavender plant this past summer and it thrived. Then one day I woke up and it had inexplicably died overnight. Instead of throwing the whole thing away, I simply cut the entire thing down to a stub. I left it in the sun and continued to water it regularly. A few months later it made a comeback. At first it was just one measly little stalk that started to grow up. I felt sad that it wasn't the glorious plant it used to be, but soldiered on taking care of it. Right when that stalk really started looking good, it too died. Frustrated, I gave up on it. It sat on my shelf for a few weeks, still giving off the heady aroma of lavender. Then, suddenly, out of that dead stalk I noticed new growth shooting right out the middle of it. And now, a few more months later, there's even more growth.

Life and death are like this. Right when things seem the most hopeless, the most drear, life will come forth. Life will always come forth.

And that is the beauty of it all.

Reasons I Love Winter

Many people have recently asked me why I love winter so much.  The short answer is "there are many reasons", and nobody likes that answer.  So here's the long answer...

I grew up here, in the southeast corner of Wisconsin.  While we don't get the worst (the best?) of winter, we definitely get winter.  I was born in the Blizzard of '79, as it's known around these parts.  My entire family was stuck sleeping and living in the waiting room of the hosiptal for three days because they couldn't leave.  Doctors and nurses were being brought in to the hospital on snowmobiles because cars were out of the question.  I'm told (yearly) that it was so bad that once the roads were able to be plowed, when you were at an intersection you couldn't actually see any of the cars coming from the opposite direction due to the walls of snow.  People put long poles on their radio antennas and flew hunter orange flags at the top to let other people know there was a car on the other side of that wall of snow.

This is the reason my mother gives for why I like winter so much.

While it's true that I grew up loving winters in Wisconsin, I also loved (and still do love) the summers, springs and autumns.  I generally love all of the seasons, for wildly different reasons.  And maybe that's my secret, loving it all.  Yet for some reason, people are shocked when you say you love the wintertime.

Usually what happens (at work anyway) is a conversation like this:

Me - "Hello"

Unsuspecting Person - "Hi"

Me - "How are you doing today?"

UP - "Cold, sore from shoveling and some idiot almost killed me because he was driving too fast on my way here."

Me - (laughing) "I'm sorry to hear that."

UP - "Yeah well that about sums up winter doesn't it?  It just sucks here in the winter."

(at this point my coworkers wince because they know what's coming)

Me - "Oh I'm not who you should be complaining to about winter.  I love it!"

UP - "What??  What's to love about this godforsaken season??"

Me - "Oh I love everything about it!  The snow, the bundling up, the adventure of it, you know?"

At this point they usually just go on and on about how horrible it is or how I must not have to shovel (which I don't, but I have had to in the past and it never made my love of winter waver).

What I can never get across is that winter is full of quiet romance, and I love that.

Snuggling up on a cold night in a warm house, drinking tea by the steaming cupfuls, the rhythmic chopping of winter vegetables to make soups and stews, making hot cocoa for the kids while they're out playing in the freshly fallen snow (okay I don't have kids, but I do live with 3 of them), cozy sweaters, steamed up windows, frosted windows, flickering candles, dark inviting evenings, the idea of everyone snuggling up in their warm house on the coldest nights, the picture of rows of houses whose windows blaze with warmth while the sky outside is turning to a deep dark blue.  The trees naked and coated in ice, the deep settling in feeling, blankets, hot oatmeal breakfasts, the dazzling colors of a winter sunrise, and a big yellow moon rising over the frozen cold white land.  The fat fluffy snow, the beauty of the sun after days of clouds, feeling the suns warmth in your home while sitting near the window, the adventure of driving up to the store a mile away for something much needed in the middle of a massive snowstorm.  The starkness, the nakedness and vulnerablity of nature.  Everything is undercover and waiting.  The anticipation and expectation of spring is overwhelming at times.  The longing, the hope of what's to come.  I love it all.

I especially love afternoons like this one.  Quiet, reflectivly writing thoughts while nature creaks and moans outside my window as I sip tea.

So maybe that answers it, maybe it doesn't.  Maybe it's a silly reason like I'd way rather be cold than hot.  You can always add more clothes, drink hot drinks, take hot baths, but when you're hot there's only so much you can take off.  Or maybe it's just something in me that causes me to love all of life, even the winters.

A huge part of me thinks that life is what you make of it.  And I'd much rather love everything about life and find joy in it all instead of wasting my energy hating something that I know will always come every year until I decide to take myself out of it.  Optimisim--it has it's perks!

Ruminations - 1/13/11

Today I am thirty two years old. So far I feel no different. That's the funny thing about birthdays. I've always thought all my life that I'd feel different at certain ages, somehow forgetting that any other day it would simply be 'tomorrow'. I've never actually felt different though. Yet I continue to think I will every year. I still don't feel like an adult, let alone a 32 year old woman. The part that fascinates (and slightly scares me) is that when I talk to my Grama (she's going to be 76 this year), she says that never changes, that she feels the same she did when she was my age, but she looks different, everyone's grown up and moved on and she's just sitting in that big house all alone feeling like she's never aged. Age and time boggle the mind.

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I made a list of things I'd like to do in 2010. I didn't do hardly any of them. I don't know if that's due to lofty thinking when I made the list or if it's because of laziness/lack of focus. Hmm. I think instead of making a new list for 2011, I'll just keep working off the 2010 list. I'll just re-title it :)

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I'm re-reading Bridget Jones' Diary again. I love that book. I can see so much of myself in Bridget. That sort of scares me, but mostly makes me laugh.

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Usually around the New Year and my Birthday (yes I did just capitalize that) I can feel super introspective. This year that didn't happen too too much, just a little. Maybe that's the change in getting older? Or maybe I just missed the Writing Opportunity Boat by thinking instead of writing? If we're being honest, that is generally the case for me. Too much thinking, not enough writing. I think I should quit thinking and just write. It doesn't matter so much that it comes out messy, just that it comes out. I need to stop being afraid of writing something dumb. Even if I do write something dumb, it's still more than most people write. Haha, yes, this is the new plan for 2011! Fear be gone!

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And ideally, ideally, I would like to attempt to update the ole blog at least once a week. That doesn't seem too daunting. Although if we're keeping track I'm technically behind. Unless we start from today, my birthday, instead of the first of the year. Yes, that is what we shall do!