Winter's Apology

Winter tiptoed in this year, afraid she'd be unwelcome after last year's frozen fairy tale turned ugly. She asked forgiveness for ice-capped streets and cars stranded in driveways and roofs caving in or leaking. All dressed in white for Christmas, she showed us her best side. We welcomed her with tongues lifted to catch all the flakes and arms and legs in jumping-jack form to make angels. The little red sled learned to bobsled and luge and carry snowmen home. Snowballs sailed over snowfort walls, and the shovel happily scooped up fluff instead of chipping away at ice in the street gutters. Winter waltzed around, relieved to see we weren't holding a grudge.

But something went wrong because Winter left abruptly. 

She left in tears, melting all but the tiniest of snow piles. She took the snowmen, Snowy and Brian, sphere by sphere, until they were nothing but memories. She took the icicles, drip by drip, as if a hairdryer burned them out. She took it all, dance over, song done. She took it well before Spring.

Did we step on her toes? Did we say something rude or sarcastic? Did we get nervous that she was settling in to stay too long? Did she get scared we'd remember running out of ice melt, falling on our backs, breaking down on a friend's street?

Maybe it was part of her apology to leave while we had only laughter and celebration on our cold cheeks. Or maybe she'll return before the tulips to give us another dusting of beauty, deciding that we like her best in short visits. We hope she comes again this season, because we aren't ready to pack up the sweaters, stow away the scarves, push the boots to the back of the closet, and hang the sled in the rafters. Our dance card isn't full, and we've got some new steps to try.

And Now I Wait

I ordered a sweater the other day with some Christmas money. It isn't here yet, and although I purchased it from "that" company with the free two-day shipping deal, I am feeling impatient. I want it now.

My son is always hungry, starving he even says. If I'm making a meal I say, "food will be ready soon." He says, "can I have something to eat while I'm waiting?" My son's got my impatience gene. Ok, so perhaps I nurtured that one into him. Whoops.

The calendar changed again, and while I didn't exactly make any new year's resolutions I did mentally prepare for a fresh start to do better, be better. But I want all my goals accomplished NOW. This is why too often I fail to get any of them done. Failure is good for a person, but not when it happens from inaction. This year I really do want to have more failures, but I want them after trying and giving something my all, and then I hope to turn them into successes. (A new spirit of patience would be great to have immediately so I can get started on all this trying and waiting!)

Reading over my journal from this past year, I laugh, as I do every year, about some of the goals and promises I made. They were good ones, ones I should have been able to keep, but I didn't. This blog, for example, did not get much attention from me in 2017. I wanted to post something new every week, even twice a week. As I think about that goal for this year, I think I'll put more try into it, but I think the most important focus for me should be writing something, somewhere, every day. I might not have anything I want to share publicly every week, but through lots of writing—and writing whatever, even junk—I will find success on the slower goal of writing better.

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It's tough. To tell you the truth I've been working on this blog post for a few days (or at least thinking about working on it over a few days, impatiently wishing it was finished) and, in fact, my sweater arrived and I like it, but I'm waiting on something else. Never content, huh? I want to learn to celebrate what's happening in the moment, or at least the moment before I go to bed and the house is quiet and still. I don't want to feel guilty about what didn't get done or feel upset about what hasn't come.

I want to wait in the stillness and in the noise. I want to work hard for something that might take months or years, and I want to be patient when there isn't anything I can do at all but wait.

Blessings to all of you who are learning to wait.

I can hardly wait to visit this beautiful place again!