Almost Snowmageddon

 

Recently, meteorologists predicted a snowstorm, and I went to the store and stocked up on milk, bread, eggs, dog food, and other emergency supplies. This week’s prediction hit while I still had most of the supplies on hand from the last snowstorm. I had to go to the Post Office, and on the way home stopped by Dollar General to pick up the bare essentials: milk and cosmic brownies.

OK, I seriously knew that I could bake blueberry muffins, but they fall short on the chocolate crave meter. I just couldn’t face a major storm event without chocolate.

Early Monday morning, I cancelled my Tuesday a.m. appointment with my rheumatologist, because I didn’t want to go dashing through foot-deep snow. “You need a four-wheel drive,” a friend told me.

“Have one in the garage,” I said. That doesn’t mean I want to slide off into a ditch going to an appointment I can reschedule. 

Monday was a holiday so I wasn’t able to do the banking that I had on my to-do list. Mentally, I red-lettered Tuesday as a snow day, and we all know that snow days are for sleeping late and being lazy. The banks will still be there Wednesday. This is becoming my theme—nap today, work tomorrow.

Tuesday, my designated snow day, I was surprised to see that the snow barely covered the ground. In fact, I could see the grass sticking up through it in the yard. Of course, the day wasn’t over yet, and I received an email notice that cars parked in the snow lanes in town would be towed. Although the routes are clearly marked, I’m sure that made some people angry.

The day was exceptionally cold, even for February in Missouri. I wore my polar expedition outfit complete with my N-Ferno balaclava. I have to be desperate to wear the balaclava since it fogs my glasses and makes my hair look like I stuck my finger in an electrical outlet.

Awe, the wonders of snow and cold weather. When I was working, I had my choice of hills. The one of the west side was steep, but I could get a good run and it by going down one bank and up the other side. That option was not ideal if the neighbor kids had been sledding down the hill. To the east was a more gradual slope, but it was hard to get any momentum to make it all the way.

When Jim was in the early stages of dementia and could still drive, sometimes I had him take me to work when the roads were snow covered, or worse—icy.

Now, that I’m retired snow doesn’t bother me. My calendar is clear for the rest of the month. As long as I have books to read and chocolate to eat, I’m in the zone. It will be a good day to play my ukulele since I want to learn a couple of new-for-me songs.

As far as I’m concerned, let it snow, but someone needs to have a serious talk with Punxsutawney Phil before next groundhog day.

 Copyright ©February2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Healing after Loss

On one of my recent trips to the post office, I found a package from my friend Cindy. She had sent a copy of the book Healing after Loss, a collection of daily meditations to help a person work through grief.

On my way home, I stopped by the cemetery, opened the book, and read the first few meditations. Each one begins with an inspirational quote, provides understanding of grief, and encouragement to let healing begin. At the bottom of each page, the author has added her own words of wisdom.

Each morning while I enjoy my first cup of coffee, I open the book and read that day’s meditation. Then, I take a moment and watch my sleeping dog. When I call her, she jumps up beside me and lets me savor her warmth and devotion.

In the book, I came across the term, “hour of lead,” and wondered exactly what it meant. I’m not sure why I had never heard the phrase, or more likely, didn’t have Google to explain what it meant. Emily Dickinson painted a word picture when she spoke of the hour of lead. I may not have heard the term, but I’ve felt the emotion. This phrase from the poem “After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes” refers to the emotional numbness and paralysis after a tragic event.

Loss can bring inertia to the grieving. The body may want to move forward, but the heart and mind need ample time to cope with their brokenness. Imagine a person with leaden feet trying to run in waist-deep water while carrying the weight of grief on his or her shoulders.

Triggers for grief can assault our emotions at the most inconvenient times. At a show in Branson, I dissolved into sobs when the performers sang, “Angels among Us.” That night was the first time I’d heard the song since a dear friend’s funeral.

Jim sang and played his guitar, and several songs remind me of him, especially the songs he sang specifically for me. When I hear Elvis Presley’s “Tender Feelings” I can close my eyes and feel Jim’s presence a heartbeat away.

Another Elvis song Jim sang was “Young and Beautiful.” The song ends with the line  “…you’ll be forever young and beautiful to me.” I once asked Jim if he could imagine me with gray hair. Without hesitation, he said, “No. You would dye your hair.”

Jim died from an Alzheimer’s type of dementia at 59, so he’s the one who will be forever young to me, and he left me with beautiful memories. He always said he knew me better than I knew myself, and although I don’t dye my hair now, who knows, I may dye it someday. After all, he really did know me better than I knew myself.

One thing I’ve discovered about a healing heart is that in time, special songs that remind you of someone you lost can fill your heart with gratitude for their love. You may even smile at the happy memories and push aside the sadness. Our memories and love keep the ones we’ve lost alive.

Healing is not the same as forgetting, and the claws of grief can rake your emotions raw without warning—anytime, anywhere. Love lost for any reason leaves a scar on your soul. The scars of grief fade in time, but they are with you for life.

Copyright ©February 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ