As I write this from my warm, comfortable spot in front of the fireplace, I can say with sincere gladness that I am still snowed in.
Usually, the fourth day of being housebound would have me climbing the walls, but this time I am grateful to just stay put. This extended time at home feels like a gift, although it is more of a trade, as those of us in the school business know that snow days must eventually be made up. But school is closed for now, I have plenty of food on hand, including some dark chocolate, and there is no great need to venture any further than to the back door occasionally, to let the dogs in or out. I am glad for this winter snow storm and especially for its timing.
I love a quiet house. I will tire of it eventually, I know, but these few days have been a blissful and welcomed opportunity to let my mind wander far from things that usually keep it occupied on regular, run of the mill days. I have focused instead on whatever comes to mind, spending time in refreshing thought … contemplating … meditating … analyzing … planning … sorting things out … whatever you want to call it. The usual busyness of life offers so few opportunities for uninterrupted time to ponder, so I take full advantage of times like these when fewer things are vying for my attention. Some quiet solitude, especially when the fireplace is burning and the electricity stays on, must surely have healthy benefits.
After these few days of it, I can say for certain that I, for one, am feeling better.
During this time, my mind has been a playground for a million different thoughts, much of them stemming from things that happened before the first snowflake or dribble of freezing rain fell. At first I was consumed with thoughts of my friend Lynn and her family. Attending the memorial celebrating the life of her husband, Lenny, was the last place I went before the storm moved in. I have had plenty of time to think back on the stories told during the service and the photo slide show that depicted Lenny's life from beginning to end. Family members, friends and a former student all spoke of the value he had added to their lives. The impending winter storm kept some away, no doubt, but still, there was a nice group assembled. It was a very honoring service, I thought, and, most importantly, my friend, Lynn, felt good about it. I am glad for that because I long for her to be OK. I want to find ways to help her in the coming months as she adjusts to life without her mate. I wonder if I will sense what to do for her in the future and, if I don't, I hope that she will tell me. I think she will because we have been friends for a lot of years. The storm kept her family here a little longer than planned to be with her and also gave me ample opportunities to call and check on her. Yes, good timing.
Then there are moments when my mind dwells on less significant things of the past. Because I recently injured my right arm in a fall (which, by the way, had nothing to do with the icy weather and everything to do with my less than graceful exit from our hot tub), I have had to do many things left-handed during these snowed in days at home. As I have gone about my daily work very unnaturally using my left hand for things I usually do with the right, I have been reminded of something from elementary school.
There was a point when I tried pretty hard for a few months to be left-handed like my friend, Bobbie. Bobbie and I were different in many ways and I wanted so much to be more like her and less like me. She was short and petite, and I was always one of the tallest girls. She was the fastest runner in the class, and I was about the middle of the pack. I couldn't change any of that, but I decided, maybe, I could be left-handed like her. So, I practiced writing every letter of the alphabet over and over, page after page, in an attempt to become good at it. After a while, I gave up, realizing that being left-handed was slow and inefficient for me.
Still, I wondered if all that practice in the past helped a little this week as I had no choice but to use my left hand for fine motor tasks like feeding myself and brushing my teeth. I wondered also why I felt so sure back then that it would be better to be someone else rather than myself.
I am glad the snow storm came when it did. I needed a few days at home to ponder, to encourage my dear friend and to practice my one-armed hair styling technique before the world sees me again.
Everything has a way of working out, I suppose.
Annette Rowe is a freelance writer from rural Gentry and a speech-language pathologist at Siloam Springs High School. She may be reached by email at [email protected].
Editorial on 12/11/2013