12/20/24

And so today’s moment of happiness despite the news.

I can’t say what came over me at 3:00 this morning.

We were in the middle of a snowstorm. It started in the early afternoon, then built up power, and by this time of the morning in a new day, the snow took up all the air between the sky and the ground.

I was exhausted. I’d fallen behind somehow this week, and so I had all of my Friday clients to read, starting when I finished with Thursday clients at 9:00 at night. I read through midnight, into the morning, and finally finished at 3:00. My first client was six hours away.

Throughout the night, as I read, I glanced outside, noting the snow. I was glad I wasn’t out in it. When I finally shut down my computer, all I wanted to do was stagger into bed. But there was Ursula, my dog, to take outside first. It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed; she knows that she is taken out before my head hits the pillow.

So we went out.

Ursula looked around at the newly white world and ventured out further than usual. We stood in the middle of the city parking lot, now a white field, with no cars. That snow that filled the air between sky and earth fell all around us. I remembered catching snowflakes on my tongue when I was a little girl, and I nearly stuck my tongue out to try it again. But then I remembered one time when my mother caught me scooping up fresh white snow with my mittens and eating it like a true-to-life sno-cone. I did it then because I’d just read a Bobbsey Twins book where the kids, brothers and sisters, two sets of twins, Bert and Nan, Freddie and Flossie, filled a bucket with new snow. Their mother helped them add flavoring to it, I don’t remember what kind, and they stirred it and then ate it. They called it snow ice cream. I wanted some.

My mother was horrified. She filled a clear glass with snow, then brought it inside, where she insisted I watch it melt. She pointed out all the flecks in the snow, and told me that was what I’d just eaten. I never ate snow again, and so I didn’t stick my tongue out now.

Though I wanted to. To taste the snow as I thought it was then, and as I wished it could be now.

Ursula, however, apparently had no such memory, and she stuck her head in the snow up to her ears. She came out with a polar bear head and I laughed, but quietly, because it was three in the morning.

Sometimes, even cities get quiet. It was quiet enough that I could hear the snow falling. The flakes swirling around me, I felt like I was in a star storm, and I thought how wonderful that would be.

I took a deep breath and let the chill air come into me, as well as around me. For that moment, everything stopped and it was just…quiet. And so pretty.

The Christmas greetings I’ve received this year have been very different. All tinted with a bit of sadness, a bit of compassion, and a lot of support. One person said, “Have a Christmas!”, acknowledging that it’s not likely to be merry. Most have confirmed that they know that this is a hard holiday this year, but wishing me some happiness. A student emailed me and said, “I know this is a difficult time, but I hope you find some joy.”

But it’s not really joy that I’m looking for. It’s peace, which is also supposed to be a hallmark of this season. But I’m not looking for peace on earth either. Peace of mind, of my mind, that’s what my wish is for this Christmas, and for the new year.

Standing there in the snow with my dog, the rest of the world asleep, the city quiet, the snow like stars around me, I had it. Peace. For that moment.

Before I turned to go in, I looked at Ursula and smiled. She gave me a doggie smile back. Then I reached down, scooped up a mitten-full of the whitest, purest snow, and I ate it, spinning myself backwards to that little girl that I was, looking for ice cream falling from heaven. Before I found out that things aren’t always what they seem.

As I truly know now.

But standing there in that Moment, grinning dog by my side, snow melting down my throat, more snow settling on my sleeves, my shoulders, sparkling in my hair, quietness all around as if there was nothing loud in my life, there was peace.

Hanging on to it.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.