Snowbound mentality

 

Another photo from Hawaii,
just to reassure us that there is sunshine and warmth somewhere.

There’s a definite psychology to being snowbound. The first day it’s kind of fun. You are home all day and can do whatever—all those little chores you’ve neglected, read a book and nap, cook something wonderful. Christian spent yesterday teaching himself how to make sushi. Jacob spent the day in a poker game with friends (with, I was glad to learn, fake money).

But ah, that second day. The snow isn’t quite as bright a white, and the luster of a day at home is dimming. People post on Facebook about boredom and cabin fever. In a new twist I only learned about today, they start looking for Uber drivers with four-wheel vehicles. With that trick, Christian has gone to the rodeo tonight. It is realtors' night, and though the formal event was cancelled, he knows there will be a lot of realtors there.

Me? I’m just as glad to stay home and inside. Spending the first twenty years of my life in Chicago gave me as much snow and cold as I wanted. When the wind came off Lake Michigan, it was bone chilling. I remember cold mornings when my dad would get up early to go to the basement and stoke the coal furnace so that the house would be warmer (never really warm) when the rest of us got up. And I remember leggings—no, not the fashionable, tight-legged leggings of today but heavy wool pants, often lined—we wore them under our skirts to school. I remember shoveling sidewalks, and snow piled in the street almost high as my head.

At twenty, I moved to northeastern Missouri, sometimes called the “icebox” of Missouri. I remember thinking if I could just wake up one morning and not look out on dirty snow, I would be happy. A lot of people in the small town where I first went to graduate school still heated with coal, and the snow got dirty quickly. And the roads solidified into icy ruts—I drove a VW Bug which didn’t fit the ruts at all, so I bounced all over the place. Nope, I’ve had all the winter I want. I sympathize with the neighbor who posted on the neighborhood listserv that she was grateful garbage collection for tomorrow is cancelled, because she really dreaded taking the carts down an icy driveway.

Jacob came out to the cottage for supper, and we ate poor boy sandwiches together. He was elated that there will be another snow day tomorrow—that makes three this year, and as he pointed out, three years in a row where snow has cancelled school. My comment that it was a bad sign, a result of climate change, fell on deaf ears. When you are sixteen, you often don’t think beyond the moment. Climate change doesn’t really mean much. But I am grateful that he’s home tonight—I know he’s safe. It made me nervous that he rode with friends, even if they had four-wheel drive, but he assured me they drive carefully. I asked if he would tell me if they didn’t—he thought about it and said, “Probably not. But they really do.” I am also grateful that he’s home if that foolish Sophie stays out too long. I can call and ask him to go get her—she’s out as I write, long than it takes her to pee.

Tomorrow is iffy—some reports say we’ll get ice tonight, which is a bit worrisome because it could load the power lines down and cause power failures. Jacob said tonight though that it is to snow all night. So far, at nine o’clock, no sign of anything. And the high tomorrow will be anywhere from low thirties to forty, depending on who you listen to. There it is again, that uncertainty that winter storms bring. We just never know who or what to believe.

Jordan flies home on a redeye tomorrow night. I asked Christian earlier tonight if he though her flight would be delayed, and he said not. But there again, I worry. I like to have all my chicks safe at home in weather like this. My Austin family is, I hope, staying home because their weather is as bad as ours. And I heard from the Frisco contingent that their drive is sheer ice—it’s such a steep long driveway that to me it’s perilous in July, let alone in an ice storm. The Tomball folk must be okay, because I saw that Colin was in Houston again today for work. Of course, last week, a tornado hit square on his office building in Deer Park—and he forgot to tell me. Thankfully, the building held, though those nearby sustained damage, and he said driving away from there was chaotic. I once dated a man who said to me, “Once a mother, always a mother” and I find it’s sure true in iffy weather.

Wherever you are, stay warm and safe. This too shall pass, and spring will come again.

The amaryllis story continues—and a bit of cabin fever

 

My amaryllis today
on my messy desk

My amaryllis is glorious today and a great source of cheer during this snap of winter in Texas, although today was sunny and bright. Subie’s amaryllis story is not so happy, although I understand she has a second plant. Jordan and I gave her one for Christmas (she is hard because her birthday is just before Christmas, and I am sometimes stretched to choose two imaginative gifts). So we saw amaryllis on sale in November, and I thought it was perfect for one or the other of those occasions.

Subie's amaryllis

Recently she told me when she opened it, it had already bloomed—in the box. There were stubs at the stalk where the blooms had been and died. I was embarrassed to say the least, but she saw the bright side—the plant was growing a new plant. She plans to leave it in the pot and see what it does. I’ve never heard of one doing that before.

And on the subject of plants, the orchid Subie brought me went into the house today to what I consider Christian’s orchid hospital. He has a remarkable record of getting them to bloom a second and third time. This one had a lovely striated cream-colored petal with a dark purple center. The thing is I sometimes have to remind him that a certain plant that is reblooming needs to come back to the cottage. The main house has two west-facing greenhouse windows in the kitchen, and orchids love it there.

Cabin fever got me yesterday. These are the things I did not do: write my daily quota on my work-in-progress; get dressed; make my bed; cook my supper; do my exercises. These are the things I did do: spent the day in the clothes I slept in (Jordan would frown); took a long nap; reheated frozen leftovers for my supper; spent way too much time on Facebook; started reading a new mystery, the eighteenth Coffee House Mystery by the husband/wife team who write as Cleo Coyle. (Reading for an author can always be justified as continuing education.)

Today is a much better day. As twilight sets in, I have gotten dressed and made my bed, fixed a good lunch, and planned dinner for all of us—we’re still quarantining, so we’ll transport part of it from cottage to the house. I’ve written a bit more than my thousand words for the day and am writing my blog earlier than usual, and I’ve put away clean linen and done some other household chores, including watering my plants.

The world outside this evening reminds me of Chicago or Missouri—the snow is melting, so what’s left is dirty, gray, sparse. My patio looks like a swamp, awash with dirty water. But because we are north-facing my front steps are still iced, and there’s a patch of ice on the driveway and snow outside my desk window. My mom used to complain long and loud about the gray snow in Chicago, because when I was young so many households, including ours, heated with coal. And it’s true—clean white snow was dirty gray almost as soon as it fell.

I remember the same when I was in school in northeast Missouri. I was in a relatively small town, Kirksville (12,000 population not counting students at the two colleges in town). Most people heated with coal, and snow stayed on the ground forever. They don’t call that northeast corner of the state an icebox for no reason. I remember getting up morning after morning and seeing a dirty gray world. And I drove a VW bug which didn’t fit the ruts in the roads, so getting to and from school and work was an adventure. I really longed for spring. The nice thing about Texas (except last year) is that we are pretty sure the snow will disappear in a day or two.

A friend said to me today she doesn’t understand how I can stay in the cottage day after day, because she was stir-crazy being in for two days. I think one reason is that, with my walker and because I no longer drive, getting out is a bit more complicated. And when Covid was new and a much bigger threat, I got used to staying in. In fact, I kind of liked it, and most days I still do. I have lots to do and a comfortable pattern to my days. When it’s six and I pour myself a glass of wine, I think, “Well, there goes another day.” That’s a bit of a mixed bag, because at my age I don’t want to wish the days away, but on the other hand it’s good to come to the end of a day and feel satisfied about it. Can you tell I’m feeling a bit defensive?

God compensates

Reality is the leading cause of stress among those who are in touch with it.

—Lily Tomlin

The quote above is something I liked well enough that I wanted to share it. My mom would have liked it. She was fond of such sayings as “The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine,” or “God works in mysterious ways his wonders to accomplish.” The latter is sort of what’s on my mind tonight.

Between Jordan and me, we have a fairly constant stream of visitors to this house, usually at happy hour. Since the discovery of my broken ankle, most of them make a beeline for me to ask, “How do you feel?” My answer is that every part of me feels perfectly fine except for my ankle which hurts like sixty. A month ago I would have cheerfully said I felt fine when I really didn’t, but now I do. I think it’s one of God’s mysterious ways.

As many of you know, I’ve struggled with anxiety, balance problems, fear of falling, even some insecurity. Now that there’s something in my body that actually hurts badly enough to focus all my energy, those neurotic (my term) ailments have all gone away. Sure, there are some logical explanations—I’m on a new anti-anxiety medication, and it works wonderfully, makes me feel like a new person. I’m also on my new bright red walker, and I have no fear of falling. I sleep well and pain free at night, and during the day I sit at my desk and think all is well and I can conquer bear. But when I stand up and walk, I am indeed in touch with the reality of pain. It’s as though God said, not unkindly, “You want something to worry about? Here’s a real something.”

The fracture, as I understand it, is not exactly a hairline but almost. No displacement of bones. If I’ve got it right I sprained the ankle, and the sprain pulled the ligaments apart until the bone broke. That’s why it hurts worse now than it did a few days after I fell. The fracture is at the bottom of the fibula, the lesser bone in the leg, and not weight-bearing.

So tomorrow I go in the morning to have my puffy hand x-rayed (it doesn’t hurt but has an ugly bruise) and to have a bone density test I should have had several years ago. Then I go to be fitted with a walking boot that I will wear night and day for at least four weeks. I hope that will lessen the pain by supporting the ankle better and also begin the healing process.

The Dean DeLuca Golf Tournament is this weekend (nobody in Fort Worth calls it anything but the Colonial) so Jordan and Christian will both be working. I’ll have Jacob at least one night but pretty much I’ll be home alone for four days. I can either mope and have a pity party or I can get a lot of work done. I have invited all the non-golf people I know to stop by for coffee or wine, so I’ll probably have visitors. Life ain’t so bad.

Icebound: Day 4

Like much of North Texas, I'm still trapped at home. It was supposed to be above freezing--slightly--for five hours today but it doesn't look like much around here melted. The street is clear in the middle and I might be okay if I could make it from the front door to the garage--but the porch and driveway are still ice. My son-in-law is trapped at home because his car is in the garage and the gate is frozen. Jordan parked on the street but swears her car moved a bit during the night. Scary stuff.
Today I had a furnace repairman for company--my only human contact, other than phone stuff. Jacob went home last night, and I miss him though I'm a bit glad to be relieved of worrying about how bored he is and what to feed him.
I've gotten past the iced-in lethargy and gotten a lot done the last couple of days. Jacob and I straightened the playroom and targeted several toys to be given away, pending his mom's approval. He really took the minimalist position and wanted to discard some things that have sentimental value. His question was "What?" I've gotten some chores down that I thought I need the kids help on--polished a huge and badly tarnished silver tray (that was a project) and the repairman took down the defective garland from the door.
When I most need to do yoga, I always put it off. But I did it this morning and felt better for it. Didn't feel it was my best workout ever but maybe tomorrow will be better.Tonight I have several projects on my desk, which always pleases me.
I've decided being iced in teaches you patience--we all know that feeling of "Will this ever melt?"--but it also teaches you gratitude. I'm in a warm house, plenty of food (though I'm really ready for a restaurant meal), plenty to do, and a loyal dog for company. She follows me from room to room. Is she checking on what I'm doing? Now she's settled in "her" chair opposite my desk, curled into a little ball and cozy as she can be. Later tonight, she'll go to her bed for tummy rubs, but then she'll wander off and tomorrow morning I'll find her curled up in her chair. No newspaper for four days but I can keep up with the world on television and the Internet. Mail today for the first time since Thursday--two pieces so insignificant it wasn't worth opening the front door to get them. I heard of a friend whose furnace has been out since Friday and it got down to 16 in their house--yes, I'm grateful and praying for them and others. Part of my neighborhood lost power last night but not my street--again, I'm grateful.
Tomorrow, it is supposed to melt quite a bit. I have a tentative plan to go to dinner with a friend, and Wed. night I have plans for a Christmas celebratory dinner with two friends--even made a reservation.
Surely this is going to melt and we can get back to normal. I just pray it isn't a forecast for the winter to come.

Cabin Fever

This is day three of a self-imposed stay in the house for the storm that a whimper and not the expected bang. I just set my mind to staying home Saturday through Monday but by tonight my own company is wearing thin. Even Sophie is bored with me. Not that I haven't accomplished things.
I've unpacked the Christmas decorations and got the house in fairly good shape--ready for Jordan's inspection and oh-so-tactful suggestions. Most of it is the same as it is every year, but this year I wanted to do something different on the dining table. This is what I've tentatively come up with:

His name is Santa Mac, because my father, a good Scotsman, was called Mac, although I doubt Dad ever wore a kilt. Friend Jeannie Chaffee happened on him on a shopping trip somewhere and knew I had to have him. Jordan may well object to the absence of candles--we'll see. The table stymied me for two days--waiting for inspiration to strike. I had put Santa Mac in his usual place on the bookcase and just happened to glance at him tonight. Voila! I don't think all my decorations made it out of the attic but since I need Santa's helpers to get them, I won't complain--my helpers did a good job. I can't go search for missing items because I'm not allowed to go into the attic--one of the few rules of living alone that I'm happy about.
I know you're not supposed to decorate before Thanksgiving--whose unwritten rule is that?--but this year Thanksgiving is so late that when it's over, Christmas will be upon us.
I've written a guest blog, assembled the neighborhood newspaper, and am almost done with a last trip
through the fifth Kelly O'Connell novel before I send it off to the editor. I think its title is Deception in Strange Places. I've made a pot of soup, which I froze, and served dinner to guests. It hasn't been an unproductive time at home, but I've had enough, thank you very much.
I could have gone out today because of the storm that wasn't, but I had no plans, nowhere to go unless I spent money, and the damp cold didn't inspire me. By the time Jordan invited me to come for wine, I was set in my at-home mode.
Getting out tomorrow for lunch and dinner--it's about time! And by this weekend it will be sixty!