Random thoughts on a cold night

 

I have no idea what this image has to do with this blog, 
but it somehow landed here and I cannot get rid of it.
At least it satisfies the algorithms.

This is the kind of night when I really notice the one flaw in my cottage: there is no fireplace and no room for one. Jamie bought me a tiny artificial fireplace—the flames look very real, and it gives off just a smidge of heat, but I like it for the atmosphere, the thought of a fire. We have not yet gotten it down from wherever it was packed away over the summer. The cottage tonight, however, is toasty warm. I have the thermostat on the two ductless split systems—one in the living area and one in the bedroom—set at a level I never would in a regular furnace, but I don’t think these units heat as well. At any rate, I am comfortable—and I spent yesterday being cold all day.

I had the classic school dream last night—I was enrolled in two college classes but didn’t really want to take them. Finally I realized that I had already completed the degree requirements, and I dropped the classes. Such a relief! Occasionally I dream I am enrolled in a class and it’s time for the final, but I’ve never attended—or I couldn’t find the classroom. I think the class is often paleontology, something way out of my field of interest.

School dreams like that are not unusual and often mean that you are dealing with unpleasant memories or are anxious about something. I really don’t feel that there’s much in my life to be anxious about. But in the wider world, there is so much to be anxious about. I find that since the horrific Hamas attack on Israeli settlements, I am less optimistic. These days I am truly worried about an international war, with our troops suffering air raid strikes and half the Middle East ready to join the fight—though who on which side remains sort of unclear, except I don’t think Israel would have many allies. And at home, antisemitism is on the rise at an alarming rate. It’s like that night over three weeks ago Hamas let loose all the evil and hate in the world. It scares me that people are so fierce, and the individual stories break my heart.

Where is Solomon with his wisdom? Not only did he use his sword to settle a matter of motherhood, he successfully ruled over two tribes and is recognized today, in different ways, by both Jews and Muslims. I see no path forward to peace, and I grieve at the bitter fate of civilians on either side of the conflict. I read somewhere that over half the Palestinians killed in the conflict were children. Both sides are fixed on vengeance, but as Ghandi said, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” I am afraid that is what is happening to us.

It's hard these days to go back to the ordinary, to root yourself in such things as Halloween and getting plants in before tonight’s frost and what to fix for supper tomorrow night. But it is those ordinary things I think that often hold us together. And today I read an article about that most ordinary of things: the common southern phrase, “Bless your heart.” We all know it can be a biting insult, but an article in Southern Living suggests it is much more nuanced. The meaning depends heavily on the speaker’s tone of voice.

Whispered in a conspiratorial voice, usually about someone not present, it casts doubt on the subject’s abilities, mostly mental or social. Stated in a clear, caring tone of voice, it conveys real concern or sympathy. Said with sass, it implies judgement and an incredulous, “What were you thinking?” If the speaker’s voice holds pity, and you’re the recipient, accept that it is not a compliment and move on. If it’s said matter-of-factly, it may mean that the speaker doesn’t want to reveal their real feelings and wants to end the conversation.

Feeling much better today—thanks for asking. Cold symptoms cough and stuffy nose persist, but I have more energy and more interest in what I’m working on. Wrote a thousand words today, most of them good words.

Bless your heart, one and all.

The dichotomy of a nothing day

 

Some days there’s just nothing to say. The world at large goes on—the violence and destruction in Ukraine continue to break our hearts, Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky and his resistance troops continue to amaze and inspire. Another covid variant surge looms on the horizon, supposedly less lethal but much more contagious. Political ideology and disinformation continue to divide our country—most of you know where I stand on that, so I won’t belabor the point. The supply chain is still iffy, predicted to get worse because of Russia’s invasion and another round of covid. Food shortages are expected throughout the world as the Russia/Ukraine war destroys crops in the breadbasket of Europe. Gas prices increase, but before you moan about that look at what they are across the rest of the world—of course in England, for instance, they are not driving the tremendous distances that we in Texas are.

And when the news comes to Texas, we are now worried about wildfires. Much in Eastland County has been destroyed, and new fires have appeared around Cisco. To the south, evacuations are now being ordered in Lipan, as there is a spreading fire on the border between Erath and Hunt counties. Further south, fires are reported near Huckaby, which I’ve never heard of, but which alarms me because it looks too close to Tolar, where my brother’s ranch is.

The world picture is not pretty. But at home, it’s been the most quiet of days. We had, as I’ve posted, twenty-four hours of lots of company and good food and hilarity, including a welcome if brief visit with three of the four Tomball Alters. Today we’re apparently recovering. I have had only sporadic visits from Jordan and spent most of the day putting together the April edition of our neighborhood newsletter. Who knew when I asked for pictures of spring break trips, I would be inundated with so many? I’m not complaining at all—it will make for a more interesting newsletter.  

Tonight, having expected Christian to fix one of his delicious Asian meals, I instead had a dinner of scrambled eggs. It wasn’t bad at all—I fried some bacon and sauteed the tiny potatoes, left from my corned beef dinner, in the bacon grease before I scrambled the eggs. Made a most satisfactory dinner. So now. My stomach full, my soul soothed by a couple of glasses of wine, I’ll toddle off to my comfortable and safe bed.

And therein lies the dichotomy. I am not alone I’m sure in feeling almost a bit of guilt that I am so safe and content and happy while half a world away people are dying, desperate, sending young children away by themselves, hiding in shelters and wondering if they’ll live until morning. Much as we hear about the contrast between the two worlds, it will never become a hackneyed image. What’s happening in Ukraine is too terrible—and too inspirational. The courage of the Ukraine people puts me to shame for whining about an eye appointment and a root canal—both on my calendar this week.

I want to do concrete things to help, not just sit here at my computer and moan. I have contributed to World Kitchens and ordered a blue-and-yellow sweatshirt and contributed a book to Authors for Ukraine, but it all seems too petty. And, of course, I’ve prayed a lot. But one of our ministers recently said we must never think we’re a step ahead of God. When we pray for peace in Ukraine, God doesn’t throw up his arms and say, “What a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that?” He is ahead of us always; his eye is on the sparrow—and on the big war.

I don’t know that any of this makes sense, but these are the thoughts that go through my mind these days. How about you?

PS: If you want to know about Authors for Ukraine, check out their Facebook page: (13) Authors for Ukraine | Facebook. An auction, March 29 through April 12, will offer books by over 150 authors (including yours truly). All proceeds benefit Ukraine. It’s the least we can do. I still feel I ought to be over there across the Polish border cooking huge quantities of food under the watchful eye of Chef José Andres.