"Transition: the period of time during which something changes from
one state or stage to another."
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So for two days I've sat at our table rereading my Bailey White books beneath a lamp. Usually the light from the big windows is enough, but the afternoons have appeared more like evening and well, I don't like that. Who does? So I remain beneath a lamp. And beside a tiny heater.
Oh how I enjoy Bailey White's first two books, so much so that I must tell that jealous voice inside me to hush up. Gee, I wish I could write like Bailey. I also wish I had as many odd relatives as she does or--at the very least--that my brain could make up hilarious stories about mine without them disowning me. Alas.
Of course, wishing won't get any of that; wishing wastes the time one could have spent reading books about writing humor and practicing writing, itself. Oh, and searching for other people's relatives to write funny stories about.
Anyway.
My least favorite time of year? This one. This uncomfortable time of transitioning from Autumn to Winter, from having had 6 months of pretty weather when I could stroll around the yard whenever the craving came to, instead, having snow and a cruel type of cold which splices through ones heavy black wool coat if she dares steps out the back door.
It's a transition time which involves acceptance that Life has changed. At least for the next 6 months.
Of course, my far west friends might not understand this, those to whom Winter means just grabbing a hooded jacket on their way to the gym or work or the town library. Here, Winter means so much more, the 'more' being mostly unpleasant where outdoors is concerned, so unpleasant that one will, 99% of the time, choose to stay indoors if at all possible.
Yet lest the entire Winter remain uncomfortable, lest I complain through the whole thing, I must work through this transition time. I must face it, accept it, in order to find the door to that blessed slower, golden pace which belongs only to these months, only in these snowy states.
When I quit kicking against what's gonna happen, when I accept rather than avoid--I find peace and Winter's unique cadence. And then I discover more doors to the alive, growing things inside rather than out, things like joy and grace, both which come only after acceptance has completed her perfect work.
Tom brought home the flowers for me yesterday for our anniversary.
Every mile is two in winter. ~from Witts Recreations
To shorten winter, borrow some money due in spring. ~W.J. Vogel
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Happy Thanksgiving Eve!
Beautiful anniversary flowers, Debra. Good work, Tom! I UNDERSTAND the transition to snow. I'm thankful for so many things, but snow has never been one of them. ;)
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