Quiet morning

I watched a squirrel bound across the snow, then bobble and cling as he scrambled along the white-padded branches of the tree outside my office window. He paused and perched, greedily gobbling a cold meal of one rare remaining berry. Then he scampered and slipped through the thin limbs searching for more.

The snow is beautiful.

Its a wet snow. Not too deep – not more than an inch or so. But it is sticky, clingy. A blanket over everything. Last night and this morning, the downtown looked like a Norman Rockwell. Quiet, but not subtle. Tranquil, and stark. Amazing.

I do understand why Nightingale and others enjoy winter. And I admit, I do, too. Watching the globs of snow blow off the branches like massive snowflakes reminds me of riding the Olympia lift up at Winter Park. Long stretches of solitude where the only sound is the delicate whump of aspen-snow clumps falling, and the tattletale groanings of the chairwire. Beauty. Oh, beauty.

I realized last night that what I hate is the windchill. Not even the humid cold (as opposed to a dry cold) but the windchill. The image is immediately that of the winter which I hate; one that steals life quickly, steals the screams of the helpless and lost. *shivers*

I thought of how Trynity’s back forty must look this morning, or especially last night. How much I wish that I could be there, walking through it with her – with anyone who knows how to appreciate it – in a quiet admiration and marvel.

Last night was the viewing of John. D and several others from the land were there, which allowed me to be more myself. The difficulty is that I do not know John’s family. Not at all. I came by to make my closure, and not so much for the family.

So had I been alone, without anyone else I knew, I would have come and gone quickly. Instead we supported each other as our own little family. I lingered longer than I planned.

Arriving late at drama, I walked in and walked on stage and we practiced. The others having had several goes at it, I was quickly told my place, the pacing, my blocking and away you go! After a run-through with me in my position, we performed it again for the pastor.

Then we broke up, and I went to the office to help Robin with her computer.

I also got the chance to talk. I even showed her several of my recent entries. It was akward for her, because my whole message was how people don’t seem to call me for anything unless they want me for something.

This is getting too rambly. I just wanted to say how much I appreciated Robin talking with me, even if I bought that conversation by staying late to work on her computer.

At lunch today, the two round tables where the fun group sits were full. The next nearest table sat empty save one woman lost in her meal. I approached and asked her if I may join her – my original intent being to kinda sidle up to the other tables from here.

As I sat down, one of the fun-group women turned to ask me about drama practice last night. Her first words were “How are things for you?” and then it went into drama. So once we reached a break point, I turned, caught the eye of the woman at my table and asked, “What about you?” and smiled.

She brightened, and told me how she was visiting our building for a meeting about our foreign language program. Her Mexican accent was strong, as were her Hispanic features. But she spoke with quiet confidence.

Over the next 20 minutes I asked questions about what she was telling me; I learned alot about our language program, and a little about her home town in Mexico. When she was finished she thanked me for the conversation, and we introduced ourselves.

Midpoint in my conversation with this woman, two friends from my office – both administrative secretaries, and both women, interrupted. They said, “we were both sitting just commenting on how good you look today – your sweater and shirt and all. We like it, you look nice!” I beamed briefly, thanked them, then returned my attention to the woman at my table.

After she left, I relocated with the two secretaries. Mostly I listened, but I put in my two cents worth. I told them, “I’m dressed for a funeral today – guess I’ll have to do that more often!”

All in all, it was a good lunch.

God still takes care of me – keeps me sane.