 Written on the first snow fall of November, 2018
Snow is nice on a calm dark winter night walk. Insulated quiet and boots crunching. A few flakes falling slow and gentle. Snow is nice when it comes down so heavy it cancels school and your young kids jump for joy and play all day outside until they can't feel their coral cheeks. You have cocoa and grilled cheese waiting. Snow is nice when the sun shines and the sky is crisp blue. The trees don't have shade to cast - the leaves left them bare and the white snow capping every surface glimmers in the sun and makes everything brighter. Snow is always nice. Shoveling gets your blood pumping and the seven layers you had on, slowly get thrown to the porch one by one because you're soaking in sweat. Snow. It's nice. It's winter that's not. The long dark nights that cut your day in half, leaving you unmotivated in the evening to do anything but stay inside where it's warm and eat. Eat and lay around and the light you seek is the screen before you. It's winter. Winter is not nice. It's grey and brown. Your eyes crave green so badly it aches. Your skin forgets what the warm summer breeze feels like. You realize you haven't heard a bird sing. Your feet haven't touched the earth, toes haven't sunk in the sand or felt the water lapping. Clothes, clothing, zippers, scratchy woolens, long wraps, coverings, heavy boots and tight extra undergarments. Contain and constrict. The cold cramps your posture forward to retain heat. You go outside and your muscles shiver and tense. Constantly on guard fighting - fighting cold. Fighting Winter. It's the darkness that accompanies the cold. It drives people inside their homes. You don't see neighbors for months on end. You're all probably doing the same things inside, alone. Eating. Watching shows that have sunlight in them to escape where you live and how lonely you are. You contemplate doing something crazy because winter madness sets in. You plot a get a way, but really you want to get away for good. Forget the exchange of seasonal tubs of clothing and closet rearranging. Twenty different kinds of coats for different temperatures, not to mention footwear. Leave it all behind. It's too much. Winter makes your mind simple. It's isolating. Winter. Is it for strong people? Does it make you strong? Why do we stay? We don't have to. Brief interactions with people outside your home. It's the same winter themed comments: Golly it's cold! Haven't we had enough of this? When's it going to end? People drive like idiots in the snow. How long is this winter going to be? The weather man didn't predict this. Winter has its nostalgia going for it. Winter is for kids where you're comfortable and cozy and cared for. Winter for kids means sled rides, sleepovers, pancakes and snowball fights. Winter for adults is getting up in the dark to make coffee and shivering at the gas station to fill up. How can winter be magic for adults? For adults who swerve away from Mistletoe and don’t resonate with the lyrics of young loves missing each other on the holidays. Who brings magic to adults who have been creating it for years for their children? We create the ornaments together, we read and reread the Christmas books, we wrap the gifts secretly. We create the setting. It is full. It is full of magic and excitement and beauty and wonder. The thing that's there that remains is the stillness and light. The bundle of wet boots and gloves and snow pants heaped on the floor. The heat turns on. The dark. It's still. It's a waiting period. So you use the light available and all you want are candles and little lights on strings. It's gentle. It's soft and it's respectful of this season of dark. You open up in reverence and begin to listen to what she says. You realize Mother Nature gave you the dark for real reasons. You're by yourself in the dark for a reason. It's an internal time. Who says winter should be full of shiny joy and love and surprises, anyway? Target? I'm listening to me. To her. I'm putting my hands on the earth. The earth is real. And wise. And all she wants from me is to heed the dark. Feel the dark. Maybe it's a gift. My eyes will adjust. Don't judge. Don't compare. It's where I'm at. This month. This year. This chapter. This season. In my life. No one has summers every season anyway - no matter how warm the sun. Don't look outside yourself for warmth. It's right here. Be still. In the dark. Of winter. Feel. Your. Own. Warmth. Beauty is Everywhere. - Holly
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 Diverting from life’s real struggles, Willa obsessively scrolled online for a pair of new leather boots.
The boots had specific requirements for her; tall, not suede, snug in the calf, wide in toe, low heel, comfortable and durable to walk to work, but stylish enough to go with her outfits. A tall order. She’d snap out of the trance of searching after an hour had gone by and she hadn’t gotten any closer to finding just the right boot. So, she ordered something that was close enough; settling. Excited for the arrival, she’d open the box, try them on and be disappointed. The boots arrived, the boots had to be returned. She’d spend hours diving back in, searching for more candidates and avoiding her worries. Somehow, that right boot would make her life right, too. Willa put a roll of packing tape in her purse and drove to the mailing store to return two boxes of boots. She had planned to tape up the boxes when she got there, but the packing tape was now no where to be found in her purse or car. She began to panic. She anticipated a long line and the stressful vibe and hurriedness of strangers behind her, especially during the holidays. She fretted that they wouldn’t have packing tape, or that they would charge her for taping it up, shaming her for not being prepared and the customers behind her would curse her under their breath for causing them to wait longer. Six people were ahead of her in line. She looked to the right where they sold packing accessories and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a roll of packing tape. She took it off the shelf, kneeled down and began taping up her boxes of rejected boots in front of the growing line behind her. As Willa approached the sight of the counter, she witnessed men and women handing their open boxes to the staff who wielded huge guns of packing tape. They were taping up everyone’s boxes. Everyone’s failed purchase was taken care of. They accepted each open box and taped it right up to go back. An abundance of packing tape. Free packing tape and the service of taping it up properly, even. Free flowing, endless packing tape. Her eyes grew wide in disbelief. Why had she been so fearful? She was just like everyone else.. trying to find the right fit, the thing that would make her happy, just to be disappointed and now they were all in line to start over. It’s hard when you’ve been continually disappointed, it’s hard to trust that things will work out. Willa; if she hadn’t been blinded and distracted by her own whirlwind of fear in her mind.. could have looked up out of herself to see that the staff had plenty of packing tape for her boxes, and for everyone’s open box. A lot of things don’t work out, but it is assuring that we get to start over. The Universe has our back and provides plenty of "packing tape" to everyone. A chance to begin again. Willa felt embarrassed that she got lost in fear mode, over the smallest of things - but it was a good lesson to remember to choose Faith over Fear. Making decisions based in fear never works out. Willa literally had to pay for it - the packing tape. If she had faith, she wouldn’t have. Life is a balance of knowing and reaching towards what you want, and also letting go enough to trust that things will work out in divine timing. Purpose and Intention coupled with Patience and Faith. When Willa let go of desperation to find the right pair of boots, she replaced it with gratitude for the pile of footwear that already existed on her floor. No new boots, but a new attitude. Beauty is Everywhere. -Holly  A brief exchange in the kitchen aisle at Walmart got me thinking.
The night before Thanksgiving, I went to buy a small pot to cook meals for the next 5 days away. I would be spending it alone at the School House. I would be striking a match to light the old gas stove top - not for family members gathered around the table talking, but just for myself in the quietude of the country. An unusual year called for an unique Thanksgiving. I heard a young man’s voice behind me call out respectfully, “Excuse me, ma’am?” No one replied, so he must’ve been talking to me. I turned around and he indeed, needed me. In regards to the one huge box resting in his cart, he asked sincerely, “Do you know if this will cook a turkey?” I stepped closer to take a look at the roaster/boiler he chose. I smiled, “Well, it does have a picture right on the box with a turkey roasting right in it!” I thought that would settle the matter. He asked me again, “Yeah, but do you think it will cook it?” He seemed genuinely concerned. I paused and briefly searched my mental files, expecting I could muster up some wisdom, figuring he needed some experienced assurance. I was honored to potentially be that person that would put water on his nervous flames. I came to my conclusion, laughing and slapping my thigh. “You asked the wrong person - I don’t know. I’ve never cooked a turkey in my life!” It’s true. I ‘ve only baked pies to bring to Thanksgiving get-togethers. I was always the pie person. Pumpkin or cherry, but apple was a family favorite. I wouldn’t be baking any pies this year. The young man, who looked like a “Ryan” to me, didn’t get the reassurance he wanted from me, so he quickly wheeled his cart in the opposite direction and admitted, “This is my first time.” I called out and waved to him, “Good luck!” as he rolled away from me and into a different aisle. It was my “first time”, too, celebrating all I am thankful for - on my own. My heart is full of gratitude this year, despite it being challenging. I stood staring at glass lids, curious now. Was it just his first time making a turkey, or first time alone on the holiday? Where was his mom to tell him how to cook it? Would Ryan be solo for Thanksgiving, like me? Why? Was it because of quarantining, or some other reason? Was he excited to start some new tradition or sad? Who was he making the turkey for? Why did he ask me for advice? Why didn’t I ask him more questions? I thought about how brief the conversation was and the potential for a connection that I didn’t bother to stoke. So many questions. Heavy with more meaning and importance, I thought of my own son, similar in age to Ryan. My son was having a first time without me on Thanksgiving. This is the deeper connection that I truly grieved. My sweet son is the one that I feel sad about letting down. My son, who I wonder and worry about. Clearly, no matter how old you get, and how things can even be illustrated on a box with answers, you look to your mom for reassurance. You trust your mom for guidance. I want to retain that connection with my son who I miss so much. Not having the answers for Ryan, or my son, they will have to look to others they trust and essentially - their own intuition. Turn up the heat and take risks. Fire and intention. That’s how you cook a turkey, or do anything I suppose. I’ll always be a mom. I may not have all the answers, but I have the warmth of a maternal love that will never flicker out. Beauty is Everywhere. - Holly |
AuthorHi, I'm Holly. 
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