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Obvious Metaphors from an Obscure Blogger

Jan 28, 2011

Last night, I marveled at the snowstorm that blew past my house for hours until I fell asleep, wondering what I might find upon waking this morning.  Snow doesn’t affect me the way it affects most everyone else; except for the added pain from the cold, I am fortunate to view it almost entirely positively.  Since I rarely leave the house, I don’t have to worry about being “snowed in”, and the biggest difference is whether or not I will be spending the day with my daughter and her excitement over school being cancelled.  Oh, that special joy that comes along with that afraid-to-hope-for news… I remember it well.

Like most mornings, it was pain that woke me today.  In the quiet of a predawn house, I abandoned my husband in our bed and headed to my spot on the sofa where my heating pad faithfully waits for me.  With coffee and painkiller in one hand and a half-dozen Nilla wafers in the other, I headed to my spot on the cushion where a permanent impression of my body awaits, right next to the laptop and the TV remote .  But I had to stop in my tracks upon gazing out my window and catching a vision of what the snow had created while I was sleeping.

out my dining room window (after the sun came up)

With the tranquility and gratefulness that fills my heart the way only a snowscape can, I positioned myself on the sofa and took the painkiller with my coffee, chasing it down with the wafers so it wouldn’t come back up.  The warmth of the heating pad was beginning to soothe one square foot of my body at a time as I flipped on the television, but all I saw was a blank screen.   I pushed button after button, yet continued to view only a silent, ugly, greenish-grey blank screen. 

The peacefulness and awe of the beauty outside my window was quickly being replaced with something much more familiar: worry and panic.  They shut off our cable, didn’t they, I thought.  I guess we didn’t pay the bill again.  I opened the laptop to check if it worked — and because I needed a way to find out if my daughter’s 2-hour delay had changed to a cancellation of school.  The dreaded Comcast screen popped up – the one that only pops up when they shut off your service.

I just sat in my quiet living room, still feeling the burning aches and pains in my joints, but now more aware of the pain of losing at “Bill Roulette” this month – you know: “they must get paid, they have to get paid very soon, but they can wait.”  I guess Comcast should have been in the “MUST” pile :-/  And it’s not so much that we miscalculated and had our cable/broadband disconnected that upset me most, it’s that we have to play this sick Vegas game with our bills every month in the first place… and the fact that, even though I was looking at the very same snowy wonderland that had brought me joy a moment ago, I was suddenly too preoccupied to appreciate it.

Front lawn: branch falls under weight of the snow

Some people bend under pressure, others break.  I have a tree in my front lawn that bent so far under the weight of the snow last year that the top of it was actually stuck in the ground and it then ‘stood’ in a strange, unattractive hump shape for many months afterwards.  But it did not break, and I persuaded my husband not to cut it down – as if I felt some sort of affinity for its amazing ability to stay alive, despite its trials and its unsightly way of doing so.  And here it is again, after last night’s snow:

Not nearly as weighted over as last year, but how strange it is that a snow-laden branch from our giant pine tree is leaning – pushing it, even – as if to try to knock down the poor arborvitae. 
The giant pine lost a huge branch (above), but the arborvitae, she still stands. 

The cable and broadband?  It has been turned back on.  My husband and children are alive and healthy.  I am loved.  I did not break.  And I have one hell of a view from my beautiful (though in-need-of-many-repairs) house.

Perspective can cultivate gratitude.  If we let it.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Yes, this was mostly written yesterday, but then the pain in my hands forced me to stop until today.  So let’s just pretend it’s still yesterday when you read it ;-)

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2 comments

  1. The tree should be reassured that it’s doing OK in its refusal to break. But the tendency is that people take note more of its gravely bent shape than the fact that it is still rooted and connected to life. :)


  2. Thanks for visiting and commenting, Jack (I don’t feel comfortable referring to you as “Jackass” of anything :-) )

    I totally agree with what you’ve said; people are much too quick to notice failure and oddity than any amount of success and the effort it took to accomplish. The trick is to try to avoid applying that same hollow standard to ourselves, I think.

    Blessings,
    Debi



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