Mid-Winter

Posted on by pmdello

“Why are we not better than we are?”

Eric Trethewey from Frost on the Fields, a poem

The street I live on, from mid-January.

I walk the streets of my neighborhood alone. I search for harbingers of spring. I find omens instead. Crumpled masks litter the gutter. A feral cat skitters away to a hidey hole. It’s the mucky middle of winter. The sidewalks remain slippery, cluttered with muddy snocones of ice. I tread with care, my pockets full of tissues and cough drops.

The winter is hard, well, not harder than usual. Just different, as have been all forty six that I’ve known in this valley. I remember the worst ones. The trauma of ice storms. The terror of power outages. Trees crisscrossing the highway in disarray. Every curve in the road a slick doubt of forward motion.

This year, though, there’s a regression to the mean. Rain early and plentiful. A couple of cold snaps, then some snow. The prevalent feature: a brooding velvet grey sky. In its sameness, I lose track of time. I forget what day it is. It lifts momentarily and teases my gloominess. It chides me for a glass half empty attitude. Then, it descends again and I wonder if I imagined the respite. Spring hides behind the curtains of such a winter, just waiting for its cue.

Our bird bath, full of snow.

Where, poets wonder, is the good in us? Climate change and war seem as inevitable as the seasons. Ukraine and Gaza scurry on their monotonous hamster wheels of conflict. Party politics dishonor any hope to pursue a common good. Our nation’s capitol has become a burial ground for good intentions.

Have I known instances where we are unbridled in our goodness? Yes. I’ve witnessed first hand the wonders of modern medicine. No, my blood cancer, Multiple Myeloma, is not cured. But, for fourteen months, and counting, I’m free of toxic chemo. The extraordinary science of CAR-T brings relief to many patients. I am one.

Patience has been my friend. Along with my doctors, we’ve knit a once incomprehensible garment of care. It’s checkered with remission and relapse. I remain in purgatory betwixt the two. But, I have today and maybe I have tomorrow. It’s enough. I’ve been gifted time to forgive, forget, and appreciate this crazy unpredictable journey of life. All this, because someone believed we could do better than we were.

*******

I have a friend who was recently injured. Imagine: scooter vs. SUV. A devastating collection of broken bones and internal damage ensued. A trauma team’s response saved his life. A hospital in Portland, OR then set about putting him back together. The story is just beginning. It’s not the time for speculation.

Spring hides behind the curtains of winter, waiting for its cue.

Yet, the paramedics and first responders were well trained in how to manage trauma. The police who controlled the scene understood the need to investigate the hows and whys. The doctors and nurses and support staff at the hospital followed protocols to protect my friend’s life. Dozens of people demonstrated we are at our best when things are at their worst.

I am a product of the idealism of the 60s. So, too, is my friend. I believe we can be better than we are. Wars and political cynicism notwithstanding. I walk and observe. Winter is hard, as it should be. I breathe in the ambiance of what’s extraordinary in nature and mundane in my neighborhood. I exhale what encompasses us all. It’s good. It’s bad. It’s life. 

Here is a song for Peter, by Jack Rhodes and Red Hayes.

12 thoughts on “Mid-Winter”

  2. You write about life so well. The good and bad measures the level of optimism and pessimism, and I do know about the cold, winter skies, which, when mixed with politics and war, makes it feel as if the gloom will never end. And even with the sad news of your friend, the words “I have today and maybe I have tomorrow. It’s enough. I’ve been gifted time to forgive, forget, and appreciate this crazy unpredictable journey of life. All this, because someone believed we could do better than we were…” leaves me with a beautiful, optimism.

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  4. Your ability to latch on to the best in us is admirable. I understand how sadness in life (a very young friend of mine died suddenly over the weekend) can overwhelm us…especially during the cold season. But today I spent time with wise, resilient teens who gave me hope. I hope I can keep optimism alive the way you see past the omens during your winter walk. Thanks for helping me handle life’s ups and downs.

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    1. Hi Ginger. Thanks for your comment. So sorry for your friend. Sometimes life’s random and capricious happenings require that we dig deep to find and treasure what is wonderful. Seize the day …

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  5. You bring me back to October 2009, and night Charley died. There was a snowstorm that evening, 16 inches fell overnight. Driving home from the hospice house after saying our final goodbye’s was treacherous, luckily friends came to pick us up. We woke the next morning to the blue skies and sunshine Colorado is known for. I knew right then that I had landed in the right state to make it through this difficult period in my life. Not only were my daughters here, I knew the sun was never far away.

    This morning we woke to 6 inches of light powder outside and I watched the sun rise in all its majesty. We shoveled the light snow, but probably could have waited. The sidewalks were dry by noon, the yard still snow covered, and the sun shines down warming my heart once again.

    It takes work to stay above the grey and gloom that descends so easily in the PNW. You have captured it beautifully and have found ways to work through it. I am full of admiration for your process and your perspective. Your writing always brings me back to the valley I cherish, the good times and the challenging times in life. Many thanks, keep writing and sharing your stories. I hope your friend fully recovers.

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    1. Thanks Sally for taking time to comment. Your poignant reminiscence about Charlie marks what is unique about Colorado and Oregon. 2009, wow!

      Each time I write a new post I wonder, “Am I over sharing?” Hearing from others keeps me going. Thanks again.

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      1. Not overstating at all! So good to be part of real meaningful conversation, sharing intimate thoughts! Keep the words coming.

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