Windchills of -70 this morning.

I deep cleaned the kitchen and wrapped presents today.
I’m tired.
Achy…. sat on the floor and lost the tape, scissors. I probably swore… definitely tired.
(Moms know)

But I’m also anxious by nature.
Struggled, if I’m honest,
especially this year with my anxious nature.

And the wind… wreaks me.
Makes me so unsettled.

And I know the deer that are nearly tame-
who come when I call-
as I throw stale crackers from my pantry — are suffering.
And the squirrels. And birds. And occasional fox.
Wonder after them. Wish them warmth. A place to settle. Shelter.

Also cats. Two in particular are like family. I’ve watched them trace the crescent moon of my driveway a thousand times. I put food out when it’s cold. Poe and King.

And I think of my grandmas: 80 something and 90 something. And my new nephew. And all of us.

But I also heard- the Rosebud Reservation (or parts of) still have no power or water after last week’s blizzard. So I weep for those grandmas. Those infants. And all of them.

And, gosh, this wind is not a soundtrack I’d wish on those I love.
Or those I hate.
Or anyone.

Windchills 50-70 below zero.
Be safe.
And if you can take care of someone.
Do that.
Just- do that.

(Pic: My Christmas tree illuminating the ice growing inside my window. And my heater has worked all day. Be kind.)

December Blizzard

I’ve been in a warm house with a full pantry for three days.

And will be for another three.

I’ll go back to school for a few days on Monday then a long break for the holiday.

And I don’t know what “holiday” means to you, but I’ve never been insulted when someone wishes me “Happy Holidays.” It literally translates to “Happy Holy Days.” And whatever you celebrate that phrase is right. True. A bit of warmth in the cold of winter. Say it. Embrace it.

If as you weather this storm, you have cabin fever and must step out your front door… please, throw some birdseed when you do. Troy Kruse plowed for the neighbors. (He’ll roll his eyes that I mentioned it.)

But please check on the elderly, quiet one next door. Or several down. You know the one. Take note if they have the heat on. Or pour out a pile of cat food for the stray cats and racoons and squirrels. Or all of those.

Also - there are kids who depend on school lunches to feel full for even part of the day… I know some. Kids who missed four hot meals this week. Four days that shouldered into a weekend. And those kids are absolutely aware that their hunger is about to bleed into a long Christmas break.

Whatever your politics, I hug those kids as they leave my libraries and I promise they didn’t pick the situation they were born into.

Anyway- if you’re having a hot meal tonight - if you know a door… suspect a door… that needs you… offer leftovers. Birdseed? Walk to the garage and throw it like confetti. Pile of cat food in the driveway. I call that “holiday” stuff.

Holy Day stuff. Decorate.

The wind is high and the snow is deep. Whichever you choose, whatever you can do - hero stuff. Holy day stuff.

On the Day of the Daughter

She’s a tangle of laughter and questions
and half damp towels never quite in the hamper.
A spray of paper scraps upon the carpet-
discarded like confetti from an art project.
“One more game of Five Crowns...”
A prayer for the bird stunned hitting our window.
A Harry Potter movie weekend.
Or a well-loved copy of “The Hunger Games” splayed beside her as she sleeps.
A bad attempt at puns.
A constellation of freckles.

Some days she pushes back as much as she reaches out.
I’m grateful for these tests of will.
Misplaced, perhaps, but vital.
A test of cautious wings.
A measurement of resistance and resilience.
Instinct alive to the coming storm.
A primal awareness of the demands of time.

All practice for a world less wonderful.
A world less worthy.
A world less wise.
But wonderful still.
And better for her presence in it.
True of the world and my life too.

Thinking of the girls and women of Iran...

On the Day of the Son

I wrote this for Seth a few years ago. It still fits, so I’ll share it again.

Also, this is a picture from this summer. I’ll share the story in another post. (At the risk of sounding batshit crazy.)

For now you only need to know… there was a badly injured squirrel in the grass. Seth brought an umbrella for shade. Spoke softly. Knowing it was probably dying… but not wanting it to be alone.

That’s quintessential Seth.

————

And now it is the day of the son.
I have one of those too.
Maddening, stubborn,
Wild. Intense.

But in a breath and a turn

You are, also,
Unceasingly empathetic,
Kind.
”Pet the cat.” ”Scratch the dog.”
“Help me save this caterpillar from the sun.”

Always a rock in your palm or pocket waiting for me. “Mom - I found this. For you. See this spot is smooth. This part is sharp. For you.”

And each night down the stairs again. Another rock-a-bye and one book more.

Nestle in, my boy. For we are a puzzle that only fits together this way for a season.