Last night the snowfall had such translucence
to it, swirling about with the gusty winds. The dogs delighted in the change as
they went outside,
Shiva peacefully standing for so long,
contemplating the sensations; the smells from distant places, lifting her
nose now and then to catch a particular scent. We stood for so long, she in
such peace and enjoyment; me standing by her, in the moment, watching the
distant shadows of the forest, of the stands of trees far across the fields, of
the dance of the snow as it fell.
Dante had his turn, to come out and prance and
race about in his young pup delight, catching thrown snowballs in the air,
racing up to tease me with a half- proffered ball, and then running off again
to play play in the snow.
Oh, it reminds me both of all the interminable
work and care and thought and love being a parent involved, and yeah, how there
are seasons in all of our lives for whatever we involve ourselves in.
Once one of my kids asked me "Why do
adults sit down all the time?" Just blew me away, because, while I wasn't
watching, it happened to me, too. I sat down all the time. Kids don't . Or
didn't used to, before machines and parents IPads and phones and such. They
raced about and got bored and invited friends over if allowed and weren't in a
neighborhood.
When we lived in North Amherst, Cowls Lumber
was next door, and they would plow all their snow into an enormous pile, right
next to our huge paved driveway.
And then all the neighborhood kids would come
slide and dig and tunnel and hurt themselves and come in crying and reddened
and cold and needing warming and drinks and snacks and drying of various
things, and then, as fast as they could, out they went again, climbing the
mountain of snow, calling and chasing and roaring and proclaiming things in
LOUD LOUD voices. I would stand in the doorway, amazed at how important YELLING
is for kids. And struggling through the snow. Having a hill they really really
want to get to the top of. Over and over again.
Often I would bring them and our snow-tubes
(less control, fewer coccyx injuries and whiplash) to Hospital HIll, which had
a big sign saying no sliding, we all thought for liability, which makes sense,
being the ex-State Mental Hospital and all. But truly, the very best hill
around.
It was exhausting, getting them ready and all
the whining about boots and socks not feeling right and covering all the little
skin places so they could last the effort of readying and snack prep and
dressing them and driving them and blowing up tubes and picking up friends. But
once we were there, there were just a million kids and parents, having a great
old time. And at certain ages they would need you to sit and slide with them
and then trudge back up the hill in the freezing cold and snow and all.
Or link hands between tubes, laughing and
screeching all of us, as we slid fast down the hill to the end of the line,
where the tubes would slowly come to a stop, and the cry would be "AGAIN!
AGAIN!" til they could hardly walk, and were on the verge of tears,and you
foresaw this, from suffering through the past, and got them the heck out of
there and home before all the meltdowns, helping pull off all the sopping wet,
frozen things and getting them all warm again while heating up Rice Milk and
Carob Cocoa (so they wouldn't get sick a lot, and zip madly about the house
from the chocolate) and marshmallows, and then everyone would cuddle up in warm
blankets and recount. The adventures. At those times, the adults did not sit;
that is for sure.
And as they grew, it would be a packed car with
sliding things tied to the top, and kids sharing seat belts, or mine stuffed in
the way back while I seat-belted other's children, and off we would go, me
keeping watch as they launched themselves and crashed into each other and the
boys and the girls practiced being friends and then thinking just a bit about
the difference...between boys and girls.
And I'd have hot cocoa by then, with whipped
cream and thick paper cups, so they could come up and have a break, older now,
taller, sweet sweet young people, jostling each other and tripping the other
and joking around while I laughed and threatened and admonished and kept them
in line.
It was glorious. And then pack them all back in, somehow, things tied once
again to the top, driving about the town, dropping off one kid as I watched for
them or the parent to wave to let me know a parent was home, and then another,
all pre-cell-phone-era, and then finally my own would be exhausted and cranky
and fighting and sobbing and complaining and cranky, but I knew.
I knew how it went, and how nice it is to be a
kid, and get to express all that stuff. Eventually everything would get put
away and they would be warm and dry and settled on the sofa with a dog or two,
telling stories about the day and laughing, while I picked things up and made
dinner and thought carefully on how life moves.
How it moves and changes and carries us along, in time. In years. In changes,
and ages. How exhausting and hard and precious and remarkable and completely
lovely it can be, all of a moment.
Now I look out on the day, the rain having come and covered all with this
magical glaze, that shines and weighs everything down a bit, as the full
fledged neighborhood birds show up for the first time, cold and snow bringing
some finality to the fall that is gone now, and the winter that has certainly
begun.
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