1.24.15 If It Was 23 Years Ago

Today finds us here in a quieted, muffled dark world.

     If it was 23 years ago, there would be diapers to change and small ones to bring out to move and shout and exhaust themselves  and then bring back in, noses running and cheeks red and small bodies relieved of the need for fresh air and movement.

      If it was 23 years ago, there would need be crafts ideas and game ideas and snacks on time and meals and naps; and friend arrangements for the 12 year old, laundry to do and spats between the 2 and 3 year old, and those periodic walks around the block with the two dogs and small ones in tow.

If it was 23 years ago, there would be drives to and from Berkshire East Ski Resort, where the 12  year old would be doing the racing program, all day both days, and the small ones and I would spent 2 hours in the car driving to and fro, while my husband tried in vain to work on his dissertation.

     On one of these drives, either Saturday or Sunday, morning or evening, I encountered on the radio a story about a universe that existed behind the walls of a local mall. I kept catching it again and again, as I drove week after week, handing back snacks and toys and juice water bottles into the back seat to the two locked into their carseats.

      Somehow between Greenfield and Charlemont, I was transported in time and space by the program, often while executing that fine parental art...of sneakily unwrapping a Charleston Chew candy bar sooooooooo slowly......soooooo gradually.....that only a few times would the three year old say, warily, " What's THAT?" to the small crinkle, and look at me askance when I spoke with a bite in my mouth, diction a bit off, me almost laughing hysterically in my early parenthood isolation and lunacy, while trying to do the right thing.

     But here we are, 23 years later, the arduous delicious work of parenting quieted to a small intermittent simmer; the life quieted to a whisper of days.

     This morning I brought out Shiva Louisa, almost 17 1/2 and doing just fine, thank you very much, with much upkeep and love. I had on my husband's old Sorels, barefoot, coat slung on, nightgown rippling in the snowstorm, impatiently out with her, and camera in hand, I wandered about a bit, grateful for my life here in silence and privacy, on this foothill. I made my way up to the compost to see if there had been a night time visit from the tiny small coyote, and there had, all alone, I saw, as I traced their tracks from all the way up the field to the compost, and all the way back down. Still, no other members of their pack, and alone is unusual. But there the small one is, persisting and visiting. And they will have no predators ,save cold and hunger, so the best of luck to them.

     In the meantime, the snow is stilled to a constant small flurry, the winds coming through intermittently to push the snows off branches, as it lands in plops all through the yard and forest. 

As the birds happily swoop in to feed all day long, and the pup awaits the romp across the field now, as the thick grey skies darken, and all about us is mute with midwinter and snow.