I've Got a Fever for a Cabin

Well, here we are, buried in the snow again. For the time being, we are still talking inches, not feet, but the day is still very young.

I wonder what we will do today. Probably read some. Play with our Kindles. Watch TV. I was pondering the term "cabin fever" this morning. Although I haven't researched it, I would expect it came from pioneer days (not from being stuck in an airplane on the tarmac for 2 hours waiting to take off).

Most of my ancestors have been here since the early 1800's. I suspect several of them traveled in covered wagons and endured brutal winter conditions. Days like this make me feel like a wuss. I imagine us as pioneers, me baking and cooking while my man builds a big 'ole fire so we don't all freeze to death. Bundled in animal skins and shivering. The only upside would be that there were no driveways to shovel. Unfortunately, the downsides were numerous. Hungry wild animals would make it tricky to step foot outside. No 7-11 within walking distance. No Disney movies to keep the kids occupied.

There we would be, huddled close together by the fire. Him asking me what's for dinner. Or is there anything left over that would make a good snack. Me thinking we're just going to have to smell bad for awhile 'cause there's no way I'm sticking my hands in freezing cold water to wash anything. Then, to distract ourselves, we crack open something by Dickens, and he starts to read to me. We know all of the lines by heart. So, as we would in modern times while watching Rio Bravo, we start to recite certain well-loved parts together. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

Back here in modern day, snowed in, Mr. is still in bed. Our son is away at college, no chance of getting our driveway shoveled. (Don't be that way, Joe, you know we miss you.) I suppose I'll get talked into baking something this afternoon. Maybe we'll shlep to the library (which is four blocks away). Or, more likely, Dunkin' Donuts, which is situated at the corner of our street. Or maybe we'll just close the curtains and dream of warmer days.

Spring Training is only a month away!

Starting Over

I've been writing these blogs for a little over a year now. So, while at first my subjects were plentiful, I find it more difficult to glom onto topics about which I feel passionate.

Today, for example, I started to write about near death experiences. It's something I've been reading about lately. I also found myself online, perusing various articles about a whole host of experiences. Trying to get an overall feel for the topic. But I just erased everything I wrote.

I'm not sure I want to go there today. But I seem to be drawn to wonder about that inevitable time when we are no longer walking the earth. My takeaway is that, after life experiences are closely tied to one's personal beliefs. If you're a Christian, you get Jesus and angels, if you're of another faith, you see the God you've prayed to. Most of the experiences were positive, which is nice to know. I talk to deceased folks a lot. And I feel them with me. Good feelings, like peace and wisdom and quiet joy and, most importantly, I feel their support. Is this just because I believe or because they are real? What is real?

But there I go, off the rails again. I didn't want to write about this today. But now I have. So I guess I believe that there is some compelling reason for this choice of topic. Maybe I need to remind myself to be present. To pay attention to the here and now. To live for the moment, not look ahead to what may or may not be. Let the future take care of itself.

Be here now. (My personal mantra.)

To anyone who chooses to read my ramblings today, I apologize. I hope you are in a good place today and that you are warm and safe and dry and able to count your blessings.

I'm counting mine now. And no, I'm not going to look at the weather forecast!

A Look Inside

Certain Native American tribes believe the camera steals your soul. Well, you can understand why. I've looked  into the eyes of people photographed a hundred years ago and gotten lost in them. They no longer walk the earth, but their image remains, and I can't help but wonder where they were in their lives when the shutter snapped. I've been intrigued not only by my own relatives but by people in books and in museums.

Photo of the Smithsonian painting of General Giles

Painted portraits have the same effect on me. There was one in the National Portrait Gallery that I still remember from many years ago. It was of a gentleman called General James Giles, painted by Joseph Wright. At the time I discovered the painting, there was no easy way to learn more about my General Giles  -- the internet was not yet public. I asked the museum if they had any information -- they did not. So it was only until very recently that I learned he was a commissioned member of the Continental Army in the Revolutionary War and that he served under the command of the Marquis de Lafayette. He was born circa 1759 and died in 1823.

What was it that made him so memorable to me? There was something of his soul there, deep in his eyes. What I think is very cool is that here I sit, wondering about someone who died 191 years ago. He lived in extraordinary times, yet he is remembered not because he did anything that landed him in the history books, but because someone painted his picture.

It's human nature to want to be remembered and thought about by future generations. To leave some sort of footprint in this world, so that others may wonder what we were like, what were our loves, our aversions, our losses.

 In the years to come, how, or even will, I be remembered at all? Kind of puts things into perspective, it does.

P.S. One interesting side note:  General Giles died on July 23rd -- my birthday.

Today, the Smithsonian, thanks to a dogged, researcher (identified only as "Laura"), has a mini biography posted of General Giles. Many thanks to the individual who illuminated the man's life for me after many years of wondering.

Snow Job

This week, the question "Why am I here?" was less about waxing philosophical and more about the buckets of snow that piled up in my driveway.

I was born in this part of the country, so it is no surprise when the white stuff shows up every year. What is a little surprising is that, in view of how much my husband and I hate the cold weather, we haven't moved someplace warmer.

We did live in Washington, DC for awhile. When I first moved there, they told me they didn't get a lot of snow. Both the weekend before I arrived and the one after, they got a foot of snow. When I showed up for my first day of work, my red-faced boss swore this was an aberration. I got a lot of comments about how I brought the snow with me. That was over 25 years ago, and they are still getting significant snowfalls.

I've dreamed of living somewhere in the Southwest. But, I don't know, either I'm just getting too old to move or I'm too practical. The logistics of such a transplant make me tired. So, the dream remains a dream, and I remain in Northeastern Ohio.

Like many others in this neck of the woods, I do enjoy having four seasons of weather. I just wish so much of it wasn't filled with the white stuff. I wouldn't mind it so much if I didn't have to shlep back and forth to work. This week was made manageable because my son was home from college and could dig me out of the driveway.

What surprises me is that the process of snow removal on the roads hasn't changed much in the last 40 years. For all the advances in science and technology, they still haven't figured out how to make the roads safe after the white stuff does its thing. It appears that we can conquer many obstacles, but Mother Nature ain't one of them.

So...I will go and wrap my hands around a hot cup of coffee and read the paper. And keep the curtains closed. Then I'll suit up and head off to face the cold and ice and snow.

Yuck!