~A decision that became a metaphor~

Today I’m thinking back to last Thanksgiving. It was delightful. We spent it in Brooklyn with the Junior Gormans. JGtE, who is an amazing young chef working at Tatiana and pop up events around NYC, took the reins of our holiday meals and I feel like this is now an official appointment. Yes, Chef!

The best part was I did not have to cook. Ok, no of course the best part was being able to spend time together, walk everywhere and go to the New York Transit Museum.

The weather was a bit colder than chilly. Appropriate for late fall, with an extra dash of something brisk this way comes. Hats were not optional, but sneakers were still warm enough, and so were my lightest pair of gloves. As we walked down Flatbush Avenue Thanksgiving morning on our way to procure some last minute provisions, the sun shining brightly over Prospect Park on one side of the grand avenue and the Brooklyn Botanic Garden on the other, I felt a wave of the kind of potent gratitude that arrives of its own volition, caused as it is by the irrepressibly simple joy at being alive. Fully in the moment, freed for just an instant from concerns for whoever (my long list of beloveds for whom I am a devoted and soppy fan, expanding outward to immigrants, anyone who isn’t white, straight and a man, the planet and all its creatures), and whatever (our country, the rule of law, civil rights, reproductive rights).

I am intuitive but I am also human, and while I am able more than most, more often than not, to rise above the fear we are all choking on to get a real sense of how we must proceed, what is real danger and what is inflammatory, what to release and what to resist, and above all, how to guide my actions everyday to be of service in the midst of crisis and turmoil, both personally and as a human citizen, I felt something akin to flying. It was a moment of utter peace and equanimity.

I’m sure that’s why, thusly liberated and inspired, as well as it not actually being winter yet, I proclaimed, “You know what? I’m not going to complain about winter at all this year. Not even to be funny. No kvetching, no snark, no joining the camaraderie of shrugging whaddayagonnado eye-rollers. I’m going to take all the energy I’d be using being n e g a t i v e and conserve it! You know, for coping.”

I even promised there would be no swearing.

Bill paused for a moment, as if considering all his options and whether anything other than humor her would pass muster. I’m positive his response, “Ok?” contained multitudes and absolutely did not insinuate utter disbelief.

I mean he does know me quite well.

It was only November 27th. There were 100+ days ahead in New England before anybody in their right mind would dare to stretch and exclaim, “I think we’re through the worst of it!” That’s just basic common sense. Do you really want to be the rookie who alerted Mother Nature anytime before April 15th in your out loud voice that we were still up for a blizzard or an ice storm?? Silly.

But the very next week, temperatures in Maine plummeted down into the single digits. For those of you who don’t know, that’s early, especially now that we are in accelerated climate change. That’s January behavior, Friends. True to form, we have had quite an Wintery McIcicle type situation this year. It’s been bitter and snowy and icy full stop, with no real thaws in between storms.

Some people in this household come alive in this weather. Because some people in this household are from Minnesota. The other person who lives here claws their way through the holidays in the cold and dark to tag the winter solstice and then starts counting the days until January 23rd, which is the midway point between the autumnal and vernal equinoxes, and the day when coincidentally 18,000 pounds of psychic wool, goose down, and base layers fall off me. There is evidently enough daylight at that point that the rest of the season becomes a lot easier on my brain, icy sidewalks notwithstanding.

And it is truly gorgeous now. The snow is still lying thickly everywhere and glowing, the sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking, with colors that are sometimes soft and washed, other times fiery and loud. The deep hush of snowfalls, the increasing bird song in the mornings, the bright bluebirds at the feeder even against the starkness of the trees are soothing in their own way. I really don’t hate it, I just wish I was hardier, more surefooted. This season takes effort and concentration for me, but if it is the price for living where I do for the other 3 seasons, it’s worth it. And the truly best thing about these long weeks of bitter cold has definitely been the acclimation: I now leave the house for anything other than a dog walk with a new threshold for a hat and gloves: anything over 15 degrees is fine without.

Yes, we can do hard things, even if they are not as hard as other hard things, or as hard for others.

What I didn’t understand was that something much more heartbreaking was on its way: ICE’s incursion into Minnesota would begin in December, followed by a surge in Maine. So basically I committed myself publicly to a cheerful demeanor during a season in which the gleeful cruelty and racism of our federal government was unfolding against the backdrop of the “regular” banal cruelty, corruption, and racism of this regime.

At least I did not promise to withhold profanity from any other commentary.

A couple of weeks ago I’d caught a cold and was in hunker down inside mode when Bill unfortunately sprained his ankle badly, which come to find out had also caused a small fracture. Immediately someone in this household was in a boot and the other person immediately became the only available dog walker, during a long stretch of days that were below freezing, unrelentingly.

It ended up being surprisingly restorative to be outside walking with Max. By then something else was afoot: I had gained perspective from weeks of mutual aid work, to understand that taking a walk was also a goddamn luxury. There were thousands of my neighbors in Maine who could not safely go about their business. Who were terrified to come to the door, let alone go outside at all. Who could not go to work, school, or church, or even to visit their wife and newborn baby in the hospital. Who needed food, legal assistance and rent money. And who carried the pain of losing at least one friend or loved one who had been kidnapped already.

The rage and grief I felt lit a fire inside. The need to cope with winter faded.

In its place was the work of facing our vulnerability as humans. It is an honor. It’s also terrifically difficult to hold space for it and to respond with decency when that is exactly what a small but violent group of people want to destroy.

Or, is it so difficult? Whether it was naive optimism, or a gut direction to conserve energy for more important challenges that would come later, the decision not to complain about winter helped me be resolute in another way. To take a stand against indecency. And by doing so, I was welcomed into the highest good for the greatest number yet again.

Holding you in my heart always,

Susan

Abolish Ice