Category: Snow

Sick, Snow, Sounds, Spring

Published on by Mary GelpiLeave a comment

Oh, and two new favorite songs. At the bottom ——>>>>

This morning I was lucky to wake up to one of my favorite scenes: a thin blanket of white glistening atop every surface as far as I could see. Smoky, colorless pearls of clouds covered the sky, simulating life within a snow globe. No one had shaken it yet. A pristine world shimmered untouched, au naturale. The flakes were still falling, and as the morning went on they would oscillate from quarter-sized to barely visible. I love snow so much. And miss it! We barely received any this year, so this felt like a nice treat, despite it hardly reaching an inch. It’d be gone by late afternoon, but still it carried with it the sentiment of an anonymous gift.

I drank my coffee and watched as River hippity hopped around on this fluffy new texture, wholly excited simply by the feeling of something new under her feet. I imagine most dogs are this way, and the ones who aren’t are usually cats. Most people around here would say “It’s about time!” as it’s been an incredibly dry and mild winter Our first *real* snow arriving February 20th!? Everything in due time, I suppose. Else we are slowly succumbing to the unnatural phenomenon of everything warming until none of this is habitable anymore. By that time maybe, Mars will step in. If not, we self destruct, which Tolle describes as “not really a problem at all.” We’re all going to go, one way or another.

I
Love
Whatever This Is!

I am weaker than I’d like to be—which is not weak at all, of course. Even though I had inched my way to improvement over the last week, for some reason I woke up on Tuesday to the physical news that my muscles had turned to lead over night. Life is full of such creative surprises! My upper body and arms in particular strain to do very basic things, like brush my teeth—and that’s a great way to feel even more pathetic than you look. But I know the drill: no matter how many tasks remain written, undone, on the list that I’d like to start and even, gasp, finish in the near future, will all just have to wait. And I’ll just have to wait until my strength returns, which seems to happen inevitably in time, for no good reason at all— Just the same as how it arrived.

The kind part of laundry, dishes, the spice cabinet I’ve really been wanting to organize, is that they’re all very patient, so lucky me! In reality, when I can’t do these tasks it means someone else will have to, and I can’t tell you how bothersome that is. Not bothersome, but something more adjacent to guilt. I want to be a clean and organized and helpful person, and nothing disrupts that possibility more than a body reliable purely for its unreliability. Infuriating! But those are the rules dear. You can rest, waiting, either angry or surrendered; *that* choice is always mine.

The only real way to *wait* for some level of wellness to return with any sanity is to embrace to the present. Continually try to re-renter and stay in the now, reminding myself everything is actually fine. I *wish* it were different, yes. But it’s not life and death here. It’s mostly tolerance, humility, and patience. I have to remember (again and again on days like this) that all things of priority are operating, and all secondary things will be tended to when I’m able. The pile of laundry waiting to be folded has turned into a sculpture like heap in the hallway. Interesting color combinations and whatnot. More life surprises!

This thing called surrender comes highly into play throughout times like this, but it must always be discerned and separated from the idea of giving up. Yes, the two are mutually exclusive,as one implies befriending the present moment and accepting what’s possible and not; reality as is. The other has to do more solely with will power and throwing in the towel. As anyone and everyone with ME/CFS knows, if you could will-power your way out of this thing, we’d all be healthy as an ox. As Oxen? Who decided Oxen were the emblem of health anyway? Wait, who cares.

Despite the inch of snow disappearing by evening, remnants will remain. In the shady areas small patches it will last for a week. And in the yards where children play, sad looking snowmen will slowly shrink and deform until just two twigs-once-appendages lie in the wreckage pile. Perhaps with a rotting carrot somewhere in the mix. But for now it can simply be appreciated and enjoyed. One of my true great pleasures in life is experiencing the silence of snow, falling or freshly fallen. If you’ve ever stood in freshly fallen snow, or caught it still coming down, you know exactly the tenure of silence it conveys. It’s a sacredness proximal to watching the sun rise or set, or looking out into the oceans without a spec of land in site, or into the depths of canyons thousands of feet deep.

It offers to me the feeling of how much bigger than me the world is- how the earth inhabits a living autonomy, apart from the humans who occupy it. And yet, I have to believe we’re connected on some unseeable, unknowable field. I feel small in a good way—protected, overseen. A feeling of trust emerges because nature and all its phenomena far surpass me and my little life. It knows exactly what it’s doing. Which is reassuring personally, because I certainly do not.

(Here are some polaroids I took across the day. Polaroids: Because there’s just not enough damn photos out there.

Morning
Afternoon
Sunset

Snow gives good reason to pause and reflect. Not to mention it makes for nice scenery when you’re sick and essentially useless. I would surmise too few of us really stop and take it all in as much as we ought to. Easy to get lost in the frustration of scraping down your car windshield or having to shovel the driveway. For me it’s the audible nature of it, both the particular sounds it makes and the muteness it creates. If you close your eyes, nearly everyone can hear the crackle and crunch of footsteps in the snow. But you can also hear the insulated silence, the voices and sounds muffled by the accumulation. As it turns out, there’s a scientific reason why snow leaves such a pervasive, distinct quiet: Each snowflake acts as its own tiny sponge, as does the amassed snow on the ground. In this capacity, the snow is actually absorbing sound, leaving a sanctified hush in the place of the typical, unbuffered world and its noise. Is nature neat or what?! I DO declare.

(Two Weeks Later)

The snow is long gone, the birds are chirping, and it’s in the upper 60’s. February is over! I was starting to doubt that might never happen and I may personally enter a ground Hogs Day situation. Anyway, this weather is a tease. We’ll get hit with a few more cold snaps before the warmth really settles in. Guess what? I’m still weak. ME/CFS is a resilient disease. Rain/snow/or shine: It can and will thrive through anything! Oh well, I had a fun and more energetic weekend, which is probably why I’m paying a physical price now. So it’s back to to-do lists undone, River ansy for her walk, and all the sounds of nature crystallized and clear, animating another day of rest.

I have learned to do this, and work constantly not to forget. I’ve gotten pretty good at doing very, very little. Can you imagine that being anything to be proud of? Ridiculous. And normally, no. But for the hand millions of people and I have been dealt, it’s a teeny, tiny victory. With patience, all of what we must do, all of nature, and all we wish to achieve will unfold as time and space allow. In the meantime, we have to continue to find and adapt to who we are, no matter what transpires on the outside of us all.

Health, Happiness, Unfolding

P.S. Listen to these two songs: They’re my faves right now.

Snow, Christmas, Crash, Repeat.

Published on by Mary Gelpi21 Comments

I’ve attempted to sit down and write multiple times this week but my eyes continue to grow heavy and I fall asleep with the light of the monitor on my face and an incomplete sentence waiting. Most of the family left to their respective homes on Sunday and it appears my body waited for them to leave to go ahead and crash–which is nice of it actually. I made it through Christmas Eve and Day with adequate enough energy and I was really grateful for that. If being sick now is payment for what I experienced with family this Christmas, then it was well worth it. I just love those crazy animals!

Christmas is by far my favorite Holiday. The lights, the soundtrack, a reason to be kind, the eggnog, the food and the family. I treasure it all. Since we spent this Christmas in Colorado, I began praying weeks in advance for a White Christmas; something I haven’t had in many years. It just makes everything that much more “Christmasy.” When I awoke on Christmas Eve, I saw that my prayers were heard. We had every type of snow that day. In the morning it came down softly. By the afternoon it was big, slow flakes. On the way to Mass it was small gusty snow, fast and twirling. I felt like a kid again. And being that we’re Southerners who are rusty in the art of driving in snow, we went about 15 miles per hour on the way to Church, leaving an impromptu parade of backed up traffic behind us. But you can’t get mad about traffic on Christmas Eve– Not in your Sunday Best while the sky is falling. I received more than I asked for; 6 inches to be exact, which is pretty substantial for this town. It continued to snow into the night, revealing a very real White Christmas the next morning.  My favorite part was taking Monty on a walk that evening. The night sky orange from the clouds reflecting lights, the atmosphere hollowed; a padded cave where your steps crunching the snow is all you really hear. It almost demands that you stand still, that you look up. There is a tangible quietness to snow and it was a real gift to experience it again.

Monty in the Snow, Night.
Monty in the Snow, Night.

Yum.
Yum.

I also really like this time of year because there’s such a sense of hope and possibility with the New Year. On a technical basis, it’s minor. It’s just a change in numbers. A 2 becomes a 3. But for human beings, where space and time matter, it marks an end and a beginning. As the numerical date changes, it’s wise to reflect on the past 365 days and think of what you want the next 365 to look like. Of course, as the mystics would remind us, there is no past or future. A New Years Resolution can only begin and mean something right now. Right now is all there is.

I didn’t make a New Years Resolution specifically, though I love the idea. I reflected on New Years Eve 2010, which I spent at my parents house, and it was Monty who I kissed at midnight. The next few days would involve a heavy crash and a hospital visit and some major contemplation about what to do with my life that I was slowly losing control of to health. I remember that last New Years Eve I thought well, at least the worst year of my life is over. I thought 2011 would be my sickest year, and that I could stuff it far away somewhere. Bury it. Burn it. Just put it out of sight and move on. And then I met 2012. In many ways 2012 ended up being my toughest year. Health-wise it was one of the worst. Emotionally it drained me. Personally it humbled me. You’d think after years of being sick I’d have it all figured it out by now. But I’m still learning. Feeling my way through the dark parts to find meaning, treasuring the good days, and holding out hope that this won’t be my life forever. 2012 was deeply hard, but another way to look at it is this: I survived. I made it. It’s over, but I’m still here. Like Caroline Myss says, “As long as you’re still here, you’ve got purpose.” I may be sickley and often seemingly useless, but I am still here, and I do feel underneath my lifeless body that I still have a lot of work to do. And if most of it comes from bed, so be it.

There’s a few other lessons I’ve learned in 2012 that I’ll take with me into 2013 on my way. Wherever that is.

I’ve learned how to be a house guest: That most people consider themselves clean and organized, and that every person’s definition of those two traits are absolutely different. All in all, people appreciate when you make your bed, so do it whether your hosts do or not.

I’ve learned that old ladies don’t like dogs without leashes.

I’ve learned that violence is not the answer and instead of trying to punch a fly in the face you may benefit from pausing and reflecting instead.

I’ve learned that even if my body is worthless, my mind is not, and it’s still possible to achieve things from a couch, or a bed…in pajamas.

I’ve learned that even if they’re the right thing, breakups hurt. They’re hard. Sometimes it really is time that heals those wounds best.

I’ve learned that every person is fighting a battle. I used to never talk about my issues, or even write in the first person for that matter. Now I have a public blog with everything out on the table and a lot of I, I, I. But most people do not. They keep problems and pain inside, protecting a sore spot somewhere, which is important to remember when they’re flipping you off in traffic or cursing your name from across the street. We all have issues, and it’s all OK. In my darkest times I’ve found reassurance that no one is alone in their pain.

I’ve learned that the best doctor is Dr. Mom.

I’ve begun to learn to swallow my pride. To accept help with grace. To admit when I can’t do it on my own. And that there is much more freedom than pain in those moments. There is real ease in surrender.

I’ve learned that regardless of the question, the answer is protein.

And that out of all 25 pills, nothing makes me feel better than laughter. Mine and others. For real.

I’ll take all of these with me. Into the future, to a galaxy far far away. Or to whatever state I end up in next. I don’t know what 2013 has in store for me. So far, I’ve basically spent it in bed. But that’s OK too. Because regardless of what 2013 brings to the table, I promise to keep on laughing, to keep on joking, and to keep making fun of the tragedy that can be life. In almost every punch life throws, we can laugh or we can cry, and in my experience, it’s just way more fun to laugh at it all. In short, I’ll keep taking 25 pills and making lemonade…or something like that. Happy 2013 yall.

Health, Happiness, 2013

It’s Snowing In New York.

Published on by Mary Gelpi16 Comments

It’s quiet because of the snow

Clear because of the quiet

And it snows because it’s empty.

There is room for it here,

In the box with all the questions.

*

The window across the street

Is reflecting the window next to me,

So I can see the neighbor kids

On tip toes, checking

When I see movement,

I check too.

As of yet it’s still a black sky turned orange

We wait, we’re patient.

*

I didn’t have it enough as a child

Never had to shovel it before school

So there’s no headache about it getting dirty

No bitterness of what it turns to

No worry of what it ruins

It’s a novelty to me

It’s what airplanes used to be.

*

I sit at a window, waiting

Most the days of my life.

I hold a box, open

That carries every question

I’ll ever have.

Tonight while I wait,

I thumb through curiosities

Laugh at old questions

And try not to let future uncertainties

Weigh the box down too much.

*

It’s a soft pink, satin ribbon

That holds the thing shut,

And when the snow starts

To fall tonight

I’ll open it

At the neighbor kids looking

At the clarity of it falling

At the quiet of it sticking

The couple laughing

The street lights changing

The flag that’s snapping

At the snow that’s falling

And I’ll catch all the little truths

That come with snow

And watch God fall

And then I’ll know.