Finding peace

The world is too much with us

I’m—successfully, I think—fighting off a cold, so I can’t go to church today. I suppose I could watch online, but that feels like cheating somehow, and anyway, it’s not the same thing. I’m disappointed, because I wanted to fully participate in this new congregation, particularly during Lent.

My secret to cold fighting is the accumulation of many years experience as an opera singer, when a cold can mean cancellations, lost contracts, and misery in a hotel room. It’s not infallible—witness my trip to Paris last year—and some of the best tools I had are now unavailable, like the zinc nasal swabs I so depended on when travelling. But you can still buy zinc lozenges and saline nasal wash, and they work quite well if you are diligent from the very first moment you’ve been exposed. And then, if possible, lots of sleep and hot liquids, and a little extra vitamin C. I know my method is working because I am not waking up sicker each morning. The cold is definitely there, but it isn’t taking over, and the symptoms are ever so slight. So I need to persist with the protocol while my immune system battles on.

Meanwhile, we had a lovely little snowfall yesterday, and I felt normal enough to walk out in it with the dogs. It probably sounds crazy, particularly in the midst of fighting off a cold, but I did one of my favorite things: I lay on my back in the snow and watched the snowflakes falling. I was perfectly warm and perfectly dry, and it was a moment of pure peace. Auggie was utterly indifferent that I was on the ground, and ran past me chasing his ball without so much as a sniff, but Eli circled gently. They’re used to me.

My husband and I sat together by the fire yesterday afternoon, each doing our own (mostly) quiet things, but really just hanging around and enjoying one another’s company. It felt good and restful. Today, I think we’ll do the same. I haven’t been playing the piano much lately; it’s a mental effort I haven’t felt equal to. We’ll see how things go today. He may feel it necessary to snow blow the driveway, but since the temperatures will be in the fifties this coming week, it seems kind of pointless. There will be lots of rain. And mud. Unending mud.

I have not been successful in any attempts to look away from the news. My niece-in-law is Iranian, and we are all holding our breath about the safety of family members. The last time we bombed Iran there was a hit only a few kilometers from her mother’s home. As if living there weren’t difficult enough.

We are not meant to bear the burdens of the whole world, but it isn’t always possible to look away. There is fear, and injustice, and destruction all around.

Down the hill, the turkeys are pivoting in their display of feathers like spinning automatons. They seem to have gotten the idea that spring is coming, and the males’ coloring is beginning to take on a familiar lurid quality, more like lizards than birds. Here by the fire, the dogs are sleeping peacefully after another night of coyote hazing. I was tempted at one point to record their dual howling, which is new—Eli never used to howl—and beautiful, if not restful.

Peace is a difficult thing to attain.

***
“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich

And now for your gratuitous dog and turkey photos:

He’s all tired out from his night howling activities.