December 8, 2009
The great snowstorm that has everyone running to the grocery store for a few more supplies is now commencing. There is quite a bit of snow already fallen, and the promised winds are just beginning to send waves of white across the pasture on this side of the forest. Birds fill the space in front of the windows, flitting from pan to feeder to the protection of the plum copse. When I began this writing, the sharp shinned hawk came and perched on the bill of our large heron sculpture in the front while juncos, fiches, and sparrows tried to stay put inside the small branches of the bare trees nearby. The last sighting that I had was the hawk rushing toward the plums and getting a bit tangled up there. While it was not free to pursue, the small birds flew off in all directions.
This year daughter Heidi spent many hours preparing a neighborhood sponsored parade float for Lincoln’s annual “Star City Parade”. It’s a local form of the Macy’s parade, and over the years, it has grown in length and glory. This year there were sixteen bands marching and playing Christmas music, many entries, and many spectators because last Saturday morning was still beautiful. Heidi’s float was a miniature Victorian house (to celebrate the Near South Neighborhood which has many such homes) pulled by an antique truck. I stayed home to watch it on TV, and it was the float right after several new fire engines. As they came down the street, the first thing that could be seen was the smoke billowing out of the house’s chimney, so of course, my thought was “If something goes awry with the generator in there, the fire trucks are close by”. It was a grand sight, and the house was splendid, of course, winning “Best Float” in the parade.
Anyone from our part of the country will have heard, “You coulda knocked me over with a feather!” perhaps as the concluding line to a tale told about some shocking behavior. For the past ten days, I have been “knocked over with a feather” as I seem to be in the thrall of a small germ that another, more healthful person would toss off in no time, saying, “It was just a touch of the flu, I was better by morning”. This does not appear to be the heavy duty kind of germ that would have me in the emergency room, but rather one that provides the experience of “eternal flu”. I think about the absent immunities and my body’s struggle to recover with its very limited resources and my brain says “Good job!”. Tomorrow or the day after it will be off to the Clinic again to consider what else might be achieved by “better living through chemistry”.
For now though, catalogs lie all across the coffee table with pages marked as we seek out Christmas gifts for the dear ones, the Christmas tree is hanging from the ceiling, upside down, decorated and including lights this year, the house is lovely and warm, and Charles and Alphie provide splendid company with which to be snowbound.