Midweek/Midwinter

 

Ash Wednesday. The penitential season has begun. 40 days of praying and fasting in the desert to cleanse our souls and bring us through the heart of darkness into the eternal life of spring's resurrection.

 

It is early this year, this Lenten season. We will be delivered through to Easter when there is still a very strong grip of winter on our hearts. It always makes me sad to see winter coats and heavy sweaters on Easter morning church goers. In my mind, Easter is fuzzy chicks and white straw hats and new ballet flats. 

This week we had another 5 inches of snow atop the 12 from last week. The Teen is becoming more adept at getting in and out of the rutted, snow packed parking spaces on our street. Only the dogs delight in it unconditionally. During yesterday's fluffy, white candyland of a storm, Bella Sera went flying off the top porch step and did a big ol' belly flop into newborn snow in the backyard. Cucciolo buried his face and rolled and squirmed in the drifts, hoping vertically in the air like a jack rabbit.

Mr. Pom has worked 11 days in a row and yesterday, he worked 22 hours out of 24. He came home at noon today, crashed for 3 hours and was back at work for 7:00 p.m. Big problems installing a new computer system and the company is upside down with problems. 

The Teen has her California friend visiting for the week. I've seen them for a few minutes each day, coming and going with various groups, heard giggles and shrieks from the third floor at odd hours of the night, made cups of tea for them and left cash for excursions on the dining room table before work.

The Princess is busy with whatever she does and is rarely around to socialize. Consequently, I was alone all weekend and each night. At loose ends, bored, anxious, overeating, obsessively online, checking for comments and FB updates.

I get like this when things are out of balance. You'd think I would be luxuriating in having so much free time to spend my newly cleaned artroom. I even have a new journal open and began a new series of w/c sketches. But I haven't touched them since Sunday.My night table is littered with 6 half-heartedly started books, none of which hold my attention.Freftful, distracted, channel-surfing, not  sleeping well, worried about everyone and everything out of whack.

Realizing that next year, The Princess will probably have finally secured full time employment and move out; The Teen will be away at college; Mystery Man is content at his job 4 hours away. It's just me and Mr. Pom here with the two dogs. Oh, I'm getting maudlin, aren't I? I'm reading Home by Marilyn Robinson and I hear her aging, feeble father's voice in my words. It's not a good choice for me to be reading right now in my present state of mind.

But this afternoon, when I walked down the dirty sidewalk in the Bronx, picked my way over the filthy slush and dog poop, I noticed it. The light. The afternoon light was decidedly brighter and clearer. There's been a discernable shift forward, a tilting of the axis toward the light and if I can hold on a few more weeks, we'll be up to our ears in St. Patrick's Day snow showers, the tips of the daffodils above the frozen earth, and thoughts of reddened witch hazel.

So I'll hold onto this crosshatch of charred ash a little while longer.  No need to wash away the smudge of loneliness. I will let myself steep in the isolation I feel, a sort of permafrost of emotion, cut off from everyone and everything. Let the books go unread, phone calls unreturned. Let the dogs give me baleful looks that I am not the one to be counted on for those long, cold after dinner and pre-breakfast walks. They'll just have to make do with frequent trips to the backyard and encouragement to have lie-ins.

They'll just have to make do with me, as will I.