It was 27 degrees when I woke at 5:30 this morning, which seems a fitting temperature for the first day of November. I knew it meant the end of the blooming Cosmos in the Cottage Garden, but hey...for everything there is a season. I also knew it meant I would have to thaw the chicken waterer once the sun rose and the birds were out for the day. But not in that moment. Not until the light came. Until then, I was willing to embrace my gratitude for my warm bed and the warm enough home that offers me safe holding. After the pup and the cats settled back down, I went back to sleep.
A few hours later, the chickens sounded the alarm. I looked out the window and saw them standing where I knew they would be, clustered around the waterer, raising a ruckus about the lack of service. The water in the shallow cups had frozen over, and they were unable to have their first-thing-in-the-morning drinks. Poor ladies. After I fixed their water, I offered scratch and mealworms to make up for the inconvenience they suffered, and they accepted.
All this time later, I have been at my desk. Reading and writing, thinking, crying, praying. When I felt cold, I was able to walk down the hall to fetch my sweater and gloves so I could be warm at my desk. If I really wanted to, I could turn up the heat, but I am being more mindful of the use of resources and budget than I probably have ever been. Plus, I'm a Gen-Xer on the cusp of being a Boomer, born to an upper-lower-class family. I grew up putting on slippers and extra socks, sweaters, or hats if I was cold. That's just the way we did things.
I had hot tea and warm bread pudding for breakfast. I made plans to go to an orchard tomorrow to buy apples so I can make homemade applesauce. I was able to text my children and message some loved ones. And nobody dropped a bomb on my house while I was doing any of these things. Nobody shot at me. It is most likely that nobody will shoot at me or try to kill me when I go to the market later on.
Part of being a GenXer/c/Boomer is that I thought the world would go one of two ways. Either the grownups would sort out all the hatred and violence and it would be done by the time I became a grownup, or we would all end up living some Mad Max kind of life. I thought we would educate and love our way out of racism, misogyny, and genocide.
But we haven't. And while I logically and practically understand it, I cannot, at any emotional or spiritual level, understand or accept it. It has been part of my entire life; it has shaped me and wounded me, burned and strengthened me, but still...I am left with mouth and soul agape at the seemingly casual response to the genocide being manifested in Gaza.
There are so many words wanting to pour out of my fingers onto the page, and I have to find the courage to let them out if for no reason other than maybe one person will read them and not feel so alone.
The meaning of this season is upon us. What shall we do with it? What shall I do?
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