Saturday, January 22, 2005

Changing Times

It's curious how one becomes more aware of the levels in the events that transpire in one's life as one ages. The primary, superficial sensation of an experience expands to include causes, effects and consequences. Ripples in water. If one also believes in spirituality of some sort, that belief increases one's sensitivity to the emotions felt; it becomes a barometer for telling emotions and a self-disciplinary gauge for measuring intellectual expanse. In the last year and a half I unjustly lost my job, my husband of nearly 30 years retired from his work, I sent a middle child off to the Army Reserve and college, sold my home of 28 years, and packed up and moved to another state to a place where both the climate and the common lifestyle is completely different to what I know. I compare myself to the mythological phoenix -- my life has been consumed in the fires of time and I am in the process of being reborn. I feel weird. Karma.

Outside my window I can see snow falling and being whipped by the invisible North wind. Eight inches or so the weatherperson says to expect. Normal for this area of the Northwoods and the time of year. How bright the sunlight is reflecting off the snow banks -- time to buy some good sunglasses to ward off snow blindness. I like the cold and don't mind the snow. Shut up in this tiny apartment I bide-a-wee the weather and wait for our builders to finish construction on our new house. Perhaps I am a xenophobe at heart.

Perhaps not. The depressing, subjectively aligned news presented on the television reminds me to take my blood pressure medicine. I change the channel and wish I could change current events as easily; I am glad I left the city and moved to a rural area. The move triggered a change in my perspective of the world view that is overwhelming, and I am optimistic about the future. I believe fascism will destroy itself and good change will come from the grass roots of America. It is said that sometimes Evil wins over Good, but I think not this time.

I refuse to be afraid.

The people here are very different from most I have known. They delight me. I doubt I will ever be considered one of them because I was not born and raised here, even though my family is one of the seven original families that settled the area; technically, I am related in one fashion or another to a whole lot of people here. I should ask my sister who is who as she was raised here and is the family encyclopedia. The nuances I preceive in the body movements, spoken language, and social mannerisms of townspeople are surprisingly simple, yet I return to the idea of levels of awareness. The simplicity is deceiving. Good earth under a blanket of snow. I cannot wait for Spring.