September 28, 2022
In the olden days, when our mornings
consisted of getting up to a 5:00 a.m. alarm, rushed coffee and showers and
then long drives to work, there were always those two times a year. At some
point in the autumn and then again in early spring, we would have the car’s heater
on, full blast, in the morning, and then the air conditioner on, full blast, at
the end of the workday for the drive home.
Now of course, we no longer go
to work outside our home. Some days, we don’t do much work inside of it,
either. But that cycle of living that I noted above really hasn’t changed so
much as it has adapted. We still have those two times a year, you see.
On Friday when we awoke, I
immediately felt chilly. I checked, and the temperature showed as 61 degrees,
Fahrenheit. Yes, I know we’re Canadian but David and I both prefer to see the
Fahrenheit scale, as we relate to that much easier, no thinking involved. And although I knew it was chilly and felt it
was chilly, I didn’t do anything about it…for about two hours. The reason for
this is quite simple.
I have found in my later years
not to think that room is cold or hot, but that I am cold or hot. Just
because I feel cold doesn’t necessarily mean the room is cold. It could mean my
own senses are experiencing yet another elderly moment. It was likely, I
thought on Friday, that the temperature would begin to rise.
However, after nearly two
hours, I went into the living room where our “Star Trek Control Center”, aka the
thermostat, is located. It still read a chilly 61 degrees. That’s not anyone’s
idea of “freezing”, but I had taken all I could. To the sound of the sigh of
relief from my husband, who was sitting but two feet from me in his own office
area, I put the heat on, with the convenient touching of a few “buttons”.
I have offered to show David
how to perform this miracle himself. He is perfectly free to decide to turn on
the furnace if he’s uncomfortable. However, he has declined. The matter is not
so much that he wants to be waited upon as that he doubts that he will remember,
if shown, how to do it. Also, the device is quite advanced and after looking at
it, and watching me, he announced that he’d likely end up breaking it.
Now, there is one good thing
about being a bit chilly through the day: it’s not difficult to know what to
make for supper. I pulled a frozen piece of beef from the freezer, and we had beef
with gravy on Friday night. Since the cold spell continued on, more or less, I
made a hearty cream of potato soup on Sunday.
I do like the crispness of
autumn mornings. I used to look forward to nice days in late September, days
that were sunny but still had that bite in the air. Those were the perfect days
to go outside and get my gardens ready for winter—or just go for a nice walk. I
miss those days because I always felt so invigorated when I came in from exercising
outside.
These days, I content myself
with sitting in that crisp clean air when it arrives, even though it usually
means I’m a bit sorer in the evenings. I also enjoy having the doors and
windows opened for a while, inviting the outside inside to freshen the environment
in my house.
I’ll be hitting the local farm
markets in the next few days, searching for some fresh picked crops to process
and freeze. It’s what I can do to support and care for my family. And actually,
I think that principle is key.
I can’t do the sort of things I
used to do, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on doing anything. It means
being open to doing what I can, and even if some of the ways I spend my time
these days seem to amount to not much from the outside, there is one thing that
holds true. I have not handed in my notice and then curled up into the fetal
position, either actually or metaphorically, waiting for the end to come. I
keep my mind active; I keep myself active, and I continue to be grateful
for every blessing, every day.
I plan to wring out every bit
of living from my days given to me that I can, even if my hands are no longer capable
of a good, strong twist on the rag.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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