February begins

Feathery snowflakes whirl past my office window; buffeted by the wind, they rise towards the sun.

The ground has not found a way to shrug off the tucked winter blanket from last week’s weather. A layer of ice rests under a layer of powder, an icy storybook. A stratigraphic ice core sample would reveal the past month of my life: layers of ice mixed with rabbit pellets, a fine layer of ice that make me wrench my back, a thick band mixed with road grime from my attempt to shovel snow, and so on. It would be a very short core sample.

The snow does bring entertainment to our lives. Better Half and I needed to get groceries last week. We had been home bound for several days. We had a hell of a time trying to get out of the driveway. We played the Forward and Reverse game in our Vue, each time gaining only a few inches before the front wheels became useless. We’d get out of the vehicle, shovel, chip at ice, get back in and repeat the whole routine over again. Back, forth, back, forth, and back.

After the seventh or eighth go, Better Half opted to stay out of the car in order to better pinpoint our exact problem. I threw the Vue into reverse, put my foot down and the Vue popped right up the drive and onto the street. Apparently the exact problem is his snack habit.

Of course, being a good wife, I told him that it was probably his lack of weight that allowed my side of the vehicle to get a better purchase on the ice.

I’m teasing. I have no idea why it worked so smoothly after his departure. I think I was lined up in an excellent spot. Nothing more.

(This is also the same man who stood in the freezing snow to pump gas – sans jacket, gloves or hat.)

This snow needs to go away.

I had a lovely phone chat with Annie the other day. She's such a sweet woman. I've kept her son in prayer, and her friend Biene. She's added more posts to her blog and I, the eternally slow blog reader, finally caught up with them.

I stopped by my Aunt H’s house yesterday to help Cousin L and Aunt P take care of Aunt H. She is barely eating now and we are all amazed at her inner fortitude despite the cancer. Hospice has been very kind and has come in daily to answer questions, offer needed treatment or to be an ear and shoulder. Aunt H is on he Fentanyl patch which keeps her very groggy and does somewhat alter her moods. She has lucid moments however.

Father Christopher stopped in to administer the Sacrament of Healing. Most would immediately think, “Last Rites” (Extreme Unction et cetera.) He offered a beautiful service and the Viaticum. It was also the Feast of St. Blaise so he blessed our throats. He offered to lead us in a Chaplet of Divine Mercy afterwards, which we sung. Aunt P was out getting her hair down (and chuffed at missing everything) and Aunt H nodded off during the Chaplet.

I’ve just called and Aunt H is not only out of bed but also sitting at the kitchen table despite the Fentanyl patch. She has been ill (to this extreme) since the New Year. The hospice staff and my Aunt P (who was head of her hospital's ICU for more years than I can remember) all state the same thing: how on earth is she doing it? Fortitude.

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