Anniversary Thoughts

(Beginning March 26)

I got up this morning and bundled myself for a sit on our front porch. It’s a little early in the year for screened porch sitting even by Vermont standards. (Note: we in New England are about a month behind everyone else - our April is your March, etcetera, etcetera; then in Autumn it reverses itself and we get the jump on everyone with peak color. In short, when it comes to vegetation, we’re late life, early death.) There are still patches of snow on the ground up where we live despite a steady thaw, and there’s a good chill in the air in the morning. But even though the crocus are a week from blooming, the days have had a tease of Spring in the air and I just couldn't resist getting out in it for a front porch sit.

The cats have been fooled by the season change for a while now and they don’t seem to catch on. Part of Oliver's morning ritual is sitting by the door like the dog in the old Victrola ads until I finally get the message and open the kitchen and porch doors for him. He jaunts out with confident male strides for a bask in the warm sun only to complain loudly to be let back in 5 minutes later. I open the door and he scowls past me, shivering with a “why the hell did you let me do that?!” expression. What a pussy! He should get a load of the Vermont teens that have been donning shorts for 3 weeks!

I loved being out there! I had my travel mug full of Fair Trade coffee, my Rainforest jacket with goose down lining wrapped about me (I guess I’m a pussy too, Oliver), and a whole array of books with which I like starting my morning. They include: a couple of meditation books, Poet's Choice by Edward Hirsch which gives a smorgasboard of his favorite poets in 3 page bites, and Strunk and White's Elements of Style, a section of which I try to read every day. AND a pad of paper. I eased down into one of our Adirondack chairs and took in the washed out white grey skies. The sun was just stretching up over the tall fir trees across the road that surround our pond, and the air was alive with bird song. It was like an orchestra tuning. Above the jabber of chirps came the caw of a crow, first in one part of the forest, and then, after a pause, it would call out from another location. Tabitha and Ron’s rooster from down the road held its own with a trumpeting gargle from time to time. And far away in the woods a woodpecker jack hammered on what I hoped was a dead tree. And all of this was layered on a foundation of quiet. There would be times when all sound would disappear, and then, just for a second, silence. It was exactly what I needed. I had awakened with an aforementioned “And why am I living here again?” murmur in my head, and this front porch hit nipped it in the bud before growing to once familiar and torturous dimensions. (For those keeping score, “mornings on the front porch” would be Reason #14 for living in Vermont, just after “walks.”)

I’ve spoken before about our taking a leap of faith coming to our place in Vermont and I wish I could also say that I welcomed every step of the way with a hearty smile, a willing heart, and a supportive word. But no, I pretty much fought it the whole way in a series of skirmishes that embarrass and amaze me when I look back at them. There must’ve been something symbolic about this whole move that scared the primordial shit out of me, even though I had set the whole thing in motion. I could feel a split right down the center of me - one side was how I like envisioning myself, this pioneer stepping out into the unknown, ready for any challenge, somewhere on the level of Lewis and Clarke and Sacagewea; the other side was a combination cliché of mid-life crisis and a poster boy for “fear of change”, kicking and complaining and writhing, conjuring up every possible image of future disaster, somewhere on the level of Don Knotts. Finally everything came to a head. Richard had at long last had enough. He was driving me to the airport for some trip, I forget where I was going or for what purpose. We’d had an argument, something about the house, some vision of future financial downfall (How prophetic. Just call me Cassandra.) A period of silence had followed. Then Richard said: “You’re miserable. I don’t know why, but you’re miserable and you’re making me miserable and I don’t like it. I look forward to the times when you leave because when you’re away from me, THEN I can be happy. That’s not right. I don’t like that. I don’t like saying it and I don’t like feeling it, but it’s true. And if you have such a dedication to being miserable, then I think you should go somewhere else and be miserable.”

And I said, ‘So what you’re saying is “what?”’

No. “What he said” was like a baby ass slap doctors used to be so fond of giving. Something inside gave way and began to thaw, not right away, not overnight, and oddly enough I became aware of it on a cold, snowy day near the beginning of our first December here. It was our first big snowfall, in a year that would give us the biggest snow accumulation they’d had in one hundred years. I was home alone. I bundled up and walked out into it. Everything was white, white, white, huge flakes coming down. They looked as if they should’ve been heavy, but they were floating down like feathers. It was as if I were inside a huge snow globe, snow swirling, trees perfectly flocked, and me smiling. I hadn't felt a smile like that in a long time. And I realized there was no problem. The only struggles were the ones I was creating. There was nothing wrong. There was nothing, nothing to worry about. I was right where I was supposed to be. WE were right where we were supposed to be. Life was sweet and fresh and ready to be rediscovered. And something inside just let go. All the fight and resistance just went away.

I’m musing on all these things just having passed through Richard and my 10th anniversary; both 10th and 15th actually – the 10th for our commitment ceremony and the 15th for our first date together. March 27th was the official date. I’m really proud of us; we’ve been a great team here, we continue to be. But it’s Richard I’d like to credit. He has been the one who has put so much work into this place, who thrives in every aspect of being here, who keeps dreams alive, and keeps his good humor while doing so. Sometimes I just want to smack him. Especially on the days I’m in a big grump (like yesterday) and he’s got that smile on his face, planning the construction of chicken coops, a man possessed with possibilities. Who does he think he is anyway? It pisses me off!

This morning it was much more like Spring than just 3 days ago. It rained, the snow continued its disappearing act and there were new arrivals at the bird feeder, warblers, I believe. ALL the cats came out on the porch for a look see. And they stayed for awhile.