For those of you unfamiliar with recent Washington State weather, those of us who call this luscious corner of the Pacific Northwest our home, had a bit of a white December. What started as a dusting, turned into an unexpected vacation for many, as our tenacious snowfall compacted into ice, and temperatures dropped to something more comfortable for penguins than people. Passing into 2022 didn't do much for warmer temperatures, though after an impressive battle with the sun, the snowmen and road slush finally relinquished their flag to the opposing team. That's where I come in.
It was another cold Sunday evening, and I was eagerly preparing the Americanized version of an Italian dinner: something which I'm fairly good at, but fully accept that I'm no chef. Anyway, I remembered that I had left some drinks in the car (depending on the local idiom, you may know them as: soda, pop, cokes, caffeinated beverages, stuff to mix with alcohol, etc.).
Knowing that the snow had melted, and we'd gone without rain for at least a day or so, I confidently put on some of these super thick, fleece-lined socks. They're like wearing gloves on your feet, and as such were the perfect lazy man's alternative to a lengthy donning of the boots. I figured if I hurry, I can make it back into the house without injury, toes still warm as kittens.
I was wrong. Oh yes, very wrong.
The asphalt greedily sucked the warm air from my toes with a vampire's unashamed skill, then replaced it with a slow injection of arctic water. I could feel the fight-or-flight instinct kicking in as I tried to grab my desired groceries, while making sure I hadn't left something that I would have to eventually return for.
The water surrounded the insides of the lining, then like a shiver of sharks, moved in for the kill. I've never heard the sound of hypothermia, but I'm pretty sure it was making the muffled noises that were soon emanating from my footwear.
Soda in hand, I retreated to the grace of a fireplace and a desperately needed change of socks. Yes, I felt rather foolish, but something occurred to me; reminded me, rather. I was thinking to myself, "Yeah dummy, just because the snow is gone, doesn't mean the ground isn't wet." Which I think you'll agree, is a pretty straightforward and sensible concept. But there was something more.
I was reminded that we all have our snowdrifts to trudge through: losing loved ones, career challenges, facing our biases and so many other minefield dangers that our brains and hearts often have to dance like acrobats to keep from getting blown to pieces. But we can't forget: whether in nursing our wounds or applying emotional aid to others, that just because the initial tragedy is over: the monster is slain, the incessant music finally stopped, that doesn't mean the damage of the storm is finished. Healing often necessitates a great deal of time and effort; and even the one who's injured may not realize they're still on the path. So it seemed like a great metaphor for dealing with what's important in life. I hope you feel the same.
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