While the rest of the country has languished under abnormally low temperatures and obscene amounts of snow, Washington seems to have enjoyed one of the more mild winters in recent memory—my memory at least. And even with all the sunny, 50-degree weather and a complete lack of fluffy white stuff, this winter has felt more discouraging than most to me. (All this sounds excessively plaintive and limp-wristed, I know.)
From my perspective, here in the midst of all the trees, it’s not clear what—if anything—has changed. Back before crashing into the Pacific Ocean, John Denver used to sing “some days are diamonds, some days are stones.” Admittedly, John espoused all sorts of “enlightened” political ideas better left to someone else to appreciate, but he was on to something there. Most days life proceeds pretty much as it always has; the same old mix of good and bad. But for whatever reason, some days the same old mix just doesn't sparkle like it should.
Earlier this week, in the midst of the evening dash to feed children, clean house, bathe kids, exercise, and prepare lessons before 11:00 p.m., I pulled Carver from the bath. The water was warm and the air temperature cool. He began to shiver as I wrapped him in his red towel. Just then, he remembered that Rachael had left for the evening. Carver worships Rachael. No one else understands and accepts him like she can, and the thought of not having her within arms length traumatizes him—literally. And then, for the fourth time in less than an hour, Carver began sobbing uncontrollably.
Generally, I do not respond well to what I consider to be irrational displays of pathos. My response typically involves a threat of punishment expressed mezzo-forte. (I am not proud of this.) This time, however, as I watched his face twist with very real grief—I saw my own loneliness and my pain in his face. Suddenly, as if the clouds momentarily parted, I understood him perfectly. The missing patience returned. My perspective slipped solidly into place. And everything else waited while I rocked Carver on the bathroom floor.
