Tuesday, November 23, 2010

storms of different kinds

If there was a timestamp for this entry you would see that I write to you from the ghostly hour of 3:33am. If there was something like an Inner Circuitry Stamp you would see that I write to you from the ever-familiar state of Conflicted; with a side of Watchful Worry. Since there **is** a signature stamp, you do see that I write to you thumb sore and squinty, from the trusty Crackberry. It is dark as I lie here in bed, thinking thoughts and hoping for a quick sunrise.

Bean and I happen to be suffering from the same cold. This simple fact pretty much sums up the reasons for that first paragraph of description. It also has me wondering over how much harder these bugs attack her small body, the speed of their onslaught, the disruption to her functioning.

It isn't what I would call a bad cold, really. It's irritating, for sure. Every swallow reminds me foggily of days of yore, when I took for granted the simple acts of talking and breathing and, you know: **living free of phlegm**. But it's no big deal, really truly. I carry around a fistful of kleenex and blearily stop every few minutes to wipe an ever-dripping nose.

Bean, on the other hand, is like a city under siege. Her nose is running in a continuous stream. She rubs her eyes, red-rimmed and drooping. And her sleep cycles are entering Day 2 of disruption and fret, thanks to what I call The Night Time Phlegm Laydown Affect.

There's a lot of coughing and snorffling and the added gift of Almost Barfing. (It really is a gift, you know, the Almost Barfing-- so much better than the Actual Barfing as so many of you can attest. I am decidedly not a fan of the sub-classification Late Night Actual Barfing.). But I digress.

In today's early morning black, I am wondering over a body's growing defenses. How things affect one small soul so differently than another. I don't think it is as simple as age, either. I know that my experiences have given me the ability to better face certain challenges over others. How some things don't phase me but others knock me flat. Anyone in my shoes would laugh over the molehills I have labeled mountains (erecting sign posts, engraving markers to their formidable girth). I know that some of my personal Everests are of my own making, while others are there for the blessed growth of my humanity (if you read that with a touch of sarcasm you would be spot on, though in my better moments, those of better timestamps and with less phlegm, I am grateful for the experience to grow).

And that is it, the point of this bout of early morning, wristshaking, neckbreaking navel gazing: the storms are going to come. And they might feel as if they'd break us. But our bodies are built to withstand so much more than we think. With each experience, we fortify our defenses. And with time and perspective, we come to know when the siege is really truly a blizzard or a small passing flurry.

This truth gets lost on me so often, you would laugh, if you could spend a few minutes in my head. I drop the thread of it time and again, to chew over something insignificant. Then something comes along to push me onto my knees-- in longing, in worry, in grief, and finally (too often **finally**) in prayer-- and my groping hands come upon that small thread of perspective to know what matters, what is important, and ultimately what I am made of. It is a cycle witnessed here at The Creamery far too often for my taste. But it is part of the unique experience of being Whimsy.

So as I stumble through my way it is nice to be able to tell you about it. To share my worries --small and otherwise-- and to entertain you, dear reader, as you patiently help me find my way.

Here is hoping for greater perspective and stronger defenses as the new year creeps upon us.

...and in other storm-related news: there is a state-wide blizzard warning for this afternoon. I am morbidly fascinated with such a thing, like the tourist that I am. I would be even more interested and excited for the inside snuggling opportunities if Chip weren't currently away in Salt Lake for business. Keep your fingers crossed for a safe passage into the coming few days.



...sent to you courtesy of the beloved crackberry

3 comments:

Bird said...

First off, feel better! I'm actually always amazed at how Fussbot is so quick to bounce back from a cold/virus/whathaveyou. When I get it, a few days later, it seems to linger on and on.

Also, am jelous from afar of your winter storm. Glad its not here, to be sure but I love those days of waiting for the snow to fall and staring out the window in amazement when it starts to pile up.

Safe travels to Chip.

serenity now said...

Yes, we had a virus go through the family a few weeks ago, and it was rather interesting how the symptoms were a little different for each of us. To borrow some Haven Kimmel (and butcher her original meaning, perhaps), there's a world in each of us.

Fingers crossed for safe passage for each of you--through all the storms.

Bethsix said...

I can't believe you wrote all of that on your Blackberry.

I always wonder at this idea when we (all) get the barfing flu. Diarrhea for some, one barf for a couple, two-digit barfs for me. It's really curious. And I don't like it one bit.

It is 85 degrees here.

I am listening to my two big kids playing Guitar Hero. Anneke is singing really badly, and then Kieran will tell her she's "about to lose it for both of us!" And so he'll give it a try, except he just got a huge spacer in the roof of his mouth yesterday, so everything he says/eats/sings involves a certain amount of slurping spittle back into his mouth.

I hope you enjoyed that little story. Happy White Thanksgiving!