Opening up the weather website on my computer, I scan at the weekend forecast with wariness. I feel slightly annoyed. Really? Snow? But we have to continue the birthday celebration….but people are meeting us at….. the tickets were expensive…..
A little grrrr emerges in my belly.
I notice that rumble of annoyance and take a breath. A little chuckle replaces the grrrrrr.
Great, if you want to reconnect with your right-sized relationship to reality, notice your attitude toward the weather. Wanting the weather to be different is not an effective life strategy. Truly, whatever will be—will be. Snow or not. Sunshine or not. Simply said, we are not in control.
Not in control, wonderful, I think.
I go about my business of preparing to walk the dogs in the fourteen degree morning darkness. How many layers of clothing can I put on and still be able to walk, I wonder?
Lucy and Zac look up at me from the curled-up comfort of their beds, wondering where it is that I might be going. Post-breakfast, they are aware of the cold and the dark and would prefer to stay put. As would I, too, quite frankly.
That wonderful song from Girl Scout camp flits through my brain. Those Girl Scouts—they really landed it in so many ways. I hum it to myself. It brings a smidgen of relief. What were the words?
“Whether the weather be fair,
Whether the weather be not.
Whether the weather be cold,
Whether the weather be hot.
Whatever the weather,
We’ll weather the weather—
Whether we like it or not!”
Lots of folk wisdom there, huh?
We can’t control it. We might not like it. But we’ll get through it.
Sounds like Living Yoga. Have your feelings. Ride those waves. And yet, when all is said and done, give it up because: something else is determining the outcome here. And it WILL WORK OUT.
I look for the Vaseline-like substance to rub on the dogs’ paws. There has been lots of limping and complaining out there in the cold. And not a lot of peeing and pooping, quite frankly. We’ll see if this MUSHERS Paw Protectors stuff works.
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Come on—cookies on the first step,” I bargain with my sleepy best canine friends. I’ve succumbed to Lucy’s food drive, treating her on the first porch step, an effective bribe to get her moving.
Dog faces awaken at the sound of “cookies”.
A hustle, a bustle, Mushers lanolin on the paws, leashes on the necks—multi-layers on the mom, headlamp on the head, boots on the person, treat-earnestness in the dog-eyes.
We open the door.
Silent. Still. Pitch black. Deeply, deeply freezing.
Lucy gets her fist-step treat. Zac could care less, as he scans the darkness for bunnies.
And off we go.
Weathering the weather.