We had our first big snow storm of the season last night. I live right off a road called Breezy Hill, but there was nothing breezy about the gales that twisted the birch branches outside my bedroom windows and made my whole second story sway. The fierce wind shook me awake before dawn. Lying under two heavy blankets and a quilt, my mind was on full fear alert as I wondered how strong was strong enough. It felt like something indispensable might collapse--the foundation or the roof. Then I thought of what Al would have said, "Don't worry, Kid. The house can take it. Go back to sleep." And I did.
This morning I woke to twenty-one inches of snow, not unusual for a Columbia County winter. But the silence in the house felt strange to me. When Al was alive, I'd have wakened to the sounds of his industry. He'd be outside literally clearing the decks. I would have heard the thuds of his heavy bootsteps and the quick tapping of Star's paws while Al's shovel scraped snow from the wood planks. Or, if I'd slept through that task, I'd have heard the cabinet doors banging in the kitchen as he made breakfast. He wouldn't have sat down to eat or drink until he'd accomplished at least one activity on his list. "Always do the most difficult task first thing in the morning." he'd say, "Then, the rest of your day will go more easily."
That's what I've decided to do right now as I lie still blanketed in my bed and stare outside at the morning sky reflecting on the snowy slopes and valleys of my home. The most difficult thing is to acknowledge the painful absences of everyone I loved during this most family-focused of holiday seasons. I'd prefer not to think about how much I miss Al and my mother, who together would have taken over the kitchen by the early afternoon. Al would have been peeling Yukon golds for his delicious mashed potatoes and concocting blender drinks for everyone. And my mother would have been baking up a storm, filling the house with smells of cinnamon and apples and roasting meats, while Star hovered underfoot in hopes of a dropped scrap. And my father would have been sitting at the table, reading the newspaper out loud without realizing it, his mutterings a quiet accompaniment to the hustle and bustle of my husband and mother at holiday time. And I would have filled in where needed, happy to have them all together.
But my mind is revising the past, placing everyone at their best moments all together in my kitchen so that I can enjoy their memories in one sweet scene. It wasn't until old age finally calmed my father enough to keep him contentedly seated among us that he was able to concentrate on the news rather than be agitated by it. In contrast, it's been many years since my mother was energetic and focused enough to bake and plan the holiday meals. Her mind had begun to deteriorate by the time my father's spirit had mellowed. And I left out my sister and her family, who would have added immensely to the laughter and warmth, but the children have grown and moved away, and the girl I grew up with is a stranger to me now.
And really, were my best moments the times when I filled in where needed? What about the tensions that arose at almost every family gathering? I miss them too, but I can see that my fantasy needs a good edit. I'm not the little sister anymore or the baby of the family, for that matter. I'm no longer "Kid" to my husband, who was eleven years older than I and a mentor to me in the ways of the world, just as I mentored him in the ways of the heart. "Always do the most difficult task first thing in the morning." Which is that--facing the world or the heart. . .or a little of both?
This morning my most difficult task when I woke to my empty house was to start my day with action. How I wanted to stay in bed reading a magazine with the television on mute, my most effective distraction and escape. But that would have led to a day-long dark mood. My most difficult task was to get up at all, go into my office, and write. Soon I'll have the rest of the day to myself, and I think Al was right. It will go more easily. Although I made myself coffee before I wrote.
And here is how I foresee the rest of my day. First, I'll fill my living room and dining room with music from the radio. I'll leave it on all day, whether I'm in those rooms or not. That way, even when I'm just passing through, I'll hear a kind of fullness in my house. The sound will spill into the kitchen, where I'm going to go next. I plan to bake a poppy seed cake to bring to my friends' house for dinner tomorrow night. It isn't my mother's recipe, but its fragrance will remind me of her poppy seed hamantaschen. I'll build a fire too. Then I'll decide what I want to do next. It might even be reading a magazine in front of that fire instead of a television on mute. I'll no longer need that distraction. By the end of a satisfying day, I'll want to relax.
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