Winter Rut

Normally, I look forward to Lent and its beautiful darkness. But this year, I just need Easter to get here. It doesn’t help that it’s a late season this year, meaning we’re at the end of February and Lent hasn’t even begun yet. The winter just stretches on. For once in a long, long time, I’m not looking forward to Lent. It is serious and has obligations, and doing nothing has been really working for me. I mean, it hasn’t been working for me spiritually; it’s been working on me in a being-a-lazy-bum sort of way. Effort and I haven’t been good friends lately, and I don’t want six weeks of penance and reflection because that sounds an awfully lot like effort.

It’s a good thing that my religion doesn’t exist for my comfort. Someone with my attitude is not in a good position to see the big picture. I need a wake-up call and a splash of cold water. I need a reason to regroup and take care of where I’ve been lacking, spiritually. I’m not going to do it on my own out of my own motivations. I need the structure of the Church. The Church will not and should not conform to my whims; I must conform to her. In doing so, I reign in my impulses and demands and laziness and strive for piety and forgiveness and righteousness. I’ll set goals and fail (like every year during Lent). But I’ll try. 

In an odd way, I like that I’m focused on Easter so early this year. Normally my love for Lent means I don’t start to look forward to Easter until right before Holy Week. But this year, I recognize how much I truly need it. More to come as the annual, timeless story develops.

Winter Sun

It was my third snow day in a row. Snow doesn’t normally accumulate here, and I had been enjoying the mandatory introvert time. I spent the afternoon diving into The Sun Also Rises. I have an odd relationship with Hemingway in that I have not read much of his work, but I suspect that I won’t like him. As if my tastes and his style don’t pair. And yet what I have read of his, I do like, in frustratingly inarticulate ways. By late afternoon, however, I decided that getting dressed and going out might be healthy for me, even if I’m perfectly content holed up in my nest. So I decided to go to mass.

It was the first time I had walked to mass since the weather had gotten cold back in the fall. My car was still under a few inches of snow, so it would be faster to walk than to unearth and defrost the car. The sidewalks had been cleared (mostly), and the temperature was reaching 40, so it was a pleasant walk. I didn’t even need a hat and gloves. The yards were still covered in snow, but snowmen lay on their sides, defeated by the pretty day. Families were out enjoying the weather. One family of dad, mom, and three kids were having a snowball fight. As I passed the elementary school, a father was shoveling the school’s walk while his daughter was sledding nearby. They had built a mound of snow at the bottom of the hill to stop her from sledding into the benches or out in the street. Everyone appeared cheerful and happy to be outside after so many snow days, but there was also a peacefulness hanging in the air. 

There is something about the way the sun looks in winter. It’s pastel and low and unassuming. The yellow sun and blue sky and white ground blend together, like some New England landscape painting. The world is pristine and slow and quiet. There is just me and my thoughts and images that bring to mind Norman Rockwell.

Mass on Valentine’s Day summed up in four words: all the single ladies. As much as I hate “Jesus is my boyfriend” comparisons, Jesus is a pretty good choice for a Valentine’s date. Going to church gets away from all the facebook posts of flowers and candy hearts and focuses on martyrs instead. Which is still a focus on love.

It was dark when I walked home. The temperature had dropped, but there was no wind. All was still and quiet. There are not lampposts on my street, but the snow illuminated my path. It did not seem dark. My ipod began playing the Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun,” which made me laugh since the sun was gone. But the song still felt like it fit. It was night, but I could see my way. The divide between day and night seemed as hazy as a winter sun.

“The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose” –Ecclesiastes 1:5 as quoted in The Sun Also Rises

7 Quick Take Friday (vol. 83)

1. School has been cancelled for 2 and a half days due to snow this week. College snow days are bizarre. I still have papers due, but I don’t have access to the library, and I have hours of my assistantship mounting up that will have to be made up before the end of the month. All in all, snow days in college kind of stink.

2. Except that they don’t, because I can sleep in, enjoy the pretty snow without having to drive in it, and be free of responsibilities for a few days.

3. When people were saying 6-8 inches of snow, I didn’t really believe them, so I avoided the mad panic to the grocery store. Now I’m super low on food, but still well-stocked on alcoholic beverages. I haven’t determined if this is good or bad yet.

4. One of my classes is discussing expatriates in Paris in the 1920s next week, so I re-watched Midnight in Paris to get me in the mood. I had forgotten how good that movie is. It totally makes me nostalgic even while showing the dangers of nostalgia.

5. The Hemingway in Midnight in Paris has inspired me to go into The Sun Also Rises with a more open mind. I’ve never actually read much of Hemingway’s work; I’ve just been disinterested, but now I’m looking forward to it.

6. I’ve haven’t watched any Olympics coverage since the opening ceremony. I’ve been more interested in watching the American-Soviet tensions flare up than the actual events. I think the real winner is Bob Costas. As someone who has suffered eye infections, I think he is a real trooper.

7. And, since it’s Valentine’s Day: