Bitter cold

It is the last day of January, and I think about how the compassion of God must have influenced our calendar, that the passage of the first month of the year is such a marked blessing and relief.

We've been setting records for cold, apparently, although the winter of 1996 was at least this cold, when we went to Minnesota for Shawn's sister Wendy's wedding.  My memory is that it was -50, with windchills of -80 that year, and it made me almost thankful that we had moved to New York.

Five years ago, our first winter here, it was cold enough to freeze the drainpipes from our washing machine, and when my wash load went to spin out, water flooded into the laundry room, channeled down the heat vent, and pooled in a duct in our storage crawl space, where it seeped out onto the things we had stacked on the shelves, mostly in plastic bins, so the actual damage was minimal.

At any rate, I haven't been brave enough to wash any laundry for the past few days, which is unfortunate, because there is an accumulating pile of old towels, soiled because of the sad fact that our small dog does not like to go outdoors in these arctic temperatures.  Currently, he is crying in his crate, but he has proven himself untrustworthy, and I am tired.

[aside-- Here's a random question:  Why are weeks seven days long?  Our entire number system is based on fives and tens, because of the number of fingers and toes we have (presumably).  Yet our calendars and clocks are based on sevens and twelves, Biblical numbers.  I wonder about that.  It seems to lend credence to the truth of the Bible, the seven days of creation that started everything.  Not that I need convincing, but for those who do, it is a point worth pondering, I think.]

The night before last was the record setter for central Illinois.  I think it was about -25 degrees, with a roaring wind that must have lowered the felt temperature considerably further.  Throughout the night, I heard the wind howling, and the house cracking, which was more alarming than the wind.  I'm not sure what, exactly, was cracking, but there were ongoing creaks and pops and groans, punctuated with a sharp, shuddering crack every now and again.  Nonetheless, the structure still stands.  I've taken to bumping the heat up to 72 in the evenings; I guess I'm old enough for that now.

Yesterday I had a skin excision, which was more invasive than I'd expected, and that's all I will say about that.  It's nothing to worry about, except that the bills will be significant, and probably also the scar.  Heaven will be free from bills and scars, and for that I am thankful.

After the excision, I went to Walmart to stock up on bandages and petroleum jelly for wound care.  Since it was so cold, I decided to take the opportunity of being in a large store to walk a few laps (it is not weather for exercising outdoors).  After walking as much as I dared, fearing that someone would mark me as a lunatic the third time they saw me whirl my cart through Automotive, I went to check out.  As I made ready to scan my items through the self-check, I realized that I had lost one of my gloves.

So, I circled the store yet again, searching without much hope, just a vague sense of annoyance and a dread at going outside with one bare hand.  Miraculously, though, I found my glove on the floor in the wide aisle between Grocery and Women's Fashion, in front of a display of icy pink velour ladies' pajama pants.  It was a dark glove, the kind that I always lose, not one of my pink striped ones, which I ought to have worn.

All this happened before the novocaine wore off from my excision.  I picked up Jon and brought him home for dinner, which was a sausage and potato soup that I made up out of my imagination, and it was good, as things usually are when the stakes are fairly low.  After we delivered Jon to work the night shift at FedEx, I was resting on the sofa when small Duffy pranced across my belly, planting a tiny paw directly on my incision site, through layers of clothing and bandages, of course, but still.  It's been hurting pretty significantly ever since, although I slept decently last night, and did not hear the wind howl, whether or not it did.

I'm sorry that this is a worthless post, just stupid, simple things from my completely unexceptional life.  I am finally now coming to terms with the fact that I am, indeed, unexceptional, and it is okay, even good, to be unexceptional.  It is a protection to have the privacy of insignificance, a blessing.  Yet, I hope that in my ordinariness I can somehow be pleasing to the Lord, to radiate His love where He wants me to.  I am so afraid of people.  The Lord needs to teach me to love my neighbor.

Wow.  Looking back at that last paragraph, I see God's hand, because I can identify that, in letting myself go to "stream of consciousness," He has guided me to a beginning of work on my words for the year: Humility, Love and Acceptance.  You may choose to believe that I did this on purpose, but all I can say is that I didn't.

Accepting what He has created me to be and to do, and learning to love the people in my sphere of influence.  This is my job.  May God help me.