Friday, in what has become my norm, I didn't allow myself time for a leisurely walk to the bus stop, and on a day with snow and ice covering my paths, that is not such a good thing, because no matter how good one's winter boots are, haste is just asking for trouble. I know my regular path fairly well and know the parts most likely to be icy in the parking lot I typical cut across. I pass by a medical office which has the past few days accumulated quite the array of icicles. I had taken a picture of them the first day; they had grown and I wanted a close up for one but knew i was already cutting the time short. I settled for plucking off one of the larger ones and examining it as I quickly walked the rest of the way. I have a friend who teases me about having missed my calling in life as a "safety engineer", and I had a few vague thoughts such as the possibility of slipping and impaling myself with the icicle sword, but for the most part that part of me was shut off as I hurried along carrying this thing.
And what a thing it was. An intricately carved work of art like a sword in a fantasy novel, a bit over two feet long, with rings and twists in interlacing layers. I really wanted a picture of it then, and figured it would probably take more than one to capture all the details, but the only camera I had with me was the one on my cell phone, which I'd not yet turned on, and lo! there was the bus, pulling up to the curb. I tossed the sword - that is to say, the icicle, into a snowbank and trotted up to the end of the line of boarding passengers. I was reasonable certain I would not be allowed to board a public transportation vehicle with the argument that it was a work of art and not a potentially deadly weapon which would melt before the authorities arrived. Although I did file that thought in my "story ideas" file.
Later that morning commute, one of the regular passengers who often sits next to me when she boards but has never responded to my simple "Good morning" greetings with more than a nod, again took a seat by me. The usual layover at that location was truncated due to the weather slowing everything down, and we took off shortly. The route is split between the main boulevard and avenues lined with trees and older houses. I commented, "I don't much like snow, but I cannot deny how beautiful it makes things. My seatmate smiled and agreed in accented English.
There was a humorous country western song recorded a number of times in the late forties and early fifties, which asks the question, "Life Gets Teejus, Don't It?" Well, yes, it do indeed. But I think at least a portion of that tediousness comes when we lose our focus. We might not have much say when it comes to what bombards us through the day. Difficult coworkers, neighbors, clients, merchants and even complete strangers sometimes seemingly go out of their way to share their pain, trials and negative outlook with us, whether we invite them to or not. We deal with our own fears and insecurities and disappointments and tragedies and then gain a little perspective when we see those we love suddenly facing things which either make our own problems pale by comparison or cause us pain as well because of how much we care for them, or simply frustration because we are so spent we don't feel we can help. And that can add to the tediousness, because where is the beauty if everything is cold and lifeless and everyone is sick and afflicted?
Right under the surface is where it is at. It is frozen within layers of cold, but adding beauty, unable to catch the light until we hold it up and truly look at it. So hard to see when we are so distracted by what we don't have that we look right past what we do. Five minutes looking at a sculpted icicle or a tree lined avenue woven on Jack Frost's loom won't make trials go away. But five minutes is time sufficient to catch one's breath and regain a bit of perspective. And for me, it prompts the question why I don't take that five minutes more often.
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