The Mist and All

The Mist and All

by Dixie Willson

I like the fall
The mist and all
I like the night owl’s lonely call
And wailing sound
Of wind around

I like the gray
November day
And dead, bare boughs that coldly sway
Against my pane
I like the rain

I like to sit
And laugh at it
And tend my cozy fire a bit
I like the fall
The mist and all

I have always enjoyed this poem, and have used it with my Heart & Hands classes, although in Edmonton November days are more likely to be crisp, clear and frosty, rather than misty. But the poem has sprung to mind this week, riding my bicycle to and from the university in Keene. I've arrived at Antioch and home again wet every day. In Edmonton, if the puddles in the road are still, it isn't raining. In Keene, the rain can be sneaky. The puddles can be still, but when I begin pedaling my bike the 'mist' seems to begin moving vertically, and my ride becomes decidedly drippy. It's been wet, but warm this week--18 degrees Celsius, this afternoon! It seems rainy here because it is rainy; I looked it up and Keene receives 41 inches of precipitation per year, on average, as compared with Edmonton's 18.

FISHING IS SUCH HARD WORK
Last week, as I rounded the reservoir at the end of my customary Sunday-afternoon stroll, there was a car parked by the side of the road where it runs along the edge of the water. Two men stood by the car; one wielded a fishing rod, and the other was there for moral support, I suppose. I watched the valiant fisherman cast his line, and follow the hook and sinker with his gaze as they struck the water's surface. Then he laid his rod upon the pavement behind the back wheels of the car, and the two energetic sportsmen entered the vehicle and closed the doors, waiting, I imagine, to see whether anything would bite! Such exertion!

COMFORT ROUTINES
I am such a phlegmatic creature of habit . . . I take comfort and satisfaction from establishing little daily and weekly rhythms for myself. Perhaps they help to make me feel at home, and give me the sense of having some degree of control over my life away from home and loved ones. Thursdays, Fridays, and sometimes Saturdays are class days, and I look forward to spending time with my classmates and instructors. I tend to linger at the university after my last class each week, feeling just a tiny bit reluctant to go back to the solitary portion of my week. Every Friday marks the passage of one more New Hampshire week, bringing me ever-closer to Edmonton. Sundays and Thursdays are bath days; on Mondays and Wednesdays, I do bedroom Tai-Chi. ('Bedroom' Tai-Chi involves a lot of repositioning and shuffling around, as I would need about ten feet by twenty-four feet of clear floor space to do a proper set. I don't know of any Tai Chi club within biking distance, and I'm too shy to perform a set in public!) I usually cook a recipe on Mondays, and freeze it in individual portions for future meals. I do laundry on Tuesdays, and wash my sheets once a month.

To set the weekend days apart from my regular Monday-to-Wednesday homework days, I celebrate by serving myself a Guinness or a Mike's Hard with Saturday's supper, and taking myself out on a breakfast date each Sunday. This involves a decaf latte, fresh orange juice and a pastry at one of the coffee shops on Main Street, where I linger over one of my class reading assignments. (I have to do the coffee-shop thing--I used to notice students with their books or lap tops in the Second Cup in Edmonton, and picture myself as one of those, so I now make a point of studying in the coffee shop, although I must say I am more comfortable and less distracted, working at my own little desk in my bedroom on Fowler Street.) I pick up groceries, and head home for more school work and then lunch; then I cycle and walk uphill to Robin Hood Park for my outdoor beauty-walk treat at the reservoir. My assignments are worthwhile and interesting, making schoolwork an effective way to mitigate that whisper of loneliness that hovers close by, here in graduate-school land.

But the best comfort routine of all is my daily evening phone call to Ken--thank you, dear Skype Angel! Ken reads me my mail, and we exchange all the inconsequential news of our respective days. We communicate anything that needs to be communicated to each other, but mostly we just simply hang out together, sharing the same ear space, so to speak. I grouse at him if he has the TV on, or rustles papers near the microphone, or tries to walk around while we're connected, but we often look things up on the net (since we're on line with Skype, anyway) or email things (like photos) to each other while we're 'together' on Skype. I love talking to my kids as well, and to Kaliana! It is incredibly reassuring to be able to access home so cheaply and easily!

The soul's connection this week:

I feel my own force, bearing fruit
And gaining strength to give me to the world.
My inmost being I feel charged with power
To turn with clearer insight
Toward the weaving of life's destiny.