Seasonal Disappointment Disorder

I'm a victim of an affliction I like to call Seasonal Disappointment  Disorder.

This is a fancy-sounding way of saying I don't like the weather. One simple question: where's winter?

People with Seasonal Disappointment Disorder, you see, like seasons, and, as creatures of habit, get all discombobulated when the seasons don't flow smoothly by. We like predictability. We like consistency.

We assume, if we buy a nice, red parka with fake fur around the neck and hood, we will actually be able to wear that garment during the winter -- even if we do look like Kenny from South Park when the hood is pulled up. OK, I'm exaggerating (but not about the resemblance to Kenny). I have actually worn the parka two or three times this winter. But, most days, my poor old green quilted jacket is getting a run for its money.

So, where's winter? Yesterday it was 61 degrees here in the Delaware valley. On our way to the commuter train, I and my fellow travelers shed layer after layer of winter clothing, like snakes shedding their skins. Good thing we didn't leave them behind on the ground, like so much litter.

Don't get me wrong -- I do like the teensy weeny heating bills this winter. But I also like enough snow and cold to remind me that winter has arrived, and to allow me to snuggle in front of the fire with my dogs, sipping a cup of tea. On my porch at home is a woodpile, which looks almost exactly the same as it did in October, when my son stacked the wood for me. I'm sorry -- I feel silly building a roaring fire and then opening several windows because of the heat.

I'm getting a little old to blame it on hot flashes.

Winter Feast for The Soul

I'm definitely in a post-holiday slump. It's the season of blah: the time between New Year's and the beginning of Lent. I don't do winter sports, and even if I did, there's been no snow! Spring seems a long way off, even in the fairly mild weather. I understand that the bare trees have their own beauty as they send fingers into the gray sky, but many days I fail to see it. I look forward to Lent, but even that's way out on the horizon. I guess I have a touch of SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder. My dad certainly had it, and my son does, as well.

One restorative measure I can take is a day-long retreat. In early February, I may plan one. Another thing I can do is the Winter Feast for the Soul, a forty-day celebration of kindness, connectedness, and gratitude, which began on 1/15 and finishes up at the beginning of Lent. The program includes online, guided meditations in several faith traditions, including a set of interfaith meditations. The website lists lots of resources for celebrating this time of year: 40 minutes per day for 40 days. I'm getting a late start on this, but actually it's never to late to do spiritual work, is it? Check it out with me!

Elderly animals video

Just came across this on Facebook. It's about five minutes long, but well worth it if you're an animal-lover, especially if you've loved an older animal.

http://vimeo.com/29632448

Best dog in my world

I'm relaxing tonight, dogs all around.

Max and Amber, the 5-year-old standard poodle littermates, are on the bed with me. For some reason, they feel that they must lie on their sides with their legs stretched straight out, so that they occupy most of the available space. Every now and then, when they are dreaming of prey (poodles were originally hunting dogs in Germany -- no pink bows or painted toenails there), their legs twitch as if they are running, and they give a sotto voce "yip" every now and then.

But the queen sits on the floor next to the bed. Shadow, my first standard poodle, is now fifteen and a half, and no longer gets up on the bed, mainly because she can't jump anymore, but also because she can't see where the bed ends and empty space begins. So she sits patiently on the floor.

I'm a great fan of older dogs -- I could see adopting a few more. There's a wisdom in older animals, human and canine, that gradually replaces the exuberance of youth. I know the end is coming but I treasure every minute. Dogs, especially large dogs, never lived this long when I was a kid; I know Shadow is on borrowed time. She can still climb the stairs fairly well, but she won't go downstairs unless I walk backwards in front of her, holding her collar. She lost bowel and bladder control a few months ago. I have become an avid fan of Swiffer products, and have cornered the market on air freshener.

Knowing when to let go is the tricky bit. I see no sign that Shadow's in any pain. She still eats heartily. She still snarls at her younger furry companions, just as she always has. She has borne the indignities of old age better than I probably will. So the time is not yet, but it's coming. This is the part I don't cope with very well.

We brought Shadow home in the summer of 1996, when our younger child started coming home from grade school alone -- she felt better coming home to a house with a nice big dog there. And so Shadow has helped me raise my kids. Since that younger child is now nearly done dental school, you can see how long Shadow has been part of our lives. That's a venerable contribution to any family's life.

So parting won't be easy, even though I trust we'll be together again on the Other Side. In the meantime, Shadow is my treasure. And I'll trust that, when the parting comes, I'll be able to stand it somehow.

Out of darkest December ...

And, with the Winter Solstice, into the light.

Very gradually into the light.  It will be weeks before I notice a slight lengthening of the daylight, and it will feel like a tease.  Day will be longer, but the ground will still be frozen and, potentially, snow-covered.

There are homey comforts to be enjoyed in winter, of course: sitting with dogs by the fire, being snowed in on a workday, Christmas Eve in church, a hot mug of spicy herbal tea.

But December has sometimes been a hard month at my house.  Sixteen years ago I said farewell to my mom, Ruth Ann,  at her funeral on December 20th, as a snowstorm raged (now wasn't that fun!).  And on the 19th of this December, we said goodbye to my mother-in-law, Grace.  Fortunately this time, there was snow on the ground only, not piling up around us.

So I have reason to dislike December. Clearly, I have difficulty keeping in mind the message of Christmas: it's hard, but it will pass; the Lord is Emanuel; He is here. Fear not.

Fear not, said the angels.

OK, I'm trying.