There’s a fellow blogger in Canada whose blog I follow at The Alchemist’s Studio. He makes raku pottery, and often his pictures are accompanied by a modernized telling of a story from mythology that ties into the raku piece. You should check it out.
The reason I bring him up is because he also posts photos of his location under the heading This Week At The Studio In Photos. I grew up in a heavily wooded area in New England, and so quite often I will comment about how his pictures remind me of (and make me long for) the days of my youth, from before I moved to Dallas. I’ve been particularly fond of the winter pictures, with snow on the ground, looking so pretty and evoking memories of my own.
Then we had the last week of or so of Winter Comes To Dallas. We only had somewhere between three and six inches on the ground, but it covered everything. We spent a week or so with the temperature never rising above freezing. And I wondered what exactly it was that I was reminiscing about.
Just like the grass is always greener on the other side of your property line (meaning in your neighbor’s yard – the place you are not), things often seem to have been better in those other times where you are not, also. I remember slogging through the snow in the woods, following snowmobile tracks that a local farmer left behind, making forts and tunnels in snow that stayed on the ground from November through March. I know I would spend a couple of hours outside in the freezing cold, and resist going inside, because once I did, I wouldn’t be able to go back out until the next day (I only had one set of what we called “ski clothes”, and it would be soaked through, and unwearable once I came in our house and pulled it all off.) I actually preferred being outside in the frozen tundra to being inside a warm house.
I look at that younger me, shake my head at how crazy he was, drink my coffee and think how much more I enjoy the warmth now. (I know he enjoyed the warmth too, because there are memories of eating toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup while the snow was falling outside, so he was probably just enjoying the food…)
But sometimes that younger me that still wanders the snowy woods in my mind (it’s a scary place in there, but he is adventurous) looks out through these more mature eyes. He shakes his head at how I’ve closed myself up inside, and tells me to go out there , maybe make a snowman or a snow angel.
With all that head-shaking, which of us is right?
We all change; remember to keep the happy when you do. Just saying…
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