A poetic response

My long-time friend Miguel Guhlin left the following comment on my recent post “I miss snow”: 

I miss the snow, too. Having grown up in Panama, I miss the idea of it. I miss the blizzard where evil dwells, the snow flurries that obscure my vision, the slip and slide of wheels on an uncertain path. I miss the snowplows making their way up the avenue, the snowmen gathered on the lawn. I miss the snowflakes, one and all, like a banker misses his coin.

But then, when sadness gathers six feet deep at my door, my tears forming crystals on my cheeks, I remember, I grew up in the summer humid heat of Panama. Snow is but a dream, where mosquitoes are unborn, iguanas wouldn't be caught dead without a borrowed fur coat. I remember that dark rainstorms, drops so large they can kill a baby frog, renew the pools where tadpoles spawn, form the ocean waves. I see them once more, those summer days, bereft of snow, and I miss the sun of my youth.

Now that the chill is gone, I wonder what I will dream for tomorrow. A day without sun in another land, a grey overcast day without a blanket of snow. I wonder what I will dream of, the future or the past, or will I have a dreamless sleep, empty of expectation and sun and snow, and all that men dream when the earth wraps its arms around them.

Let the snow go, friend, and ask instead, "Where are your dreams gone?" (Reposted here with permission

Miguel is a prolific writer (see his blog Another Think Coming) and thoughtful thinker about education and technology. I’ve known this for a long time. What I didn’t realize was that Miguel is a poet as well.

As all good writing should do, Miguel’s clever, mystical response to my post made me reflect, made me think about things I might not otherwise have considered. I was, quite frankly, a bit mesmorized.

Why don’t we respond lyrically more often? Would we be more convincing, more sympathetic? Might others pay more attention to us if the style of the message was as interesting as the content?

Thanks, Miguel, for not just moving my brain a bit, but nudging my heart as well.

I miss snow

“I miss snow.”

If anyone predicted I would ever make this statement, I would have laughed in their face. Miss having snow? The same snow that through most of my life has been the bane of my winter existence?

Growing up and living most of my life in the Midwest, winters have always come with snow. And snow more often than not has been a nuisance. In high school, snow caused me to drive my car into the ditch. When I told my dad (after walking home), he said we’d not be able to get it out until spring. And I thought he was serious. Out on a double-date, I managed to get my car stuck in a snowdrift across a rural road and my buddy’s dad had to come rescue us and our less-than-thrilled dates. I’ve spent nights in strangers’ homes because of closed roads, nights in airports due to canceled flights, and days trapped in my own home due to “blizzard conditions.”

For literally decades I have shoveled sidewalks, run the snowblower up and down driveways, swept decks, and scraped car windows. Ice and snow have closed hiking trails and put me on my butt, despite wearing grippers, more than a few times. Snow has made driving slow and nerve wracking, especially on those days when I was expected to be in the office, even when the school at which I worked was closed for kids and teachers.

So how can I say “I miss snow?”

This winter in Minnesota has been unusually warm and exceptionally dry. Groomed ski trails did not happen so all the trails in area parks were open for hikers. Roads stayed open. No shoveling or scraping or scary driving conditions. Winter coats and gloves stayed mostly in the closet. Dog sled races, cross-country ski events were canceled, and the ice fishing season was extremely short (and somewhat dangerous). 

And I now realize that despite its nuisance, I miss snow.

I’ve long been grateful for when a snowstorm closed school (see Blessings of a snow day) both as a student and as a teacher. I have fond memories of my children and grandchildren (well, and myself) on sleds, tubes, and toboggans sliding down snow-covered hills. Snow abundant winters created great downhill skiing conditions at Mt Kato and Welch Village and Lutsens where a friend and I would often take our sons. I even miss the cross-country and snowshoeing opportunities in the parks nearby, despite being glad the trails are open for hiking if you don’t mind mud.

And even a light cover of snow can give an ethereal beauty to the most common-place lawn, road, or park giving cosmetic cover to even dry grass, littered ditches, and barren trees. And as I look out the window this morning as birds swarm the feeder while snowflakes swirl, I recognize the loveliness of the snow event itself.

The old expression “be careful what you ask for since you might just get it” seems apt now that spring is here and the likelihood of snow enabled fun and beauty is mostly behind us. Sometimes it takes the absence of thing before you really appreciate it. 

I miss snow.

Scanning the past

 

I am feeling back to normal and my last COVID home test was negative. I feel free to wander the planet once again.

While in self-imposed quarantine I sort of kicked myself into working on a long-range project that’s been nagging me for some time - scanning in old print photographs from the 70s, 80s, and 90s.* 

Residing in 3-ring photo album binders in the guest bedroom closet, these hundreds of snapshots both bring me joy and haunt me. Images of my first wedding, college days, early jobs, various travels, and celebrations bring smiles to my face as I carefully pull them from the sticky pages of the photo albums and place them on the scanner glass. Nothing gladdens my heart more than photos of my daughter and son as babies, toddlers, and elementary schoolers. Without exception, we all look like we are having joyful times eating, playing, reading, and just messing around. Often accompanied by friends and grandparents, both my children seemed to be well fed, clothed, cared for, nurtured, and loved.

Yet I cannot but also reflect on how I might have been a better parent. My marriages to their mothers did not last and both kids lived in two separate homes during much of their childhoods. Should I have encouraged or insisted they participate in more sports or clubs or other extra-curricular activities? Was I there for them when they were worried or sad or insecure? Did they get hugs and attention when they needed them the most? Do other parents have such worries?

Thankfully, both my children are now kind, loving, and responsible adults who still talk to and spend some time with their father.. Was this because of their childhoods - or despite them?

I still have a couple weeks worth of scanning to do. Were I really responsible, I would add tags to the photos telling the dates, places, and circumstances of each shot. I am operating under the assumption that my relatives and friends will want access to these memories. One day, I am sure, the physical pieces of paper these images occupy will be buried deep in a landfill, the subjects on them only vaguely known or cared about. Not being either a notorious criminal nor world leader, I do not expect a place in any history. But the digital images most probably will remain in some remote server.  Perhaps AI when it takes over the world can make use of them.

Oh, another project I have vowed to complete is what I am calling “My Happy 100.” I am going to go back through all my old photos and select 100 of them in which I am happy. I will place these in a slideshow to be shown at my funeral or memorial service or whatever gathering (if there is one). The problem will not be finding 100 photos; it will be selecting them from so many happy times.

*For me, photography went digital in 2001. About the time my first grandson was born.