It's Snowing

It’s snowing. If it keeps up at the current rate, this may be the first time we see the ground with a solid cover of snow up here. They are predicting around two inches. I know it will be beautiful in the morning; I just hope we keep our electricity. If it goes out, we have the kerosene heater ready to fire up, and plenty to eat.

I worked at the art gallery today, but Mary and I closed up an hour early since the roads were starting to get covered. I had no trouble at all coming home.

I don’t know why, but there is something profoundly peaceful about falling snow. Perhaps it’s the softness, the quiet, or the purity of white covering every surface. Maybe it’s knowing that there is no where to go, nothing to do. At any rate, I’m sitting here with my cup of hot chocolate and my laptop, writing and looking up from time to time to see the gently falling flakes outside the window.

I need this. I’ve spent the past few days worrying about roof repairs, insurance, the economy, and my parents’ health, among other things. My only relief until now has come from walking the past three days with my new friend, Cheryl. Yes, we are crazy, but we have gone to the dam to walk with temperatures in the upper teens and low twenties. I would never have done such a thing on my own, but Cheryl is from Minnesota and thinks nothing of being out in the cold. She probably feels right at home! So with trepidation, I bundled up like an Eskimo and met her at the dam on Monday. At first, I questioned my own sanity because the wind was blowing the bone-chilling air across the dam. Every inch of me was covered except for my face, and it was FREEZING! I wrapped my scarf around my mouth and nose, and off we went. We talked through our scarves as we walked; in fact, we talked the entire fifty-five minutes, so the time passed quickly. I felt invigorated by the time we finished and agreed to meet again the next day and the next. I learned that, amazingly, it is possible to get hot when it’s twenty degrees outside!

I’ve also found that painting is wonderful for stress relief, and that is what I’ve done all day at the art gallery. There are always two people working, and today I worked with Mary, who I’ve worked with several times before. We get along great and enjoy painting and talking together. She was painting a bear, and I was working on my painting of Cinnamon, my friend Julie’s alpaca. He is cute. I’ve really gotten into animal paintings lately. So far, I’ve done a cow, a bear cub, a dog, and now an alpaca. Before, I had done mostly landscapes and one still life of a vase full of roses. I haven’t yet done a building, unless you count the old mill in one of my landscapes. The only subject I am really afraid to tackle is people.

Yesterday, Mama and I shared a sad experience. A dear friend of hers and Daddy’s, a ninety-three-year-old man named Bill, recently had a bad fall and was moved from the hospital to the Clay County Care Center (a nursing home). Mama wanted me to take her to see him. I warned her that he didn’t know anything, and she had been told that he did not even recognize his own daughter the past few days, but Mama insisted on going. I was a little curious to see the inside of the care center. With all Mama’s difficulties, it may become necessary for her to be somewhere like that one day, and I wanted to know what it is like.

When we arrived, two young staffers were arguing with an old woman that she couldn’t go outside because of the cold. They seemed frustrated. We asked where we could find Mama’s friend and were told he was sitting at the nurses’ station. Mama shuffled slowly through the hall with her walker, looking very much like one of the patients. We turned a corner and found our way almost blocked by a ladder, cones, and a large trash can. A ceiling tile was hanging down and water was steadily dripping into the container. I asked and was told the pipes had frozen and burst due to the cold weather. They had no water. Mama maneuvered around the cones with some difficulty.

Then we saw Bill. He was sitting in his wheelchair beside the counter, slumped over with his head in his hand. As we came up to him, we saw the large bruise covering the side of his head where he had hit it in his fall, causing bleeding on his brain. Mama spoke to him. No response. She kept trying until finally, he looked up at her with sad, vacant eyes. If there was any recognition, we couldn’t tell it. He did attempt to mumble something unintelligible. Then he dropped his head onto his hand again, propped up on the arm of the chair, and that was how he remained, even as Mama carefully released her grip on one handle of her walker and laid it across Bill’s shoulders. I stood to one side and watched this pitiful encounter, feeling deeply saddened. So this is how it ends, I thought. I wonder why God allows people to continue living in such condition. Other elderly patients sat in their wheelchairs, alone, and looking very sad.

“We might as well go,” I told Mama. “Yes, I guess so,” she responded. She and I slowly made our way back down the hallways, neither of us feeling like talking. On our way out, we passed the dining room where several patients were eating. There was no pleasant conversation, just silence.

The Care Center is a nice facility, but it’s just that, a facility. I can’t imagine it being home. It is not a place I would want Mama to go unless it became absolutely necessary.

The snow has slowed down considerably. It is supposed to end around midnight, so we may not get that much after all. I will enjoy whatever we get, and hopefully get some good pictures with my new camera.