Wintry Preparations

My view while staying inside where it's safe and warm, for which I am truly grateful. It's also the cats' view from their tree.

At this writing, a wintry blast with a variety of precipitation and frigid wind chills driven by fearsome bone-chilling breezes is forecast. By the time this PN issue hits the newsstands, I might not get to hold the actual newspaper. I’ll gratefully read it online if I choose to remain indoors.

Experience being homebound by circumstances other than illness is limited. The unpleasant memories of the ice storm challenges of 2009 and the pandemic isolation in 2020 take a backseat to the joyful ones since. But in retrospect, I have some cherished recollections during those scary times.

When the ice storm hit, my redbone hound and her pal the collie/shepherd mix, dogs that never came indoors, joined me and Jake the chihuahua huddling against an interior wall. Took no coaxing at all. That simple switch from the norm boosted moods all around. When tree limbs started dropping and the power stayed off, my Aunt Velma managed to get to my house. We camped out in the living room around the ventless heater, reading and napping, eating out of cans and sharing stories, and - if you knew Aunt Velma - you know we laughed through it all.

Now, knowing what could happen, I’m less fearful and better prepared. If Old Man Winter creates bedlam and overstays his welcome, I might use the time to: (1) reacquaint myself with contents of the junk drawer; (2) paint a canvas or two (a jug of water is already stashed in the corner with the acrylics and brushes); (3) begin another book in my Kindle library (I’ve finished Hidden Potential by Adam Grant); (4) fill up a few more pages in the journal started January 1; (5) brainstorm on writing prompts shared during the recent Current River Writers meeting; (6) play around with a new kind of art (new to me); (7) listen to favorite tunes; (8) try not eating the snacks all at once; (9) focus on gratitude; (10) pray more for my loved ones and those who work to keep us safe.

I don’t have leisurephobia, contrary to what one might assume from the previous paragraph. (That’s the fear of having nothing to do, though I had a glimpse of that state when I first retired, which makes me laugh now!) If weather keeps me in, I may pull up a chair next to the cat tree at the picture window and watch the world go by with my feline friends. That will not be time wasted.