Two nieces sent us a dour reflection on winter. Literally slouching toward 87, I wrote an encouraging reply instead of quoting Ecc. 3:1-8. No go. The idea of turning 60 still freaked out Niece 2, who still can't believe another decade has passed. Neither can we. Nor could we have imagined what has occurred since Age 60. It seems just days ago that our daughter met this tall guy -- our long drive West to the wedding; driving through Colorado, and moving here; Chaplain training; and our 60th wedding anniversary.
A witty in-law who lived in these mountains a long time claims our real seasons are Snow, Hot, and Mud. Hmm, Snow on the way! Dig out those boots/togs or buy new ones. "Enough already!" as Mud arrives. Squish squish: shall we add to the wet by crying over what we used to be able to do, even if it was stupid? We do regret that we had not been kinder and quieter. Others remind us. We try again because we tend to forget good advice in the face of the "reality" of daily living -- as we forget how long Hot lasted as we approach Snow again.
As in film, one season fades into another -- Mud with Snow, a touch of Hot with Mud. We do cherish a brief period this time of year -- the wondrous colors of quaking golden Aspen against green Pine, with a touch of white. Too soon all is as white as the color of our thinning hair. We wish that we could extend the period of Aspen in our mind by calling it Now. We vow Now to be kinder and quieter through the rest of the seasons no matter their names.
Domenic Fuccillo is a retired Clinical Chaplain who lives in Littleton, Colorado and a regular contributor to the Pastoral Report.