surviving ordinary

Are you devouring your guacamole leftovers? Did you utilize the fire extinguisher to dampen the blaze the jalapeno poppers stoked in your stomach while you watched the big game? Thinking of a post-Super Bowl diet? I was…..then I ate two homemade chocolate chip cookies. Diet-schmiet. Don’t want to leave anything around to tempt the Texan. He’s skinny. I’m thoughtful like that.

Hmmmm…..first of February…Christmas is a blurry memory and we have another holiday excuse to eat chocolate coming up in Valentine’s Day. I’m anxious to get outside, but the groundhog says we have six more weeks of winter. Cold, dark, trying not to fall asleep at 9:30 pm winter. Ugh.

Want to know what is elevating my spirits during this ordinary time? Noooooo, not vodka, chicken-breath! I have an artsy and thoughtful neighbor who left a little tree lit with red sparkly lights since Christmas. Our neighborhood is pretty spectacular during Christmas season and lots of townsfolk make the drive to our enclave to view the festive lights. When things go suddenly dark after New Year’s, the view can be depressing.

Here’s the spunky tree from my bedroom window. (forgive bad cell phone pics, please)

redtree2
Do you spot the little red tree? Nothing very colorful in this view. bleh.

I think that I shall never see…….oh, never mind. When I’m in bed, I gaze out the window and see the festive tree shimmering in the darkness. I imagine it as a gleaming celebration of ordinary time. There’s nothing spectacular to celebrate, really. The crimson lights are all ablaze proclaiming we’re alive. The barren branches defiantly shake sapling tree-fists at darkest winter. It sparkles simply because our eyes enjoy it and we’re breathing. The bright red splits the blackness because we have a skinny Texan and a snuggly wiener dog next to us, and the littlest grand is out of the hospital, and our bed is oh-so-comfortable. Mundane things. Humdrum happenings.

redtree3
I think I’ll tell my neighbors ‘thank you’ for the cheery, red tree.

 

It reminds me of all the people who might enjoy seeing a fun red tree, but can’t because they are sick. Or they are serving in the military far away. Or they are too depressed to open the blinds. The uplifted branches call me to remember those who can’t enjoy the radiance right now. Can my gratitude for the tree honor them? I hope so.

The tree inspires me to decorate something in my yard in celebration of ordinary time and as a way of showing solidarity with my red-tree neighbor. Maybe I will. You will be the first to know, OK?

What helps you survive ordinary time? Do you have a red tree? I’d love to hear.

Enjoy-the-view love to all.

 

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