Que, Sera, Sera

The forecasting began over a week ago, “Cold front coming folks and moisture from the south means ICEY conditions.  We’ll keep you up-to-date.” Over and Over the words were repeated, “With Arctic air arriving on Friday and moisture from the Pacific and the Gulf colliding, the conditions can only mean disaster. Make sure you have your survival kits, stay off the roads, school closing are running at the bottom of the screen…..” Tension hung in the air, not ice.

Visceral memories of previous ice storms--four days without power, solid ice on roads, trees, people iced into their homes, and cell phones running down, created a mob effect at the grocery stores.

By Thursday I’d seen enough television to know that the area in purple could expect devastating effects from the ice; red meant three quarters of an inch of ice expected on power lines and trees for a moderate effect; orange meant enhanced; yellow meant slick; turquoise meant a glaze.

Remaining proactive whether about weather or daily life is important. What I question is the effect of sensationalism on our minds and bodies. Why do we allow the Media to create such havoc in our lives? We’ve been blasted from our comfort zone over national politics; the strife and division created by two simple colors describing who I am NOT—the Red states and the Blue states;  the what if’s and unknowns of change; of scenes of daily shootings on our streets and the continued holocaust in the Middle East.

Technology screams in tweets, peeps, gongs, swooshes, and sirens like a constant train of wrecks on the highway. And we wonder why it is so hard to relax and enjoy the moment.

Friday dawned cool, dry and refreshing.  We took Lucy to North base to run the fields and sniff the grasses while we walked a cool mile or more.  Suddenly, I thought now this is living in the now. The chilling North wind forced itself up my nose, opening my mind to the multitude of birds in the low grasses. A Killdeer fluttered away screaming in her protective mode; the Meadowlarks sang and ignored us; the Red-winged Black Birds swirled and circled around behind us; and dozens of UBBs (unidentified brown birds) fluttered and swarmed low to the ground, giving us a show like an MGM musical.  I forgot about the impending doom that never arrived.

Thanks to the descriptive words of Ivan Doig, I escaped part of the weekend reading This House of Sky, and realized that drifting

away to the mountains and valleys of Montana allows me to live in the fullness of the moment, much like meditation. Stopping my hands from rushing over the keyboard gives me brief moments of sparkle as I watch a tiny House Wren wag its tail while eating from the bird feeder outside my window. My husband steps in my Art Gecko room to tell me that the radar shows rain coming within the hour, I reply, “Que Sera, Sera, Whatever will be will be, I’m sick of the radar you see, Que Sera, Sera.” He smiled, we hugged and giggled. Now that is a visceral moment of living in the now.