I'm just not "important" enough for that kind of behavior. I understand the striving here, in all its historical glorification; the ingenuity that pulsated through the veins of a young nation, and how, against many odds, its roots gripped the soil of freedom with grit, resolve and fearlessness.
But was it not, deep down, the wearied soul in search of rest behind it all? A sanctuary where the demands of outsiders were stopped, and life continued as it were, with appropriate work, appropriate rest. That is my theory on why the Founders were so experimental and and dangerous in their time. Temperance and moderation.
I'm terribly tempted to go on with a word study on "equality" or something, but I really am not qualified and frankly, research is my day job.
So. The news on mute casts a bleary glow over the room, my feet are warm for the first time I can remember, and I'm looking out over rooftops with just the right amount of snow. I own the exact items I longed to shelve my refrigerator with, from the mecca that is Trader Joe's. I have once described it as "God's gift to single people" and now, more accurately as manna.
But it wasn't that easy for me, fetching this manna. All the Israelites had to do was whine a little, ok a lot, and God rained down the mother lode. Who knows if He was trying to feed them, or maybe accidentally knock a few in the head with the convenient mode of delivery, but either way--simple sustenance for the Israelites.
You have no idea where I'm going with this. But I do. I'm going to the corner of 25th and L, up to my ankle height Banana Republic booties in slush, rosy cheeked from snow-flaked gusts, and joyful. With an intern friend by my side, we discussed the importance of commitment to action even when the outlook seems bleak. You could have stuck us on a Perseverance poster. One of the advantages of being those"young people" often mentioned with an undertone of rebuke, is that we usually follow through with our silly ideas.
The idea of Trader Joe's burned so desiringly in my mind that I hardly noticed my heel not gripping the cement so well, until the perpetual shrieks of my colleague forced me to consider the possibility of falling, very gracelessly, wet, on my butt, in the snow. Still, full throttle ahead we commenced, arms interlocked, until the Promise Land appeared, the Trader Joe's sign, deliciously red.
Bursting forth from the doors with an armful of goodies and an afterglow from conversation with an exceptionally gracious check-out clerk, we had done it. In my bag, 2-buck-Chuck (which in actuality was 2.99 buck-chuck) and not a penny more, to spare its namesake, dark Hot Chocolate Peppermint Mix for the shivery evenings ahead and fresh asparagus for good measure (remember moderation?)
The atmosphere of the street had yet to crush this hope welling up within me, though in the atmosphere of blasting car horns I threatened a scolding to those "impatient" people in their impatient cars with every where to go in their 2 hours early leave from work, cursing the inclement weather. And there we hobbled in front of them in the barely visible crosswalk, myself high-heeled and in a skirt suit, pencil-skirt, mind you, which restricts forward motion to movements of a stick figure on stilts. The issues of "heated seat" man/woman honking at other "heated seat" man/woman in the next car really didn't ramp up compassion within me at the moment.
Then I looked up, and saw what never appears less than miraculous all my years of snow watching, a sky releasing gentleness, unending and impossible to discern from which point its beauty originates. Gentleness reigning on chaos, provision for want, grace for relentless people, including myself. I should have said, "Thank you." But I think it came out more like "It's beautiful." I think He understood what I meant.
On the Metro home, I kept wondering how a country farm could sprout a city weed like myself; how the whoosh of a train coming so close and quickly before me meant endless adventures ahead. I'm romanticizing, its true, but the moment deserves reflection, when settling in to a certain place just seems more than fine and better than ok.
I'm casting my lot in with the Fed's calling my day off tomorrow, and not feeling too premature about it, as it is 12 am. Then you shall find me at Busboys, in the steam cloud of my Chai and self-correcting any movements of rocking back-and-forth in place, as I did at the dinner table, and braced myself for the "earthquake." But alas, Metro vertigo.
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