Sunday Morning III

We have been having unseasonably warm and radiant weather here in the Pacific Northwest this winter. It is totally AWESOME!

My innate Leo spirit executes a merry tapdance on the sunbeams as they speckle the land with gold and light. How can one not be joyous on such halcyon days?

I spread my arms wide and embrace this glorious day of sunshine with Thanksgiving. And greet everyone: "Isn't this a beautiful day!? What spectacular weather we are having!"

They, like spoiled children, answer with their complaints.

Some puff themselves up with a proclivity to portentous wisdom and speak of doom and draught for summer.

Others try to nod and give their head a negative shake at the same time. ( Have you ever watched folks try to perform this feat? In the Magician's Handbook, it's item #4528: "Confused Yo-Yo On Loose String" procedure.) Not sure they have mastered the technique, the vocal chords of these same people strain to reach sepulcher tones: "But it won't last."

There is another group of naysayers, here, in the northwest who are, perhaps, more honest than the first two groups. At least, they admit their objections are self-indulgent.

I was in the grocery store a few days ago and ran into a member of this club. As she walked up from behind me and spoke, I was predisposed to like her immediately. "Oh my," She said. "I thought you were a teenager. You are so young looking."

Now what nearly sixty-year-old wouldn't embrace a statement like that?

With a big grin, I thanked her for her kindness. And because I felt some additional comments were called for, replied: "Isn't it a glorious day?" ( Big Mistake! )

"No," She replied.

My steps did a double-take and started back-pedalling away.

(In all fairness to the weather, the skies were blue, the sun lent its cheerfulness, birds sang, and it was warm enough to shed those heavy and cumbersome winter coats.)

It behooves one to act cautiously at such moments and not allow another to snow on your St. Patrick's Day parade. Avoid their chill-inducing intrusion on your sunbubble by nodding politely, asking no questions, and exiting speedily. Yet, because of her compliment, this warning ruler gently slapping my knuckles went unheeded.

Tentatively I asked: "Why not?" as, with great stealth, I backed my cart down the grocery aisle, hoping she wouldn't notice me slipping away.

The lady pursued me diligently while she outlined her dilemma. She had spent a fortune this season, she said, on ski equipment and had not been able to use it once. For her, it wasn't a good winter at all.

I crept backwards. She hound-dogged my trail. Forced by her persistence to reply, I mumbled that I had heard from a reliable source that there was still good skiing in the Tetons and offered her the hospitality of one of my relatives. ( Cross your fingers, and pray that she doesn't mention me when she knocks on their door, prepared for an extended visit.)

Not many people back through the check-out lanes, pause long enough to pay for their purchases, then beat a hasty retreat, backwards, out the door with a plump, middle-aged lady wearing a ski mask in hot pursuit.

Perhaps, those watching will think it's a new game, catch the spirit of capriciouness, and allow their spirits to soar.

But for me, I couldn't help wonder, as I reached the safety of my Volkswagon: "Has everyone joined the Complaint Club of Dissatisfaction?"

Or are there yet some few remaining who still have the ability to say: Thank You God for Your lovely gifts. I appreciate them.
Chae