Our return flight to Chicago from Seattle was long and rocky. More
An outdoors, laid out according to plan, transitioning to fall with chrysanthemums.
(Click image to enlarge.)
All humans need an anchor. Even the most footloose world travelers have some invisible ties that enable them to be free. In the face of tumult and change, each of us learns to find reassurance and create order, whether by praying, playing the piano, or rearranging a room. My manicurist tells me that she gets rid of stress by going shopping.
One of my anchors lies in my husband, who (unlike myself) is very habitual and has a keen sense of time. The latter is a trait common to people who trade commodities as he does.
Perhaps his occupation also explains his keen interest in the weather, which for many of us supplies the day’s best occasion for contemplating the metaphysics of the universe in which we live. Will it snow tomorrow? Will the cold snap hold? Will there be enough water to keep the Mississippi navigable next spring? And if not, why? The connections we make between weather and the human and cosmic order are almost as myriad as the times humans have used talking about the weather as a means of connecting with one another.
Nonetheless, I find it a little funny that we monitor the weather and find it reassuring. We have thermometers in many of the rooms of our house, as well as a barometer (for measuring changes in atmospheric pressure) and a hygrometer (for measuring humidity) outside. These instruments put numbers on what we are feeling, and somehow that is comforting because it suggests mastery and understanding of something that is actually uncontrollable, chaotic, and unknown. If we feel low on a particular day, we can blame the barometer, and gird ourselves for the unexpected when it registers “Change.”
If I weren’t a blogger, commuting into the Loop every morning would be excruciating.
What I like about blogging is that it forces you—well, not forces you but encourages you, motivates you—to find something useful in the day. It forces you to consider what values to assign to what you’re seeing, and that in turn helps you ‘find your place’ in reality. I notice that More
Our uncle died, and we are deciding whether to go to Seattle to be with the family.
Suddenly, the death of our elders is implicating, in a way it wasn’t when I was younger. As my mother said recently, when one of her last more senior relatives died, “Now we’re the old people.” With every passing, the generations shift, and our place in the constellation of relationships loses something and takes on something new. More