A Winter’s Reflection
I woke up this morning to a cold dismal day. I did not feel like getting out of my cozy warm bed. I was reluctant to emerge from it. I snuggled deeper into the multilayer covers of my bed. The skies above are overcast and grey. In my garden the snow still covers the frozen ground with layers of the several snowfalls of the several past weeks. I think of my outside cats and sigh deeply. They’re cold. They’re hungry. With a sigh, I reluctantly get up, lazily stretched and performed my ablutions. I wore a warm fleecy dressing gown over my thick flannel nightgown, donned one of Peter’s thick winter socks that are still in his drawer unused and went down to the kitchen. I filled up the cats’ bowl and placed it underneath the barbecue grill. It’s protected from rain and snow there. I had read about how old picnic ice chests could be converted into warm shelters for animals in winter. I have several ice chests and I dream of converting two for my pussy cats.
It is freezing! I hurry back into the house. I carry a mug of tea upstairs. I curl up in my old cozy armchair, sip at my tea, read a book and listen to my classical music. Could anything be more perfect than that? I doze off. The phone rings. It must be seven o’clock. That would be Kelly on his coffee break. “Good morning, Mum!” I look forward to his call.
Each Thursday they all come over to dinner. It’s usually is Kelly and Andrea, Teal and sometimes his girlfriend, if she doesn’t have evening classes. This past Thursday it would have been only Kelly and Andrea. Teal was in Colorado with his parents for spring break. I am babysitting Teal’s cat and later in the day, the pups. Thursdays were the day Andrea went into the city to run her different work related errands. It was snowing. Andrea and Teal’s girlfriend are both vegetarians. Although I know that Andrea prefers fruits and salad, I worried that she would be very cold coming back home. I made her a nice hearty split pea soup, filled with vegetables. I made a curry for Kelly and myself. As it happens, Andrea was delayed in the city and did not come for dinner. I sent the soup back with Kelly. She did not have it that day.
Yesterday Kelly texted me, “The soup was delicious, Mum!”
“Did Andrea like it?” I asked. He hesitated before he answered. “She did not have any,” he replied. After a disappointed pause, I commented, “I supposed I had better better stop trying…” “I think so, Mum. She is a very picky eater.”
I guess he had told her of my reaction, for she phoned me. I’m I comfortable eating raw food.”
“I’m just a Jewish mother who worries about the welfare of her family. I worry about your eating habits.”
We went back and forth about her diet. I do not know why she said, “ But, I am a good person, Mama!” There seemed to be a little break in her voice. I paused a moment. The conversation seemed to have changed direction.
“No one is saying you are not, Andrea. I am worried about your eating habits. You are a good person. I know you are a good person. You know you are a good person. Besides, it does not matter what others think of you. What matters is what you think of yourself. If someone does not think you are a good person, you will never be able to convince them otherwise, if they do not want to believe it. Just walk away.”
Her saying that she is a good person, made me recall an incident that occurred six years ago. I had just lost my Peter. I was bereft and feeling very lost and devastated. Because we had lost him so unexpectedly and so suddenly, I was going through an almost unbearable and very physical and emotional pain. I felt as if I was foundering in the midst of a stormy sea. I seemed to be walking through a thick grey fog of numbing pain.
It was just after Passover. Kelly and I were invited to a holiday celebration. I did not want to go, but Kelly convinced me to. I sat quietly, listening to the conversations around me, not participating. Someone came and sat across from me. It was mmm, a pompous man who presumed that each time he opened his mouth, pearls of wisdom tumbled forth and everyone should listen attentively and praised him for his wit and we
He is an offensive nouveau riche, braggart, he was loud and insulting. I had crossed paths with him before. He took pleasure in belittling people. It seemed to make him feel superior compared to others when he belittles them. I tried to avoid him at all cost. He left a bad taste in my mouth. And here he was, sitting across the room from me, staring me down balefully. I briefly glimpsed at him and quickly turned my head to a different direction, but he would not be ignored. In a loud booming voice he declared, “I suppose that you expect me to respect you, Stella.” He paused for effect, then he said, “Well I don’t!”
I looked at him in surprise. Where did this come from? Where did he come from? I heard a gasp from the guests in the room. I felt my lips curl up in disdain. Adrenaline rushed through my body. I sat up straighter. My face assumed a cold look of disdain. In a stony voice that I could hardly recognize as mine, I replied. “Your opinion means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me. And by the way, I have great regard of myself. I definitely do not need yours!” With that, I gave him a withering look as I rose from my seat and left the room.
After that, each time I encountered him, he would greet me politely and I would respond by coldly ignoring him. Thank goodness, it is not on too many occasions that we meet. And yes, I too am a good person. I know that. If others know it, well and good; if not, it’s their loss. Other people’s opinions mean nothing, as long as you know who and what what you really are.
I pause from my writings and look out of my window. Lazy snowflakes are moseying down from the heavens. The sun is setting. It tinges the sky to a pinkish hue. Combined with the setting sun, the snowflakes coming down and the world looks magical. What matters it, who thinks what of us, when we can witness such an ethereal beauty that fills our souls with triumphant joy?