so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
~ Mary Oliver
The Blizzard of 2015 is nigh upon us; alas, it is likely to almost entirely miss my own little corner of the world. Of course, we'll get the wet, cold, nastiness. But not the snowfall and the inexplicable pleasure of the entire town's non-essential elements shutting themselves down in unison, in a camaraderie of "Snow day!" enthusiasm.
So I sit here and read stories of impending doom as told by my brethren in parts of the Nor'East more advantageously geographically situated for such things, daydreaming about curling up by the fire with a mug of tea and a good book while a kind of hush comes over the world around me.
I am a snow baby. I love the stuff. Great giant heaping globs of the stuff.
My husband would roll his eyes and scoff and shake his head a little at reading that. He does the same every time I express the sentiment aloud.
Because he knows that my love of the stuff is borne on the romantic disconnect between my head and my heart, and that my sentimentality for all things snow-covered and blizzardy is built on the flimsy filament of fantasy.
Because he knows that my intense, fantastical love of winter does not include such reality based things as shoveling snow, scraping ice off the car, venturing out for necessary provisions, enduring more than an hour without power. Or heat.
And he's right, okay? It's all true. Every bit of it.
In my mind, when I drift away to my happy place, in involves woolly slippers, snuggly blankets, a roaring fire, an enormous pot of hearty soup simmering on a stove top, books - great piles of them, snow, and stars twinkling in a black ice sky.
Can't help it.
Winter does magical things to my imagination.
The real world has been pretty magical in its own right of late, though, I must say.
Last week, we held the first ever major fund raising event for the new nonprofit and it was a rousing success by every measure. Given the number of things that could have gone against this outcome, I am immensely proud and wholly humbled, all at once.
It is the hope that this will become our signature annual event, growing in participation and funds raised year on year. Every participant from this year has already asked to come back in 2016. Several folks who were approached for this year, but didn't commit for whatever reason, have also asked to be included next year. The experience we gained as the organizers for this year's soiree will be used to improve and enhance the next one.
Is it wrong of me to see the success of Sweet Charity as yet another sign that we are doing the right things, heading in the right direction, serving as we are meant to serve? Because I see signs everywhere, nearly every day, when it comes to Faith in Action of the Greater Kanawha Valley. It makes it difficult to try to deny that this is not just a path I chose, but rather a path I was put on, lead to, guided along, and I'm grateful for it.
So, the story so far, in sum:
A dreamy dream. A dreamy reality.
A coda, for today:
A real dream crashing smack into a real reality, wherein the dreamy reality is growing at a beyond all wildest dreams pace and whereby something must give, break open, resolve sooner than planned but not as quickly as desired.
I'll just leave that there, as it is, and chew on it a while.