Living-Deliberately.com

Heavy, fat, and wet “flakes”, if you can call these little clumps that, have been falling for hours as we work our way up to an expected accumulation of 3-6 inches today. I just find myself staring every few minutes. What is it that makes watching them so encompassing? Is it the slow motion of the drift downward? The way each one swirls slightly and dances with gravity before landing with a whisper? I don’t know but it’s got my interest even more than this morning’s Olympic offferings.

We’ve decided we need an action verb for “pouring snow”. There’s no term! Rain pours, drizzles, sprinkles, showers. Snow can flurry and then you have nouns: white out. Blizzard. Dusting. But what about a word for when “it’s really coming down hard” or just fast and steady?

In other news I’ve been thinking about boxes and how eager we are to put people in easy little categories. One of my forum ID’s is even “box breaker” because I can’t stand to be hedged in by another’s description. And that is just what I was reminded of this week: It’s not that I have a problem being defined as a “christian” or “reader” or “mother” or “southerner”. The problem is that when someone else pegs me as such it  is not so much the truth of the label that is the hinderance; it’s that the box is really what they view a mother, christian, reader, southerner, etc. to be. And thier perception may not be an accurate portrayal of what either my aspiration is *or* what the actual model is, allowing for my own errancy. Don’t box me in, don’t dismiss me as your version of what something is…allow me to grow, to communicate what I’m trying to do, to be. Don’t think of me as a finished product that can be handled, analyzed, and then set aside to move onto the next, more interesting object. I’m organic, I’m changing, I’m developing. I will bust the box and I’m not looking for another, bigger one, to take temporary residence in only to bulge it’s seams later on down the road. I am me, created with skin that stretches, that sheds and reveals new layers. I need air to breathe and to grow; take it from me and I’ll fight, like the plant whose tender roots escaped the ball and is reaching down outside the pot.

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