“Scrrrrritchhhhh….sssscrrrraaape…,” were the sounds that roused me from my slumber in the wee hours of the morning. Could that be someone clearing the driveways of snow? Snow? Was it supposed to snow? I had heard something on the radio about possible flurries, but enough to scrape?
I pulled myself back deeper under the covers with the schedule for the day loosened and running wildly in my head. I wanted to go to the 7 a.m. Eucharist this morning; then I was to meet a friend for coffee; then another friend for lunch; and tonight I have a class. “IT CAN’T SNOW!”
But sure enough when the alarm finally sounded and I rousted myself free of those warm blankets, I peeped out to see the ground covered with white. And it was still coming down.
No one had asked me whether it was a good time to snow. I didn’t have a choice; it was here.
During the middle of the last snow, I sat in the tire dealer’s store having studded tires put on the car, a purchase that prepares us for the necessary trips out into white weather but doesn’t increase our desire to interact with it. So I could go ahead with all my plans; though never having been a boy scout (or girl scout either for that matter), I am prepared.
Still I hesitated. I thought of the mess on the roads, of the drivers being uncertain of the pavement conditions go faster, of all those who did not get their vehicle prepared. Should I go anyway?
I decided no; I would not go out for the first two events; why risk it? It is a safe choice. And later in the day I could reassess the others.
Hoping to feel resolute and confident, I realize that instead I have guilt and wimpiness. But I also feel this is right. Or is it simply one viable option among several?
Sitting to reflect on this mishmash of emotions elicited from such a commonplace event, I realize that this small decision is like so many larger ones: Trying to take every facet into consideration, realizing that it is not just how I feel about my choice but how it is seen by others, being safe because the risk is difficult to determine, seeing both sides while attempting to block out all but one clear answer…
I look over and see my furry companion unbothered by any of these mental gymnastics, eyes at half-mast, paws tucked under his luxuriant coat. He’s doesn’t worry about such things; for him choices are easy. I consider the warm spot I left in the bed and wonder what would happen if I tried to rekindle that comfortable dozy feeling I had before the scritch of the snowplow, but know that the day has moved on. Escape rarely works and I have much I want to do, it is just different from what I had planned. I reach over and scratch under that delicate chin to hear the purr that escapes. I am thankful to live with one who doesn’t second-guess.