For those of you out walking this afternoon, I will miss seeing you, but I did my walk earlier than usual so as to avoid the so-called SNOW EVENT that looms over the afternoon hours. Excuse me … what exactly is a Snow Event, other than an inane use of the English language? Why not just call it snow? Does this special Event send out invites and ask for an RSVP? To whom do I respond when invited to the event? Or is it one of those events where you just buy a ticket and go … like say … to the Clash of the Isobars Concert … where you act stupid and live to tell about it. But then again, calling it a Snow Event gives all those weather people license to create added drama and tension. Let’s face it, the importance of reporting on an event is much more compelling than just saying it is going to snow. Just imagine how non-newsy it would be to hear your local weather guy tell you … I’m pretty sure it is going to snow but other than that I can’t really tell you much. Back to you with the news, Babel.

But I digress. I really started out to tell you about my walk this morning. As I puffed up the hill to do my twenty-minute mile, all bundled up against the cold, I realized that I was wearing the exact same outfit I wore 5 years ago almost to the day, when I started Chemo. I had on the same blue coat that makes me look like the Michelin Man, the same black and white scarf, the black pants, shoes, gloves and earmuffs. And just like that day, snow is predicted for later today. The memory was so startling I began to laugh. I laughed at myself for being so changed and for being so the-same. I recalled how spiffy and smart I felt back then, and how my panic was held at bay while I fretted about the weather and being late. I recalled the peacefulness of the room and the kindness of everyone involved. But to this day I can recall nothing of the aftermath. I know it was fairly awful because I just reread my email note from that day, but I really have no memory of the awfulness. And so, I thought this morning as I chugged up the hill, what a gift it is to be this clone of myself … to still fret about the weather and I still match my gloves and my scarf … to look and act and feel much as I have always felt, but to have a ninja survivor for company when things go south. To have learned this about myself … to trust that Grim and Dire are not the only offspring of trauma … that there will be news to follow … that is a legacy that packs power. So, forget the dowdy blue coat and the red drippy nose, forget the problems waiting for me when I get home, I am an ace survivor. And beyond all that, it just feels so great to laugh at myself, even if it does steam up my glasses. 

9 Replies to “SNOW EPIPHANY”

  1. Even though it is said perhaps too often.,You go, girl,” How great it is, though, that you are finding joy in a past memory while most of us recently have been wallowing in the perils of the pandemic. Things are looking up, however, and I would like to think and hope that we can all turn the page and start to appreciate the sweet things in life. Carry on!

  2. Connie dear. I was thrilled to hear that the Northeast now has Snow Events, and I will certainly sign up to attend the next one! In the meantime we in California have no more rainstorms. We now have “Atmospheric Rivers”. So, as I will be attending at least one of your Snow Events, I am inviting you to purchase a ticket for a cruise on our next Atmospheric River cruises ?Want to join me? Hope so!

  3. Hey Connie, Hard to believe that that was only five years ago or just five years ago. I never got to complete your journey with you but you are miraculous. I am listening to a loud surf in Saint Croix, USVI imagining your snow event and appreciating your jaunty image as you head off for your walk. To the survivors.

    1. And here is a huge Thank You for your prompt response to finding the one lousy aberrant cell that started me on this journey. I feel blessed and lucky to have been in your care.

  4. Our dear Connie, hello! (I was going to write, ‘Good Morning’ but by the time I shall reach the end of this message it will be afternoon. Things here in Birr are not eventful. The weather is very much not an event today, for the sky is grey-white and the air is damp, so not quite raining. A non-weathery event. Did I ever mention that word and its use? A little story told to me by a delightful young woman, one of the daughters of two exceptional local artists. She has gone in the veterinery route but then, was at college in Dublin I think, with another young woman who had also been at school in Birr. Apparently they got great craic out of their shared way of thinking and talking, but while studying indoors at their rented flat, would look out of the window and say, ‘It’s very weathery today’; meaning of course that it was bucketting rain, or heaving the trees windily, or….just doing ‘a lot of weaather’. About a week or so ago snow was forecast and I was feeling a rising bubble of excitement. I could feel it coming – that change in the air and look of the skies, then suddenly, it WAS snowing that evening. Glorious, big swirling snowflakes and settling a thin layer on cars and park grass and roofs and the trees and shrubs in our courtyard. It always makes me give a laugh and squeal of delight! That evening, I had also made the decision that I would treat the two of us to a VERY GOOD CURRY takeaway from Sanjay’s Kitchen. As I was waiting to collect it, Anu, Sanjay’s wife glanced out and said ‘It’s snowing!’. Our vegetarian selection of dishes was not ready – they were so very busy – and so I went back outside to stand and pace in the snowflakes. To my astonishment, a masked Anu suddenly appeared at the door, despite looking as if she needed a mopping of her exceptionally busy brow, to call me in with a motherly concern, ‘You CAN’T go out there, it is SNOWING!’ ‘Oh I like snow, don’t worry about me’, I replied. That Snow Curry Event helped make the Event of Eating – sitting down to our delectable repast at the candlelit dining table, with the stove fire burning bright, all the more cherished in my memory. I was sad to see hardly a trace of snow left in the morning. But that is so typical of our Irish Snow Events: they are fleeting, usually. Just to finish with the usual nag, have you decided on the title for your BOOK yet? Love and hugs, wonderful Constance, artist and writer and wit. Rosalind xx

    1. Hey, Sis. Five years? WOW! Good on ‘ya, Mate. I am so proud of you and your spirit in overcoming everything that came your way. You are a true, real-life Warrior Princess.

  5. I’m writing this as someone a bit late to the party celebrating your five years of winning, Connie, but let me go on record as saying (with a full heart), you are an amazing beacon for all of us who know you. And, BTW, while you have a Snow Event, Kathy has Atmospheric Mudslides, and Rosalind tells a delightful story about the girls who called it “weatherly”, we, here in the South, have plain old floods.

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