The one thing I wish for in the cottage is a fireplace.
Meantime, this will have to do.
There’s a pot of chili on thestove, the little artificial fireplace is blazing away—no heat, but the imageis warming, and I am at my desk with a blanket over my knees. The trouble withthat comes when you have to get up and move around—your legs, accustomed towarmth, freeze. The words cozy and cottage seem to go together, but as Ilearned in Snowmageddon and am learning all over again today, so do chilly andcottage.

A friend said recently thatTexans have PTSD from Snowmageddon. Mention the possibility of below-freezingtemperatures and that dreaded wintry mix, and our nervous minds jump back toloss of power and days spent shivering under a pile of blankets, to say nothingof over two hundred people who died. We relive the ice storm of 2021, and weare convinced the grid has not been fixed, the power will go out, the pipeswill freeze, and we’ll be cold, hungry, thirsty, and miserable. All week there’sbeen a sense of dread in the air as folks prepared for the cold—outdoor faucetswere covered, pot plants came inside, grocery stores were mobbed. Folks in myarea turned out in good numbers to get blankets and beds to shelter animals andhay to areas where stray dogs and feral cats are known to hang out.

What I hate most, even morethan the discomfort, is the sense of ennui that comes with a severe cold spell.It’s too easy to think, “I can’t do that now—or this—or whatever, because it’stoo cold.” And I feel more isolated, although Jordan has already been out tothe cottage three times. The psychological effects of severe weather are almostas bad as the physical.

Sophie, however, is undauntedby the cold. She had been out three times by ten o’clock in the morning, andwhen I refused a fourth trip she barked at me in frustration. I explained toher carefully that she would freeze her little tuchus off, but she only cockedher head an looked at me quizzically. When I finally let her out aboutlunchtime, she wandered around as though it were a spring day. No squirrels tochase today and few birds to catch her eye. She looked hopefully at the mainhouse, perhaps for a glimpse of Charlie the kitten, and then she reluctantlycame in. She has not, however, learned to close the door behind herself, soeach time she pushes the door open, I have to dislodge my lap blanket and getup to close the door. She is now ensconced in the wing chair, snoring softly.It’s a comforting sound.

If the phrase “Snow PTSD” gotmy attention, so did the title of this morning’s sermon: “Arthritis of thesoul.” Russ Peterman preached, to a very sparse crowd, about forgiveness. Somewherein there was the thought that God forgives all of us—and in this day and world,my thoughts immediately go to trump and Greg Abbott. How can God forgive themwhen they show no remorse, no repentance, no sign of changing their ways. Infact, they seem bent on doubling down. But, according to the sermon, there aresome things that forgiveness is not: condoning—you don’t have to approve of theaction, whatever is t; forgetting—you don’t have to forget that the offense happened;reconciling—you don’t necessarily have to hug and make up, things may never bethe same again; and, justice—if justice is called for, forgiveness doesn’talter that. That made a lot of sense to me.

Stressing that if we cling toresentment, it eats away at us, he quoted Ann Lamott’s familiar line: “It’slike eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.” It gives you arthritisof the soul. It was a sermon I needed to hear, not only because of the crueltyof men like trump and Abbott—they are such public figures, for better or worse,that we are painfully aware of their transgressions. But the truth is that theworld is too full of people like that. But an even bigger truth, to me: I don’tknow about you, but there are a  coupleof people in my personal life that I need to forgive. I’m working on it, andthe sermon helped.

In this cold weather, it’seasy, especially for those of us in our “golden” years, to be more aware ofarthritis. For some, it is a crippling thing, but for many of us it’s a lot oflittle aches and pains that grow worse with cold weather. So it is witharthritis of the soul. The isolation and depression of an extreme cold spellmakes it easy to fan the flames of resentment and exacerbate arthritis of thesoul. Letting go is hard, but none of us want to be that guy down the streetwho is crippled with anger and hate.

Stay warm and safe my friends.