- r.m. allen
- 1 day ago
- 3 min read
I made the appointment knowing it might be tough to keep. In December, plans feel fragile as the snowflakes that threaten them, but this couldn’t wait for warmer days. My hair demanded its quarterly trim, and I was counting down to it like Christmas.
Once the week came, the forecast showed clear skies each day—except, of course, Thursday, December 18. The miserable drizzle that would open the day was set to turn to snow right on cue as I left my house for the twenty-five minute drive. For days Wisconsin weather forecasts cluttered my Facebook newsfeed to warn me of the impending storm. The tiny snowing cloud icon loomed on my weather app. Maybe I should call Bonnie, I kept thinking. But her calendar would be even fuller than mine, and a postponement would only complicate matters for both of us, a fact driven home by my daily, fruitless efforts to tame the cowlick at the end of my overlong bangs.
The day of the appointment began with the forecasted rain, and I kept refreshing the weather tab on my work computer to see when it would crystallize into wintry mix and, finally, snow. Ostensibly a snow squall was possible between 4-6. Only once had I experienced a snow squall, the natural equivalent of the fat manufactured flakes that embellish the sets of Christmas movies. The squall had swirled and blown its way through our neighborhood before vanishing as suddenly as it came. Even watched through a window, this violent billow of snow had shocked me with its force, and I could only imagine driving through one.
Amidst these anxieties, at last I realized I would have to stop listening to myself and start talking to myself—and to God. I jotted a prayer in my journal, not merely for favorable weather, but for a sense of stillness in this silly self-contrived tempest. Prepared though I wanted to be, I could no more prevent the snow from falling than I could add an inch to my height by worrying about it. I would have to meet whatever came for me with a sense of resolve, and in the meantime, I had other things far more deserving to occupy my mind.
At last the time came. The clouds had dried out and were in fact beginning to part as I set off from home. Along the lonely stretch of highway, the sky took on all the hues of a winter sunset: lustrous golds, dreamy purples, muted pinks and blues. The colors shifted and changed with the sinking sun, and though the bitter December night was coming on, I felt the hope of a radiant new day. There was nothing to be afraid of. How beautiful it was.
Here's what I read, cooked, and created in the month of December.
What I Read
12 Years a Slave, Solomon Northup (★★★★★)
Emmanuel: An Invitation to Prepare Him Room at Christmas and Always, Ruth Chou Simons (★★★★★)
I Cheerfully Refuse, Leif Enger
Sisters in the Wind, Angeline Boulley (★★★★)
The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros (★★★)
Everything is Poison, Joy McCullough (★★★)
Joyful Learning: How to Find Freedom, Happiness, and Success Beyond Conventional Schooling, Kerry McDonald (★★★)
If you want to hear the rationale behind my rating, head to my Goodreads for full reviews.
What I Cooked
In what may be a Mrs. Allen Makes first, I don't believe I tried any new recipes.
What I Created
2 lines of a sonnet
May your days be filled with beauty, and may your heart be filled with the willingness to see and give thanks for it.
