InDepthNH.org (https://indepthnh.org/series/joyful-musings/page/8)
Susan Dromey Heeter is a writer from Dover who recently let her hair go au natural white. Writing has been her passion since her English majoring days at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. Dromey Heeter has lived in The Netherlands, Alaska and currently basks in all things New England, including the frigid winters. An avid swimmer, Dromey Heeter’s great passion is to bring back body surfing as most children have no idea how to ride waves without ridiculous boogie boards.
I muse joyfully on this frigid, frigid January day, on the ice so deep I can skate, on my flannel sheets, on blankets around the house, on the mittens and hats strewn around so the outside is cozy, is doable, is January.
New is such a fabulous, hopeful word – it’s NEW, it’s fresh, it’s not been used ever before.
Did I just eat someone’s leg? That is, dear musers, much more than a mishap, but literally a life choice – to live or die, to survive or not.
Are you a weirdo? Have you ever been referred to as one? Are your friends, acquaintances, neighbors weirdos?
Gifts for others is paramount this time of year, but as I reflect upon the past twelve months, I think of those moments where I filled my own tank with gas thereupon making it far easier to be just a little kinder, a little more patient, a little bit of a better me.
But then, as I waited to pay, I came eye to eye with the Carrot Cake, the cake so beautiful, so gloriously displayed, I bought it. And, dear musers, there was no occasion, no celebration, no fanfare. It was simply a rainy Thursday in early December: a delicious and perfect day to cake.
Today I muse joyfully that those teachers will sit down at a Thanksgiving meal knowing they are working incredibly hard, in incredibly challenging times, in moments that try the souls of even the heartiest and most learned of people.
Where is your place of retreat, of pause, of reflection, of joy, of – whew, I’m here? Today, I muse joyfully you have that spot, that locale where your phone doesn’t beep, your tension melts, your depletion of life gets filled.
In November fourth’s New York Times, there is a story on page A22 that holds the line, “…When she was about 10 years old, she told officers, she had seen her mother’s boyfriend cutting up a body and burying it in the backyard.”
Gifts are meant to be shared; I muse joyfully you’ll share yours today – whether it’s a laugh, a memory, a story, a well made cup of tea.