firsts: thestrals and snow shoveling.

And here’s the part when I tell you that I shoveled snow for the very first time in my life this weekend and you gasp.

And then you tell me that it’s about time I took off my kid gloves and replaced them with a pair of gortex gloves. Oh, and a shovel.

But see–and maybe because, admittedly, I’ve never done it at all before and therefore haven’t had the chance to grow sick and tired of it–I actually quite enjoyed it.

But I’m thinking that had something more to do with the company I kept while shoveling–

the snow didn't stand a chance.

rather than the actual act of shoveling itself.

And aren’t we adorable, all bundled up, daring the cold to even try it with us? There’s Christian, there’s my brother Jonathan, and of course, I’m the one who’s a girl. And I only had to be told once to not dump the snow into the spot that we needed to shovel once we were finished with this one. After I had done it a couple times, of course, proving to Christian that it was no longer just a one time mistake on my part.

Oh.

Good point.

Forgive me; I’m a nube.

But a nube with a unique perspective. One that seemingly colors everything right now. Even as I was shoveling snow, I was thinking about it.

You know, the encompassing it. And it’s funny, there are a couple different ways people can ask me how I’m doing. Like this weekend, I was snowed in with some wonderful friends and family and a lot of the hours were spent in jolly good times with kids that know nothing else. But then there’d be a lull, the kids would be somewhere else, and someone would ask me, How are you doing? and they’d say it with the kind of inflection that let me know that they were thinking about it and it was okay for me to think about it too. Aloud, if I want.

Cause it’s always there.

Which makes me think of something else. That scene from Harry Potter with slightly batty Luna Lovegood, discussing why both she and Harry can see the creatures who pull their carriages, while others cannot:

And I thought about how the price feels too high to be in such a club. And how yes, you end up seeing more than you ever thought you would, but maybe you become a bit of a loon in the process. Maybe you’re at a party and you look around and everybody seems happy and normal and wow, their life looks generally good, and here you are blinking because while everybody else is looking at the tv, you can’t stop seeing the Thestrals.

And if you could be writing songs all of the time, you think you would be just fine with that. And actually, if you could choose, maybe you’d become a musical note anyway. You’d just make your little sound, hit it like a hammer whenever you’re needed, and there’s no confusion in that. There’s only a great big, deep breath of fulfillment in that.

And you’d be an E, you think. And depending on your mood, you’d either hang out with your minor friends or you’d hang out with your major friends but either way, you’d still be an E. You’d still be you; no guessing in that, snuggled right between a D# and an F natural, right where you belong.

And maybe the Thestrals wouldn’t bother you so much anyway, cause remember? You’re just an E. You just keep doing your thing, striking your note, and let it all happen around you.

Oh, but you’re not an E. You’re a complicated person who wakes up surprised all over again at the landscape around you. And you’re feeling crazy because you still want to write love songs, despite it. And yes, you might have a stronger urge than ever before to throw in an occasional curse word into the song, but you’d still like to write about love and wow, you still believe in it.

Thestrals and all, you still believe in it.