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Speaking of that last line of Mary Oliver’s poem where she says “When it’s over, I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened or full of argument,” could we do any MORE whining in this season when the earth lies dormant?
A shopkeeper I’m beginning to know tells me she is amazed at how much people complain about things. “It’s so cold!” they say the second they step into her shop. Or, “Where’s the SUN?!” Or, “Do you believe all this SNOW?!”
I think we all do it: whine, I mean. I practically make a living doing it, right here on the blog.
This past month I whined about it all:
When you start in whining it’s hard to stop.
Anyway when I got home after that week away and realized that I still felt crummy, I finally made an appointment at the Urgent Care clinic. The very first thing the professionals there did, after hearing my story? They slapped a facemask over my nose and mouth and told me to keep it on ’til I left the hospital.
It was a facemask, yes, but I knew what else it was: It was a muzzle and by then it was just exactly what I needed.
