After almost two weeks of rain (this is a coastal rainforest!) this weekend we have sun. And like the sunshine in Colorado after a big snow, sunshine in southeast Alaska after prolonged rain is brilliant, making the water of the Tongass Narrows twinkle like jewels, and streaming in through my windows to brighten my rooms and my spirits.

I used to think, when we lived in Colorado, that after a big snowstorm the skies had been washed with all the moisture, and the sunshine of the following day had a special quality. There was a stronger presence of the light, it was more luminous, clearer, than on other days. Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe there is some scientific truth in what I thought I saw. And since rain is just another form of precipitation, it makes sense that the same thing seems true here. I don’t know if it is the amount of rain or snow that makes a difference, or the length of the storm…maybe it takes a significant amount of water, in one form or another, and enough time, to wash the skies. Like the difference I see in my windows when I clean them, it is noticeable to me. And I always have a special moment of recognition and enjoyment when the skies clear and I realize that I’m witnessing a day of magic once again.

Or maybe I’m just starved for the sun…who knows? Anyway, I’ll enjoy it and be thankful for a break in the clouds, and wonder again to myself and to others why there is such power in the sun to cheer people. What is the connection? We are all affected by our environment, I understand that. I know about Vitamin D and seasonal affective disorder, about the benefit of added light in winter months. I know there is science surrounding the connection. But I’ll never understand why the simple addition of sunshine makes me want to skip through the house with a light heart. And maybe I don’t want to know…maybe it’s more magical to simply enjoy the moment without analyzing the reasons behind it: to accept it as a gift of life and nature.

There’s a quote I like:

“You are not just the age you are. You are all the ages you have ever been.”                       ~ Kenneth Koch

Sometimes I see this in my children. Although generally quite mature, they have their moments! I have been known to ask, “How old are you really?” When I ask this question of my son, the answer is usually three. He’s typically laughing when we have this exchange, so I know he knows I am just gently teasing him. But there is some truth in the quote that resonates, and it frequently catches me by surprise.

Last weekend, I watched “The Sound of Music.” (My niece is rehearsing for the play at her school and was singing some of the songs  – put me in the mood to see the classic. Thank you, Mary Ashley!) As I watched the familiar scenes and heard the beautiful music, I was a small child again, hearing the music play from a big reel-to-reel tape recorder my parents had. I knew all the songs by heart, long before I ever saw the movie. Of course that was before the era of video tapes or dvds…you couldn’t see a movie whenever you wanted when I was a child. In some ways, it made the experience more meaningful, almost sacred. Some movies were shown on TV once a year, and if you missed it, that was it. “The Sound of Music” was one of those films that had an annual showing. It was the first movie I ever bought, when buying movies became an option. I’ve long since replaced that video tape with a dvd, but whatever the format, the movie and the music remain favorites, and I’m always transported to childhood by the magic.

It’s a strange sensation, and one that everyone experiences at some time. From a scent, a taste, music, or the trigger of a sudden and unexpected familiar scene, transportation from one age to another is lightning fast, and often rich with detail. Or other times, for me, the impression is fleeting, just a glimpse into a past time. The moment can be full of sentiment or remembered joy.

So I am fifty, but also six, also twenty-three with a newborn, forty and celebrating my 20th anniversary in Mexico. Of course, as the old saying goes, “You’re as young as you feel.” Well, some days I’m younger than others.

What age are you today?

Yesterday I experienced kindness from a stranger. I had a project that I needed help with at my house, and a woman that I did not know was recommended to me as someone who could help me. She came, she did help me, and she left. And I will probably never see her again. She did not take money for her actions. She just helped me.

I also had an opportunity to help someone yesterday, who, although not a complete stranger to me, is little more than an acquaintance. An older woman that I know only slightly is moving out of her home to an apartment, and some mutual friends arranged a work party to help her with the final clean out of the house. I went over and scrubbed bathrooms and kitchen counters, spent three hours of Saturday doing chores that were not fun, but were helpful to someone who needed the help. And I had the ability to give it.

Both experiences were good. I felt good to give help, and I was humbled to receive it, so graciously given. I like to think that I am a kind person. I am very polite and frequently go out of my way to make small talk with people or reach out to show an interest in others’ lives. But I am often too busy to do the hands on work. I am busy, but so is everyone. I know that I will not be devoting hours each Saturday to some worthy cause. But yesterday was a reminder that now and then, when an opportunity presents itself to go beyond polite words, beyond the easy kindnesses, it’s good to do that.

It was also a reminder that the statement that it is easier to give than to receive is true. It was a little uncomfortable for me to be on the receiving end of kindness, because I am so used to being self-sufficient. Not that I never need help. But I rarely feel the need to ask for it…I pay for what I need, or work out an exchange of favors, or find a way to do it myself. Receiving help from a stranger, someone whom I can’t repay, drives home the point that kindness, just for it’s own sake, is valuable. It makes the world a better place…the phrasing may be trite, but the reality is not. I find, once again, that the lessons that are repeated so often in life are not the ones that we don’t know: they are the ones that we don’t practice enough. So I’m going to try to be more observant, more open to opportunities to do more, speak less. Words are easy, and although there is comfort in words, there is value in doing. It’s been a while since I took a meal to someone or stepped out of my busy-ness to do more than offer words. But I can surely find time to incorporate a little selflessness in the midst of all the busy-ness of life, and the reward is simply the feeling of making a difference.

The house is finally listed. We made the decision to put it on the market a while back, but chose to wait until after the holidays so we could enjoy our time with the kids without the pressure of potential showings. And after all, December is not typically a big month for house hunters to be out looking…just too much going on with most people.

But here we are, the sign is up, photos have been done for ads and the realtor website, and I am conscious as I leave for work each morning that I should take a look around, be sure that things are tidy. Not too difficult at this stage of life; very unlike earlier home-selling experiences when we had kids at home and staying show-ready was a bit more challenging. The biggest issue I have to deal with now is the ever-shedding Pete, who can leave dog hair on a freshly vacuumed floor by merely walking through a room.

Still, it is an odd experience. Every time we have put a house on the market, I have the same sensations: excitement at the thought of each day bringing the potential of a buyer; and the protectiveness that I feel opening my home to strangers to like, dislike, critique, reject, or buy. After all, this is my space, my decorating taste on display. You can’t go through the process of opening a home to anyone who wants to view it with a realtor without feeling some loss of privacy. But of course that’s the idea: you want a lot of traffic; the more, the better.

I’ve watched enough of the cable shows giving advice to home sellers that I know to de-clutter (an ongoing personal quest anyway), and to minimize the personal touches so that potential buyers can imagine their own look and possessions in the home. It makes the beginning process of disconnecting a little easier. That’s the other thing that begins to happen. I find that I begin to detach emotionally, to tell myself I’m on a countdown, knowing that sooner or later the realtor will call to say we have an offer. The biggest thing to be concerned about at that point is the size of the offer. Will it be close enough to our asking price to accept? I have to be prepared to let go, to give up my space, to move on. Maybe it’s a good thing that the whole experience of selling, from listing to offer to the closing, typically takes a few weeks to a few months. When it happens, I’ll be ready. And then on to what’s next! In the meantime, I’ll concentrate on the process, prepare to let go, and vacuum every day.

It’s an awkward time of year. Christmas decor has been packed away, ornaments sorted, lights rolled and stored. I have a few red berry accents still out. It seems winter-like without speaking too loudly of a holiday theme. But as soon as Christmas and New Years is past, my heart is ready for warmth. As far as I’m concerned, we could skip the majority of the winter season and move straight to spring.

I love snow and cold weather around the holidays. It goes with all the trimmings, the coats and sweaters and hearty stews. But my interest in snow disappears with the Christmas tree, and that brings me to the annual dilemma…how to make it to the March/April time frame when you can legitimately begin to bring out the spring accents, the lighter colors, the decor that says Easter is around the corner and the days are getting longer? It seems a long time to wait, all the way through January and February, through cold dark mornings and short days. By the time I leave my office at 5:30, it feels like 8:00 in the evening. There is daylight here during the day. Ketchikan is only a few hundred miles north of Seattle, so the extreme dark and light cycles don’t occur here as they do in the far north of Alaska. But the days are short enough, even here.

So I wait, “wishing my life away” as my grandmother would say. And I’m really not doing that. There are pleasures in the winter. A hot cup of tea in the evening, a fire, the short days a frequent reason (ok…excuse) to talk myself out of a trip to the gym after work, without feeling too guilty about it…it seems a little more acceptable to hibernate, to have cozy weekend time. I curl up with a catalog already offering spring clothing and another one with spring home furnishings, and I’m ready for it: the return to light, to warmth, to the next season.

This week we’ve had some snow accumulation and there is ice on the sidewalks after a bit of a melt and freeze cycle. I had to wear my snow boots to work instead of my usual choice of heels. (I may love shoes but I’m not stupid!) But we’re gaining light every day. It’s just a matter of time. My teapot is singing, my spirit is lifting.

I just spent a great week away from home. No, I wasn’t on vacation in some exotic place. Well, not exactly. Rob and I spent last week working in a small clinic in Craig, Alaska, and we stayed in a little rustic cottage. We ate out twice, pizza both times (about the only option in town, from what I saw). Most of the time we ate in, basic and simple meals, nothing gourmet. Evenings were quiet, watching a little tv, researching stocks, blogging, talking. And what made it special? Being together. After spending the greater part of the past two years apart, I have a new appreciation for time together. I’ve written about this epiphany before, but I’m happy to see that it is continuing.

We had an opportunity to renew our acquaintance with friends we met in Kotzebue; they’ve just moved to Prince of Wales. We had a lovely dinner with them, reminiscing about fun and funny experiences in the Arctic, recalling friends and memories that we share.

But it wasn’t all fun. Rob’s dad is not well, and we wait to learn what direction this will take. It’s a reminder that family is central to life.

Companionship, friendship, family: the essential relationships in life make us rich, give us joy, make it all worthwhile. Sometimes bring sorrow. Everyone knows that. Why is it so hard to keep this reality in focus? I find I need a daily reminder of what’s important. It’s the same thing, every time: people, matters of the heart, the simple, the real. The lesson is never fully learned, never finished. But fortunately, neither are the chances to re-learn.

Tonight we had stew for dinner…big chunks of vegetables and beef in a rich broth…comfort food on a rainy January night. The elegant and more elaborate meals of the holidays are done. January is a month for hearty food, easy menus after a cooking marathon…stew you can put on to simmer while you get life back on track.

I’m recovering from a week of baby time, family time. It was good, a reminder of the best parts of life: the special moments, the time that is spontaneous and fun, the time that speeds by when your children are only home for a week. Baby time with an eight-month old brings a new rhythm to two adults and two dogs. I’m pleased to say I remember what to do with a baby! But I also admit my house is no longer child-proofed. I’ll have to do some work before Riley begins to walk. And let’s just say she and the dogs are on good terms. I think she got a lick or two on her face, and I’m pretty sure she ingested some dog hair…impossible to avoid with our ever-shedding Jack Russell. But all part of life with dogs. And dogs and babies are a great combination for entertainment.

They’re home now, Stephanie and Matt and Riley back in Arizona and Alex back at Ft. Campbell. And I am content. I’m excited to have them come to visit, or to see them when it’s our turn to travel. But I’ve learned that our lives continue, and are even fun, with just two of us. I’ve come a long way in the past few years. The empty nest didn’t feel right at once, but it feels right at last. And it’s good to have the comfort of husband, stew, and a cozy space to nurture me and to let me know that my children are where they belong, as are we.