Seasons

Random thought of the day: When entering a debate with someone, I've found it's best to concede at least a small point to the other side; even if your opponent is a brash nincompoop who doesn't know Bach from beans, he probably won't listen to you if you truthfully tell him he's a brash nincompoop who doesn't know Bach from beans. You gotta slide the nincompoop comments in there stealthfully.

Random thought of the day #2: I had to look up how to spell "nincompoop."

This December, I attended the Lessons and Carols recital up in the chapel. The concert was fantastic, and I was feeling rather contemplative afterwards. It was snowing those big fluffy flakes and the temperature was not so bad, so I decided to take a more lesiurely pace back to my room through the path by the pond. (The more I think about it, the more strange "Slough Path" sounds, so I'm going to try to wean myself off of its usage.)

I ambled along, with ne'er a soul in sight, and the falling snow provided an intimate enclosure all around. One of things I like the most about when it's snowing is that it creates a deep, penetrating silence that you don't ever want to break. I noticed in the midst of this walking and observing that I had experienced nearly the same thing just about a year earlier. There was an evening in January my Sophomore year that I had walked alone on the path, drinking in the atmosphere and thinking about life. It all came rushing back to me, like a spring breeze. I was the same Martha then, but yet I was entirely different. It occurred to me that one year can hold a lot of, well, life. One year earlier, I was thinking about entirely different hopes; my aspirations were different; I had never been out of the country; I had yet to receive my first B of college; I will still taking a break from piano because of my arm; and Hans was still just that random cellist I had played cards with at IMEA. It's all so very weird. It was like that walk home was a direct portal into the past. And even now I can't quite recall everything because the moment is gone.

Season changes are pretty neat. I talk a lot about seasons in here. I think it's one of those things that keeps us grounded in something. The present always changing, but there are consistencies, both diurnal and annual, that bring us back and help us to look forward. Today, for instance, is the 64th anniversary of my grandparents' marriage. Happy anniversary, Da and Pa! Sixty-four years ago, the center of the United States population was a good deal east of the Mississippi. Sixty-four years ago, my grandmother could tell you what the day of the week it was. And sixty-four years ago, legalized abortion didn't exist in this country. And, unfortunately, this happens to also be the 38th anniversary of Roe v. Wade. On my grandparents' anniversary, of all days. (The nerve of some people...) When you look back, the world each year is drastically different, but there is always something connecting those of us in the present with the past. And I found it interesting to acknowledge that we all are livers of past and present. The future? Well, we'll just have to wait and find out.