Holding on to late winter

Lately, I've found myself having Pavlovian moments with my laptop where I try to touch the screen for what in retrospect seems like an embarrassingly long time, only to remember that not everything is touch screen yet. I'm getting trained to it. I have these lovely midwinter dreams, on nights that precede a morning when there are no commitments, only the promise of coffee. In my dreams, I can move things around the field by touching the image on my window from the comfort of my down and flannel nest. I can move rows of flowers, transplant trees, pluck weeds.

I think this all comes from being tethered to technology all winter. Its so bittersweet. Between indulging in far too much BBC drama, I check Facebook and become incensed by some conservative acquaintance who posts about their gun rights.



 I've been reading articles about guns, gun laws, gun rights. I'm trying to see both sides. We have a gun. I've shot it once. I hit the can. It was thrilling. We've used it to put down a sick animal. It's killed a few groundhogs. The old saying goes "Havahart and a .22".  But it also scares me. It's powerful. The responsibility weighs on me when I think about it for too long. But then, I see a plane or I'm in the car or I hear a piece about cyber-terrorism and I think about limits. If our forefathers and mothers wanted us to have the right to bear arms, where is the limit? Can I own a drone? Can I own a computer virus? Maybe I could use a hot air balloon as a weapon. Sometimes, when I'm driving, I have a moment of panic realizing just how deadly my car could be.

We are a creative people. Once, my friend Nicole told a story about how, even in her gun free home, her young son would bite his toast in to the shape of a gun and point it at her. BANG. Weapons have appeal, to some, guns are sexy. The taboo of them draws. They get locked up, they are kept a secret in a household by some. Others display their full rack for all to see in the back window of the Chevy Silverado.

I think about how we find our way through this conversation as a society. Lists of things run through my head....registration, insurance, taxing bullets, shooter's ed....before you can get your gun license. Then, I start thinking about how I wish there was an NFA (National Flower Association) that advocated for more flowers. Flower in schools, flowers in the arms of homeowners, flowers given, dried petals held in secret places reminding us of another time, lavender in a sachet sewn in to the hem of a skirt...concealed flowers. I'd be a founding member. I'll climb in bed with the NFA any time there is a solicitation....under my down comforter, dreaming away another snowy night.

-Stacy