Ann and I were texting memories of the Saturday night card games of our youth, and both of us realized that we wouldn’t change a thing about those days. It got me thinking how absolutely lucky we were to have grown up in the 80’s, in a world before the internet, before cel phones, before the wretched madness that has gripped this country.

We roamed the streets and neighborhoods freely from dawn to dusk, returning home only for dinner and darkness. In so many ways and respects, we were so much more free and untethered to surveillance and hovering parents – and so much better for it. We were organically learning lessons on how to survive on our own – and the first part was being ok on your own, unattached to the security blanket of a phone. It taught us real independence, and the ability to find our way without help or instruction or support.

When we weren’t playing cards with the ladies, Ann and I would traverse the little city we called home with our friends, reveling in our freedom and reveling in our friendship.

Whenever I find myself getting upset at another driver on the road, I try to channel Ferris Bueller’s father. At the end of that movie, he is driving behind an ancient woman who is going well below the speed limit, swerving wildly, and acting all kinds of a menace. As he finally manages to pass her he gives a wave and a smile dripping with just the slightest bit of snark. He gets a bit muffed and annoyed, throwing his hands up in exasperation at one point, but mostly he just goes about his way, nonchalantly unbothered and unaffected.

In almost all road rage situations, there is only one party truly getting upset and angry, and it’s rarely the clueless perpetrator of poor driving. It’s best to just decide not to turn to rage, like the father of Ferris Bueller. All the best life lessons can be found in the movies of the 80’s. What a privilege to grow up in the hot bed of such knowledge.

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

It appeared at a distance, then quickly advanced. In the sky, it looked like a hawk at first, but everything looked redder in the late day’s last bit of sun. The wingspan seemed larger than a hawk’s and as it neared I could see it was a bald eagle.

Might and majesty cresting overhead against a brilliant blue sky. This was the second one I’d seen in about as many months, and in the same area as well – they must reside in the nearby vicinity. A comforting thought unless you’re a fish or squirrel. Although if you’re a fish or a squirrel I suppose that’s just a small portion of the daily worries, especially in the winter.

When you boil things down to survival, so little else feels important.

Grasping for light and warmth in the basket of Andy’s car, I sit in contented silence as we drive back to the inn on a snowy Maine night. It is a moment of reflection for me, as Andy and my Mom hold their own conversation up front. I can only half-hear muffled words and occasional laughter. Sounds of solace on a freezing night. I’ve always enjoyed these moments – the cozy interior of a war car, a lavish coat around my shoulders, and a frigid world just outside the window.

The juxtaposition of comfort against an inhospitable atmosphere is a wickedly wonderful thrill – the way a cool bedroom makes the covers so much cozier.

On this evening, we are headed back for further thrilling contrasts – one of the unheralded and under-appreciated joys of winter. Still, I long for the months where the outside temperature isn’t this much of a drastic shift. The tease of March is right around the corner. In the meantime, I reach for the light…

The Swedes do this, or so I’ve read – these little snow forts hold candles and throw a warm light on a frigid winter night. What a charming notion – Scandinavia knows how to make winter into something magical. Perhaps the secret to happiness is somewhere on the path of finding light in darkness: happiness and purpose in the quest ~ the age-old idea of journey as destination.

There is nothing new in the notion, it’s the genuine realization that does feel like something different, maybe even growth. Another step toward the calm. Another stop toward the light.

Three bluejays were triangulating their coordinates around a birdseed bell that Andy had hung in the backyard. We’d been expecting the squirrels to commandeer it like they did in a matter of hours when we last hung a seed bell there, but the excessive snow may be acting as a deterrent. Better than greasing the string I suppose. The blue jays make for a prettier scene anyway, their plumage matching the sky and bringing some badly-needed color to the surroundings.

On a day when that pesky and infuriating groundhog saw his shadow – six more weeks of winter supposedly – these bluejays flitted around the backyard, giving me hope that spring is indeed on the way.