I really didn’t want to walk out the door this morning.  Not because I was snuggled in bed.  Not because it was too early.

I was nervous about driving in the snow.

A few days ago I had a wheel spinning incident.  It was nothing serious, but serious enough to make me second guess the ability of the mighty Prius to make it up the icy road in the dark.  At 6:30 am.

One good thing about having kids, though, is that they don’t let you off the hook.  We needed to get to ski training, and Cam didn’t want to be late.

How can you argue with a teenager who doesn’t want to be late to 7 am ski training?  Even when he knows it’s -4 degrees outside?

He was right.   That’s hard to say about your teen sometimes, but this time he was.

The Prius, in all its glory, delivered us up the hill on time.  And this is what awaited me:

Notice how there are no other people out there?  That’s because it was FREEZING!  And dark!  And early!

Just as I turned to go in, I saw this:

And this – one of those little dots at the bottom is my son, waiting for the chairlift:

And as I stood, mesmerized, the chill didn’t bother me anymore.  I couldn’t believe the beauty:

Slowly, the sun brushed the slopes with light.  We welcomed a new day together.

And once again, I was very glad I walked through the  door this morning.  You never know what you might be missing.

Like this:

He makes it all worthwhile.

Thanks, Cam.

Talmont on Dwellable

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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I woke early the first day.  Perhaps it was the thunderous thump that shook the walls of the snow covered house; convinced a bear had hurtled through the downstairs window, I sprang up and searched the house for disturbance.  Finding none, I instinctively checked on my son; although 13, I still follow my maternal tug for ensuring he’s still breathing.

Uncovered and in 55 degrees, he must have thrown himself against the wall searching for warmth.  I kissed his forehead, pulled the flannel-encased down comforter back over his long body, and quietly closed the door.

The downstairs was dark and quiet,  the glow of the porch light hitting the snow providing the only illumination.  Quietly, I began to greet the new year with candle and coffee, journal and thoughts.

It wasn’t enough.  I”m approaching the fifth day of being stuck on the couch, felled with the teacher’s curse of sickness on vacation.  Self-pity set in.  Frustration.  Disappointment.  Lonliness.  Blame.  Pessimism.  Despair.

This is not the way to spend New Year’s morning.  Yet, I just couldn’t feel it-the optimism I knew everyone else was waking up with..

Mired in my thoughts, I glanced out the window for direction.  The sun, beginning to glow through the trees, tempted me.  I should walk to the lake, but it’s 5 degrees outside.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe next weekend.  There’s always another sunrise.

Turning to Facebook, I stumbled on Susan Tweit’s essay, Learning Forgiveness, and this quote about her dog, Isis:

“ Still, Isis was simply happy: to be in the world, to take walks and eat three meals a day, to snooze on her cozy bed. Her friendly good nature was so obvious that her beauty, not the scars she would carry for life, was the first thing people noticed when they met her.”

I need to be the person my dog thinks I am.  I need to walk out the door.

Tahoe Park Blvd.

My snow boots crunched on the icy road as I cautiously made my way down to the lake.  Simple tributes to children’s joy caught my eye, and reminded me of my own son, who had spent the dusk hours of New Years Eve tumbling around in the snow alone, creating his own happiness.

I knew what I would see: the sun was up, the sky blue.  I’d already missed the dawn, I chided myself.  I’ve greeted nearly 27 new years here.  The snow still kept the gate ajar.  The path still offered entrance, although showed signs of many travelers in the last few days.

But I was wrong.  As I crossed the slight knoll, the lake appeared unlike I’ve ever seen it-at first, I thought I was dreaming.  The mist swirled over the buoys like a magical cauldron  the waves lapped rhythmically, despite not a breath of wind.  And it was silent.

To experience this with me, watch the video:

I was alone, but what beauty, what strength, what power was before me.  No one else was witness to this spectacle, only me, only because I walked through the door.

I let go.   Fresh energy pumped through me.  I can start anew.  Today.  I leaned forward, let go of the past, and forgave myself in the image of the rising sun.

And it felt glorious.

Tahoe Park on Dwellable

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Sunrise over Alpine Meadows, California

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.”

-T.S. Eliot

Happy New Year!

I dream of a year full of peace, kindness, and joy with those you love.

 Looking forward to sharing our voices together in 2013,

Jennifer

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Today’s Friday Photo was taken a few weeks ago on Treasure Island.  Look at her!  Look at the balance, the coordination.  Look at the lines of her body. The steel of her frame.  The transparency of her skin.  The muscles of her legs.  The sway of her hips, and the grace of her hands.  She is larger than life, dwarfing all those around her.  Look at the peacefulness of her face, thoughts kept deep within.  Look at Her!  What a Woman!

What do you see?

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

More Posts - Website

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