We’re off to a brand new year, and all are around us are indications of new beginnings.
It’s been slightly over a year since I’ve contributed either to my personal blog, Of Intellect and Interest. But 2022 heralds a reinvigorating series of firsts and returns, new meetings and long-awaited reunions. I’m planning to meet up with folks I knew from college (a period of my life which I graduated from — for the most part — this past May) as well as friends met and made more distantly in the yesteryear of youth.
The freshly-fallen snowflakes, heaped into dunes and drifts at either side of the walkway leading up to the front door, denote a fresh start as well.
Before Dad, my brother Joseph, and I made the cautious trek to Mass last night, in celebration of the feast of the Epiphany (which, although traditionally celebrated on Jan. 6, is a movable feast in the Catholic Church in the U.S.), we swept off the snow on all our vehicles and shoveled the first layer of white from the driveway.
Our work would soon be covered again, but the work was not entirely fruitless. It prevented us from having several additional inches of frosty fluff to dig ourselves out of this morning, thus saving our backs from unnecessarily weighty shovelfuls of snow. (Back problems seem to run in the family.) That’s what Dad, Joseph, and I were doing early this morning; I don’t know for how long it fell — silently and nearly unobtrusively — through the evening.
Before going to sleep last night, I noticed the remnant snow held a faint glow, a reflection of moonlight, brightening up the overall landscape: a softer, ever-so-slightly more luminous nocturne than I had grown accustomed to in recent weeks.
This morning had a slow start — as most mornings do for me — with several minutes of delayed cognitive abilities. A picture of such a scene is a simple one: I sit upright, my back leaning against the bedhead, my eyes glazed, my mind trying gradually to realize that the AM has come and I am here.
The sun isn’t up yet, and I’m not too eager to throw another pair of pants on and trudge on out to start shoveling snow. So I sit, and I read for a bit. The outdoors grow brighter by and by — but certainly not warmer. A few sips of coffee; a few pages digested and turned. And the time comes to head out.
The three of us were out there for a half-hour or so. Our cat, JJ, mournfully meowed for some much-wanted attention, which was granted him in small doses in between our snow-laden labors. Mom (who has been feeling ill the past few days) also came out to care for the chickens — another new development for the Tuttle clan in the past year.
We came in this morning — with the mucus frozen in our nostrils — and pretty soon what coffee remained was guzzled into depletion. A few minutes ago, Joseph and I started a second pot brewing. It should be done by now.
Today, I plan to continue reading such works as Of Mice and Men by Steinbeck, Beauty: A Very Short Introduction by Roger Scruton, The Spirit of the Liturgy by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, and Waiting for Christ — a series of collected writings from St. John Henry Newman. Anyway, that and lazing around are on the agenda for the rest of this weekend. I hope you may enjoy the new year with great blessings, opportunities, and perseverance!
Pax Christi,
John
Of Intellect and Interest 