To Everything Turn, Turn, Turn

(Or, welcoming the freeze)

Change always amazes me.

Obviously, the past year has brought about some unimaginable changes for me. Where I live. How I look. Even the way my brain talks to me.

Some changes move slowly. Others are impossible to ignore.

Like today.

This morning feels like the first real arrival of autumn. There have been a few sweatshirt days, but even those carried a sticky humidity that reminded me summer was not quite ready to let go.

In all of my forty-four years, this is the first one where I have fully and excitedly embraced the coming freeze.

Maybe it is because between my age, the cancer, and the treatments for the cancer, my hormones are in constant flux. I used to be someone who was always cold. Now there is a steady, inner heat that never lets me feel fully comfortable.

So I have made a small goal: not to complain about the cold once this winter. I am curious to see if I can keep it.

Because today, the chill feels like nothing less than a gift.

I liked putting on my boots and jacket (even if it was a little tight) and gloves this morning to walk with Todd and the dogs. I liked coming back home and curling under a comforter on the couch. And I liked thinking about turning on the pellet stove and making soups and chilis.

This is all new to me. Not the seasons themselves, since I have lived in New England most of my life, but the welcoming of them.

Usually, I am the type who clings to summer. I never actually pack away my sandals or switch out my wardrobe. I just add or remove layers and keep pretending warmth will last.

But this year, this cool, this approaching freeze feels different. It feels like relief. It feels earned after too many 100-degree days.

It feels peaceful to welcome change instead of mourning what was or fearing what is ahead.

Dear Nature, God, Love, Spirit, and all that is holy, please let this be the unexpected ease and relief that comes when a season of life changes.

While it may not be the most flattering picture of me, there is no mistaking the many seasons on display. On my wrist is the emergency alert bracelet that has become a forever accessory. In my arms is the baby of my dear friend, Edgar B. Herwick III — the newest Herwick, Edgar B. Herwick IV. I call him EB4. His beautiful mom, Carri, who is standing next to me (and everyone else), calls him Eddie.