A Necessary Wintering

My husband retired at the end of June this year. It was a difficult decision because he loved his job. He was finally working for a company that didn’t take advantage of his nature. They respected his ideas and were open to new ways of thinking. Since then we have both switched off, pretty much. The weather has been typical for Melbourne in winter. Cold, wet and unpredictable. Neither of us have been wanting to do anything. 

It’s understandable. Years of adrenaline from the pressure to succeed, to make budget, to keep the clients happy, had suddenly been switched off. I guess there are people who would try to keep the momentum going. Perhaps heading off on a hike or a cruise or a trip around the world. We didn’t. 

It felt right to cosy up with a movie or a book and just allow the rest to seep into our bones. The timing was perfect for me to have an arthritic flare up that needed icepacks and hot packs and copious amounts of tea. 

It got me thinking about endings. We’ve been experiencing a lot of endings lately. Not just the job and the company car and the salary that went with it, other endings have been happening as well. Some of them to people I love. Too many to mention.

Like one of the parcels my Welsh grandmother used to send our family for Christmas. She would parcel up home made socks and gloves and tins of sweets and wrap them in brown paper tied up with string with clever knots and far too much cellotape. Then she would send it ‘sea mail’ because it was cheaper. Weeks later it would arrive just in time for Christmas. We loved seeing her handwriting on the parcel and the stamps that were carefully saved and lovingly placed in my stamp album.  

That’s how I think of endings. Something that has been experienced, loved, cared for, which having ended is all wrapped up neatly with brown paper and string. If you look at endings closely you’ll see a label that reads: ’New beginning.’

Wrapped up in all the endings is a new beginning. New opportunities and adventures waiting just around the corner. It’s hard to see sometimes, especially when we spend too much time looking back. We can be so focused on what we have lost we miss seeing what is being offered.

Our ending, Glyn retiring, is brimming with possibilities yet somehow we both felt like doing nothing. We were in sync as usual. No need to unwrap the parcel yet. The feels need to be felt, the lack of adrenaline acknowledged and the system reset needed to happen. We both decided to take my advice, from my March blog, and be kind to ourselves. 

When Glyn retired, we turned back into teenagers overnight. Staying up stupid late and sleeping in forever and it has been bliss. It felt like we were in a liminal space; an in-between time. It has felt right to simply rest. No productivity, aside from the usual daily tasks. No demands on our time apart from feeding ourselves and our animals. 

Over the last few days, something has shifted. A stirring, like a melody you can’t quite hear. A sense of Spring. It’s still winter and we are still resting but it feels different somehow.

I have been getting up to write morning pages again. After almost a month off, it felt like time to get back to it again. Like an awakening of sorts.

During our hiatus, I did a lot of reading. I read an article that spoke about the profound effect trees have on the immune system, which is not surprising. Trees are so generous don’t you think? They are always giving. Apparently trees release phytoncides, which are air-borne chemicals that trees use to protect themselves from bacteria and fungi. Inhaling phytoncides has a positive impact on our health boosting the immune system. Phytoncides are essential oils which the trees generously share with anyone in their vicinity. Apparently an hour in the forest boosts our immune system for two weeks. Isn’t that amazing? You’ve probably heard of Japanese forest bathing. It’s a thing. Apart from boosting the immune system, being near trees is also good for general well being and stress relief. Glyn and I have arthritic knees and can’t really go for a hike or even a walk in the woods so we thought that we would go for a drive through a forest with the sunroof open.

Today, we packed the dogs and a thermos of tea and drove through the nearby hills. We opened the sun roof, and smelled the eucalyptus and the pine. We found the most spectacular lookout over the Warburton ranges where we could see for ever. The sky was full of white fluffy clouds of every shape you can imagine.

The sky was so blue it was hard to look without squinting. We sat on a bench with our cups of tea while the dogs sniffed everything they could get their noses near. We were like a couple of oldies, which is what we are, even if we do stay up stupid late like teenagers. We talked about trees and clouds and the wonder of it all. All the while the clouds were scudding by occasionally hiding the sun. Even the moon was on show clearly wanting to get in on the act. Glyn always points out the adiabatic lapse rate. One of the few things he remembers from school days. It’s the place where the hot air meets the cold air and forms a sort of shelf in the clouds. That’s my highly scientific explanation.

I can’t tell you if my immune system has been affected but my soul certainly has. I breathed deeply and, like the dogs, I appreciated being out and about for the first time in a while. Now we are home tucked up near the fire enjoying a hearty meal cooked by my newly retired husband who fancies himself as a bit of a chef. He’s pretty good actually. Filet steak with red wine jus and steamed vegetables. C’est magnifique! (Yes I’m still learning French to keep my brain working)