(Host) During this time of giving, commentator Doyle-Schechtman reflects on the gifts that Irene has left on her doorstep.
(Doyle-Schechtman) The holiday season is upon us. According to the calendar
it’s time to trim our trees, don our gay apparel, and head over the river and
through the woods to grandmother’s house. Trouble is that this year many of us
can’t find our decorations, have lost our fancy clothes, and won’t be able to
cross the river for another 18 months or so.
I’m good on the trimmings and festive duds, but the river
thing… not so much. For the last three decades I’ve taken both comfort and joy
in the simple white lights and evergreen wreaths that have adorned the covered
bridge at the foot of our little hill in Quechee. I could observe the picture
perfect scene from just about every room in my house. No matter how challenging
any given winter’s day was, the magic of the snowflakes caught in the glow of
the lights and nestled on the red bows of the wreaths made me feel happy and
safe. Thanks to hurricane Irene, my post card image has been replaced with
sinkholes that are big enough to accommodate Santa’s sleigh, his team of
reindeer, and most of his workshop for that matter. The bridge stands alone on
its pilings, dark and tattered. To say that my view has changed is an
understatement. To say that my perspective has changed is a surprise – and a
gift.
If you think about it, some of our best gifts come to us
from the strangest places, and in the most unexpected ways. They are gifts we
can’t return, and oft times are not what we thought we wanted – or needed. This
present of a new perspective didn’t come in a brightly wrapped box, nor was it
received graciously. It’s hard to see what broken pipes, ragged facades, orange
storm fences, rolls of yellow police tape and chipped cement barricades have to
offer – never mind the constant stream of uninvited sightseers parading through
my neighborhood. It’s difficult to discern how chaos contributes to the greater
good – to our overall sense of well-being.
And yet, the mess outside my door has helped me release some
deep-seated lessons I no longer need. My mother, for example, taught me to be
responsible, polite and hospitable at all cost. Mother Nature has made it clear
to me that I am not accountable for other people’s actions or decisions, nor do
I need to attend to the unreasonable requests of complete strangers. As the
oldest of twelve I learned to always be at the ready. Irene showed me how to go
with the flow. Looking out the window every day reminds me that while I can’t
control a raging river, or thoughtless people, I do have the freedom to choose
how I perceive and react to them.
Irene
has left each of us with a story to tell this year. If we look closely we’ll
find a gift wrapped in it, along with a healthy reminder of our place in the
broader scheme of things.