The Second Intermission - by Sylvia

For those who have been following my posts, you may notice the writing has improved since my first post.  AI has become much more common so you may be curious if that’s the difference.  In a small part I have used AI for titles and sometimes grammar but no more.  The real improvement is due to my editor.  No, I don’t have an editor on payroll but I do have a wife who was an editor for several years for a weekly newsletter.  Sylvia is much more than an editor, she is also a writer.  She is currently considering writing a memoir book as well but she is still early in the planning stages.  So every 4 weeks, Syl has agreed to make an entry on my blog.  So with no further adieu here is Syl’s second post. 

Steve

**INTERMISSION**

Happy Saturday, friends of Steve (or friends of his blog at least).

I’m writing this as Friday slowly, quietly comes to a close in Parkers Cove.

It’s a silent night — a rarity considering our property lacks sufficient trees to fend off winds that determinedly sweep over our lava ridge, pulsate around our house, and continue south over the north range to the valley below. Usually we hear their steady rush and rattle against the windows. But tonight the sun has set without fanfare, the wind has calmed to almost nothing, and the temperature has dropped into that crisp, biting cold that makes the air feel especially clean.

From our backyard, we see the white spotlights of night fishing boats navigating the dark tidal waters of the Bay of Fundy in search of a good catch. Their beams move slowly across the black surface, small and steady against the vastness. I tell you though, you can’t pay me enough money to be on a fishing boat in 0°C waters, at night, with a land temp of -3°C. I’m also pretty sure the water only looks calm from shore — distance has a way of disguising the swell. These men deserve our admiration and respect!

It’s a clear night. A few tiny red lights blink regularly to the slight right, and a minuscule string of lights resembling a delicate pearl necklace seems strung across the shore city of St. John, New Brunswick. They shimmer faintly against the dark horizon. If we’re lucky, this is the direction we can see the northern lights when they come this far south (which has been several times so far this winter!). The stars are just starting to come out now, quietly multiplying overhead, and my night mode camera setting can catch some of these early-bird show-offs before they fade into the greater brilliance of the sky.

I spent the morning having coffee and easy conversations about trees with a dear friend down the road — the kind of unhurried visit that fills you up in unexpected ways. My afternoon consisted of cherished laughter with another good friend close to town (we just don’t laugh enough these days, do we?), girl talk, an incredible butter chicken lunch rich with warmth and spice, and two prequel episodes of a Scottish drama TV series that carried us away to another time and place. Then back home to host dinner for our neighbour who just returned from several months in Europe, and indulged us with stories and memories tucked into every sentence.

It is a peaceful night here. Dishes are done, counters wiped, the house settling into its evening rhythm. Jake is dozing, facing his doggy dad, who is scrolling through the latest win stats from the Winter Olympics. Soon, we will retire downstairs to our cozy TV den to watch a movie — if I finish this post for you in good time.

It is a good night. Why? Because we are so blessed. We have shelter, power, food, water, and steady heat on a cold winter evening. We have relatively good health (all things considered). We have friends and family. Most importantly we have our faith in God, without whom all of the above would either be viewed as a lucky crapshoot or the result of constant personal striving (which would never cease). Our future is secure. We know where we are headed. So all of the above is a bonus — a gift layered on top of deeper assurance. That’s why.

I end my night hoping this tiny bit of time anyone spends reading the above, will be a mini respite from the online negativity on social media, fake news, rage influencer posts, and global crises that vie endlessly for our attention and response.

So - shut it down. Grab your coat. Go outside. Take a long, slow, deep breath. Look up.

God, who made the countless stars above you, knows how many hairs you have on your head, and loves you. He is God of all details. His love is infinite and steady.

You will be ok. Until next intermission then.......goodnight.