A Magical Moment

February has never been a time of the year I would nurture with one notable exception.  That was in 1959, the year one of the Fabulous Four was born, an amazing child who for the first three years of his life was known as Mr. Wonderful because of his cherubic disposition.

Other than that I tend to think of February as dark, dismal and enlightened only on the 14th day of the month, Valentine’s Day.  This year was no different.  I had a thought provoking medical appointment early in the month, but my calendar remained relatively free for the next 27 days.

Then one of life’s magical moments occurred.  Without advance notice, one of my astounding children swooped in to accompany me for my medical rendezvous, took me to lunch, and then announced we would fly back together to his “home away from home” in a warmer clime for the balance of the month.

While I believe firmly in always telling the truth, sometimes I don’t practice it when speaking to myself.  I deny the loneliness of having loved ones all ensconced in faraway places.  I pretend that Face Time contacts are equally as wonderful as lunch in a tea shop, or nightly phone calls are akin to a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.  I won’t admit even to myself the tinge of wistfulness that I know after hearing a friend’s description of a shopping trip with a Granddaughter.  I deceive myself because perhaps the reality is painful.

Then when one of life’s magical moments occurs, I realize that possibly the quicksilver segments of life I share with my beloved family more than compensate for the rare times I am lonely.

This month was no exception.  My calendar was relatively blank, yet suddenly I was on the magic carpet of a Jet Blue flight heading to the warmer climes of Amelia Island, and the joy of another unexpected lesson in life.

The word February is derived from the Latin Februarius, meaning to purify, and was known in Ancient Rome as the “Month of Purification.”  When I left New York three weeks ago, I was totally unaware I needed this absolution.  My son’s beautiful home is equipped with every possible amenity with one notable exception, no cable TV. He immediately offered to have it installed for my visit, but I demurred.  “No need, said I.”

And a lesson learned.  The purification described by the ancient seers was exactly what I needed.  Three weeks without constant chatter about Donald and Bernie, Marco and Hillary, Ben and Jeb, not forgetting the wisdom of Greta, Bill, Megyn, Anderson, Dr. Charles, and their associated co-anchors.

Were the first 48 hours hard?  Of course.  But after that, I read, meditated, and made my own political decisions without subtle suggestions by TV pundits.  And then totally purged and healthy, I returned home to my 600 or so TV channels.

Last night I realized how healthy I have become after a three week hiatus from political influence.  I chose to retire before midnight forfeiting the experience of staying up until 2 a.m. for the results of the Nevada caucus.  And exactly the way I did during my exodus, I read the results on my IPad as I savored my morning Starbucks.  I now know the Ancient Romans were right, and realize I am quite capable of making my own political choices and opinions without a myriad of advisors.  And perhaps it is also time to reevaluate the need for those 600 channels.