Winter is coming

12/1/2021

And Sister Marla Smith’s eyes light up. Trust me. 

Holding her thin hand and rubbing her thin back, I sit quietly beside her wheelchair.

She smiles, and I swear a light comes into her eyes. 

I know what you’re going to say — it is all malarky about the “eyes lighting up,” or “sparkling eyes,” or “twinkling eyes,” or a “wink of the eye,” but I’ll be darned, her eyes did light up.

Clearly, Sister Marla Smith is here and ready to be counted.

“That feels nice,” she says out of nowhere.

It is late fall in Iowa. The birdbath is frozen when I leave Des Moines in the morning. The sun is a bit dimmer. The grass is matted and brown. The orange and red and yellow leaves are now a shade of mud. 

“Winter is coming.”

Dire words written by George R.R. Martin in his “Game of Thrones” series for the fictional land of Westeros. 

Yup, winter is coming. Sure, maybe not White Walkers, but certainly snow plows and subzero temps. 

For my aunt, Sister Marla Smith, this is her 99th winter. Ninety-nine years gives one a bit of perspective, I imagine. And with no one left alive of her generation, who is going to argue with her about how much snow actually fell in the great blizzard when her father had to drive draft horses through giant drifts to get to the barn? No one. Even her father who loved a good story can’t back her up any more.  

A thin, tough woman with iron grey hair and bright eyes, Sister Marla is dogged and compassionate and kind and smart. Just a few months ago, she laughed and joked and ate dark chocolates. But she has taken a turn and is struggling a bit.

The inevitable change of seasons, I guess, but what a ride it has been. 

My aunt used to order her life very specifically — church and work, work and church. Which is why she surprised me 45 years ago when she rented a piano for me, an obnoxious unbeliever, to practice on as I lived with her elderly father. And if that wasn’t out of her wheelhouse, she then set me up on dates with her other dietitian friends and interns. Unbelievable as it sounds, I had never dated anyone who specialized in white sauce for a degree. But thanks to Sister Marla, that empty spot on my to-do list is now checked. But where she caught me most by surprise is when she insisted we take disco dance classes together. My only regret of that time is that the Franciscans were no longer wearing their habits. That would have been a picture. And she was a superb dancer. Naturally. 

“Now is the winter of our discontent…”  A young King Richard delivers this line for Shakespeare. And it might describe a winter day in Iowa where the snow is dirty and hard-packed, and the wind slices through the small, exposed neck of your coat, and there is a real possibility that spring will never come, and you might as well lie down in the snow and call it quits.

Really? Is that helpful? 

Winter IS coming, but don’t you love the quiet peacefulness of an Iowa winter day when nothing stirs, you are the only living person outside, the crystal air is sharp and pure, and the sun reflects bright off the top of the snow? You are alone in the universe, and the universe is good. 

When asked a couple of months ago about whether she was sad after the death of a dear friend, Sister Marla said, “Why? She is in a great place.” 

As is Iowa, when the wind blows down from Canada, and the smell of woodsmoke drifts across the snow, and the eagles and hawks float gracefully over a pure, white world.  

I drive away from my aunt’s home at Saint Francis Convent in Dubuque thinking about life. Playing on the radio is the classic hit by KC and the Sunshine Band:

“Oh, do a little dance, make a little love
Get down tonight, get down tonight
Do a little dance, make a little love
Get down tonight, get down tonight”

And there she is. Doing the hustle. Wide smiled and loose limbed. And look at that — she is ending with a dramatic John Travolta point toward the heavens.

And her eyes light up. Trust me. ♦

Joe Weeg spent 31 years bumping around this town as a prosecutor for the Polk County Attorney’s Office. Now retired, he writes about the frequently overlooked people, places and events in Des Moines on his blog: www. joesneighborhood.com.