Rain? Sun? Wind? Snow?

Thirty degrees Fahrenheit? Fifty degrees Fahrenheit? You want it all? Then come visit me, because that’s the weather forecast for today and tomorrow is. March is not coming in like a lion. March is coming in like a schizophrenic. March may have been named for Mars, the God of War, but it would have been far more accurate to call this spread of 31 days “Loki”, after the Norse God of Mischief.

I’ve been purging my desk of outdated memos, unnecessary catalogues, and other assorted piles of drek that somehow accumulated without my knowledge or permission. To my chagrin, I have found a minor stockpile of food, all of which can be tied back to my whimsical and usually transitory cravings. I’ve a one-pound bag of chocolate covered peanuts; I ate five peanuts out of it several months ago, decided I really didn’t want them, and put them in the drawer. There’s a half-eaten bag of sour gummy worms, purchased on a day when I absolutely had to have something tart. There’s a box of Girl Scout Cookies (Trefoils) that I might have eaten six cookies from. There’s a bag of peppermints about a third full. Tucked behind that is a box of shortbread cookies from Evelyn and Crabtree of London (what was I thinking?). And, in the back of the drawer, a three-quarters full jar of peanut butter. Don’t ask.

I do have a tin of Altoids’ Tangerine Sours, from which I take one or two candies a day. They’re nice and tart, and help mask the foul taste in my mouth that is the result of several of the medications I’m taking. I’ll keep those. The rest, while still edible, I have no idea what to do with. I’d give them away, but it would be far too embarrassing to admit that I actually have this crap in my desk. I’ll probably take the peanut butter home, but the rest is probably going to be consigned to the bottom of my trashcan. I’ll put the discarded catalogues and journals on top of the stuff to hide it, and with luck no one will be the wiser. Maybe I’ll keep the peppermints.

I’ve been studiously avoiding thinking about impending war, but last night the local Naval air station was very active. The roar of the low-flying jets over my complex was a clarion call difficult to ignore. I wish I could be one of those with strong feelings one way or another, sure of the rightness or the wrongness of this path our nation’s leaders seem determined to take us down. So little of this makes sense to me. How did we get from targeting the al Qaeda to a rhetorical “War on Terrorism” to the precipice of real war with Iraq?

I avoid discussing this with anyone, on or off line. So many are so sure they are right that there is no discussion, just argument. There’s no room for someone like me, unsure of themselves and unable to come to conclusions without more facts. So I read, and I ponder. I worry about those who are being deployed at the moment, and their families. I worry about the civilians of Iraq and their families. And I wonder about the ethics of fence-sitting. Am I taking the high moral road, or ducking a moral responsibility?

At least for now I think I’ll prefer to think of myself as being morally prudent. Neither side has completely convinced me they are standing on the moral high ground, so I support neither side completely. Sometimes having the courage of your convictions means having the courage not to have a conviction until you feel you have come to an informed decision. I’m not “playing ostrich”, hoping the entire issue goes away. In fact, I’d love the comfort of having an opinion and standing my ground. I’m just holding out for that ray of truth that illuminates where my ground is.