I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

The cold days have returned, and I'm reminded of my grandfather.

As a bricklayer, his work was seasonal, and thus money was tight during the winter months.

Construction halted when the snows came.

He and my grandmother were forced to make a way out of no way.

That is, to be resourceful during hard times.

They kept an eye on the thermostat to keep their oil bill in check.

They wore itchy sweaters and thermal layers.

Delicious evening meals were magically produced out of few ingredients.

They ate lots of stews, soups, and bread.

The temptation to be frivolous was put on hold until spring.

My grandmother mended her dresses for Sunday morning church services.

My grandfather repurposed disposable items.

One winter was particularly difficult, but they kept a cheerful outlook. They still found a means to be joyful

and happy and full. When I first read today's poem, I thought I was going to write about California,

a state whose sublime nature cannot be overstated.

And to write about my love of the Northwest and my many friends there,

whose laid-back outlook, fierce progressive politics,

embrace of the environment, and keen intelligence have fed me. In short, it was to be my love letter to the West Coast.

But that will have to be put on hold, because what I appreciate in today's poem is the speaker's

indomitable outlook that echoes my grandparents' optimistic spirit, especially in the

face of deprivation and difficulty. Today's poem lands on what is both a beautiful notion

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