Skip to main content

Things that give me a sense of plenty: an empty drawer, closet, or bookshelf. Spaces you could fill whenever. A beautiful day where you don't take advantage of the weather, instead playing piano and not taking a moment to notice the warmth of the sun on the back of your neck. Perhaps in those days I am a moon person. 

Yesterday was like that. Christmas day, but without the family obligations of getting dressed up or making elaborate dishes or carting presents here or there. In past years, that's made me sad. I've felt the loss of the hubbub of all those people, felt the loss of that rush you get being with people who make you so excited and amped up like my cousins and family did when I was a kid. As an adult, I haven't been able to get over the loss of that as all the cousins have moved on to do their own thing and my own family has unraveled and become a set of beautiful scraps I examine in individual pieces. 

But this year, nearly everyone spent Christmas in in a solitary family boat and my circumstances didn't feel so weird. Or maybe I spent time feeling grateful to the down time in my house, after having the previous week had our electrical panel fry and needing to suddenly live at my mom's for several days. Maybe I felt more grateful for the ski day Christmas Eve than in previous years given how much shorter the lines were, how much better my kids skied, how my husband came along and how easy it all felt to enjoy. Probably the answer is gratitude. It almost always is.

Because yesterday, I felt no depression about the loss of the people I didn't see, or the activities I didn't get to do. I never really got out of my jammies though I did paint my nails the bright red I loved as a little girl. I enjoyed a solitary walk with the dogs after lazing about and luxuriously wasting most of a gorgeous day playing piano inside. I stared into the mountains and thought about the size of the moon and how it marked a passage of time to know when it was last that shape. I thought about blue. The sky, colors of paint. Blue. 

There's a character in Toni Morrison's book, Beloved who at the end of her life contemplates color. 

Yesterday as I took my walk, I looked at a world too big to photograph with skies too blue to describe and I understood how she could lay in resignation and just think blue. A Plentiful Blue Christmas. It was lovely.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Book Pimp

So I wrote this book and I think it's pretty decent. That's the feedback I'm getting anyway, which is bitchin' really since I have a degree in Education, NOT writing. Plus, this is my first try, so really I should be happy, right? But, turns out writing the book is maybe the easy part. The publishing is another story. You have to find a Literary Agent. To do this, you have to write a 1-3 page letter to many literary agents to convince them to read a sample chapter. Send it with a Self addressed stamped envelope (SASE) and wait. there's more but I'm already experiencing a high level anxiety just writing about this part. In my letter, I'm supposed to explain who I am, what my book's about, why I'm qualified to write it, why its sicky illy good, who'll read it, and on and on. AHHHHHhhhhh! This shit scares me. Also, I'm supposed to be witty, clever, literary, and junk. Oh and explain a 300 page book in a sales pitch. I'm not a frea...

Home birth- The real fuckin deal

So the end of pregnancy is for the fuckin birds. I'm sure plenty of you out there know this. There's nothing to say but that you're sick of being pregnant. You're a little sick of the sweet smiles and knowing looks from strangers. You're just all over sick of it. You're spectacularly sick of the: when's your due date how far are you are you having a boy or a girl I bet you're sick of this what hospital are you going to, conversations. You miss when people used to ask about the soccer game you played or the book you're reading. You're sick of swollen handsfeetfaceneckanklesEVERYTHING. Oh and from the beginning of pregnancy until FRIDAY, I had NO stretch marks. Friday my entire lower abdomen erupted into one. giant. stretch mark. So all weekend, I thought, please let this be over soon. Every cramp I felt I welcomed and thought, "whatever work my body does now, it doesn't have to do during labor." Little did I know how much ...

Having Babies at Home

My whole life, I've heard the story of my cousin Anna's birth. And her sister's too. But I hear more about Anna's. My aunt didn't exactly have a lot of love for the medical profession. And her first baby had been a horrible experience. She'd had him wrenched from her at least as much as she "gave him up" for adoption by nursing staff who leered at her and called her unpleasant names. And she loved him when he was born. And she found him when he turned 18 and loved him till the day she died. When she had kids for keeps, she did it differently. She read books and assigned duties and had them at home. She was brave and surely faced many people who disagreed with her decision. But she stuck by her convictions and her desire for a natural birth and won 2 beautiful girls. My mom was there when Anna was born. So was her sister, Kristina. They both still get this sparkle in their eyes whenever they talk about it. My mom says it was one of the most ...