The Finding Season

In contrast to the summer holidays ,when I am so willing/planning to get lost on vacation for getting-lost's sake, I approach the Christmas/New Year vacation with a determination to find things. Maybe it is because, unlike the summer holidays, it is not exactly business as usual at this time of year. The obligation to get myself and my children out the door with matching socks and mittens is temporarily suspended and I get the opportunity to search for some things as time congeals and oozes through days of movie watching, game playing and chocolate eating. Whether it is to find things I did not know I wanted to find, i.e. how the light throws shadows on the snow across the street, or to re-find the matching mittens, I discover that by the time this holiday comes I have a need to sort some things out. Across the candlelit table. I see my kids sitting, mesmerised by eating supper in semi-darkness and in the midst of all the dim, multi-coloured light cast over everything and breakfasting on chocolate and cookies, I find parts of myself too. This year's holiday has been devoted to lots of resting and reading and playing. The kids got a Wii and I found a forgotten obsession with Supermario brothers. I sat down with a copy of Cosmo, a publication I haven't opened in over 15 years. Both activities got me thinking not just fondly about old times but, also about fresh new possibilities that I had completely dispensed with. There is the finding of time (never enough) to meaningfully connect with friends and my kids and the finding of perfect gifts. Of course, all of these things can happen on another kind of holiday or at any time throughout the year for that matter, but during this period, I find myself learning things about my friendships and relationships. Sometimes the things I find are not pleasant, they are things I need to address and rectify. Despite the stress and expectations, I cannot help but feel doors pop open inside as I catch new glimpses of versions of myself that are better at being a parent and a friend. It is in the finding of the things, both thought to be lost and not yet discovered, that I receive a gift. That gift keeps my mittens matched for at least two weeks into the new year and goes a long way to sustain me through the dark, lengthening days of winter.

Comments

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...

the words fell out

Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out. They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch. Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable. Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions, accusations, reflections, words...

I entered August without you.

I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

Growing Versions

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