Skip to main content

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

Popular posts from this blog

A 5 minute challenge

WifeMotherExpletive  extended an invitation I could not refuse: " Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking" on the word, Real . real is what I always strive to be.  in a hurry to be as real as possible, I've overlooked so much.  I have denied myself things that would have helped me understand things better.  real, but real for who? as I age, I want to be more real to me because I suspect that there will be many surprises. hard to believe that I will be surprised since I have lived with myself for 36 , going on 37 years, but I don't doubt it for one minute.  Honesty is where I falter.  I can achieve "real" (does it qualify as real if it is in quotation marks) but it may not be true.  In general, I want things to be tied up in a package and smooth even it is too jagged to fit.  I want this, I know that to be real, it cannot happen but I think true is what I need to really aim for.  I know some things are tru...

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...

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...