because we started late – not in our 20s or 30s or even 40s – much stuff was already in place – things like couches, tables, cozy chairs, cabinets, dressers, lamps, appliances – and we didn’t have to start from scratch.
but – as our time together has moved on – in our adding and deleting – we have chosen certain pieces to bring into our life together and we have celebrated those pieces in the space we share.
this past summer we added this handmade metal piece, placing it in the garden with the grasses, loving the way it played with light and shadow. much like the chunk of concrete in our living room or the vintage suitcases scattered in our home, it was a small purchase but it was something we knew would spend some time with us, tracking through seasons.
it’s foggy this morning. dense fog, i imagine it has invisibilized the lake. it’s pulling us.
today is a day to walk…outside. the quiet will envelop us as we hike in the woods and process these days – days for which we all make so many preparations, days that go by so quickly, seasons that carry those we love through and through into next and next, ever so swiftly. time does not stand still, does not wait for our witness, and the moments slip through our fingers much like we will slip through the fog.
we sit, under a blanket and not yet ready to go out, marveling at the perfection and the evanescence, the yearning and the satisfaction of time. we hold onto this moment of this minute of this hour of this day of this season – where we are warmed by a quilt, where can see each other typing, where we can hear the deep sleeping breaths of dogga right here. i try to memorize it.
and as we look out the window, to our barney aging – one moment, the next moment – we can see he is still grinning from the eve bonfire gathering, as only an aging piano in the backyard can grin. we are happy to see the ring of adirondack chairs and the vestiges of luminaria. and we admire the fleeting beauty of just a bit of snow left on top the coneflower.
it was the title that touched me: “staggering generosity”.
i opened the email a few days ago, a newsletter i hadn’t opened in quite some time. these words have been with me ever since: “don’t just love. astonish people with your love. don’t just dabble in generosity. live a life of staggering generosity.”(paul wesselmann – ripples)
in cleaning my studio this week i found a pocket-sized calendar my sweet momma sent me in 2007. there was a quote on the first page: “may you live all the days of your life.” (jonathan swift)
this day – each day – all the days.
tonight when the house was quiet again, we sat in the living room with the lights off. e.e. (our christmas tree) and our big branches were the only things illuminating the room. sitting in the glow, we were both lost in thought – steeped in gratitude – about this holiday, about this time, about these days.
i could feel the glimmer in the room. a vibration. palpable. like the fingertips of the universe brushing my skin. astonishing. and staggering. what better day than today?
and then we unplugged all the happy lights – ready to sleep on this christmas day.
the ornaments in the locked display cases were phenomenally expensive. it was a bit shocking. but we know many people collect things that are quite valuable and these definitely were perceived as that. the low end was just shy of $100 and the high end…well, rather high. we browsed them a bit, curious. i honestly cannot say that i wish we had purchased one or, for that matter, had even been able to purchase one. their ornateness did not appeal to me. too much. much too much. more is more is not us, especially when it comes to the baubles of the season.
i guess it echoes my sentiment – my heart – this simple-ing-down of it all. it is – for me – about the most basic things – this holiday season…regardless of religion. for me, this season of light – for which we have waited – reminds us that god (or whatever you call a greater deity) is with us. and i believe basic tenets are basic tenets, no matter what any book says – no matter if it’s written in red – no matter who said what – no matter the stories told. basic goodness – love, generosity, equality, kindness, grace – is basic and no scribed stuff should twist it into agenda.
in a time that celebrates peace on earth we are less than peaceful. in a time of gathering we are torn apart, divisive. in a time of generosity, there is greed beyond imagination. in a time of grace, there is marginalization. in a time of good will, there is monstrous evil. this is – most definitely – a world of hypocrisy. we need to seek light each and every day.
it’s not the fancy stuff that makes me stop, get lost, offer a prayer. it’s the dollar tree $1.25 tiny metal wire tree ornament hanging in our kitchen. it’s the little foot-tall fold-up $1 tree in the middle of our dining room table. it’s the crystal ornament catching the light in the living room. it’s the old pickle on the tree. it’s the galvanized star hanging on our branch.
there is more brokenness to come; there are more shattered dreams. this is a season where we need support each other, heal each other – best as we can.
love one another. the simplest of things. and the hardest of things. ours to do – to exist – as humankind.
“in the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan. earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone. snow had fallen, snow on snow. snow on snow. in the bleak midwinter, long ago.” (in the bleak midwinter – gustav holst, christina rossetti)
it is rare now for us to read the news. we are not watching it on any screen nor listening to it. it is bleak, iron-fisted, filled with stone-cold hearts.
but…even now…somewhere, deep in the winter – now darker and colder – now more barren and bleak, is spring.
john o’donohue wrote, “within the grip of winter, it is almost impossible to imagine the spring.”
in the same blessing he also wrote, “from the black heart of winter a miraculous, breathing plenitude of color emerges. … the rhythm of emergence is a gradual slow beat always inching its way forward…”
our wish for each other…that we find in our heartbeat, light. and that we bring that light to another.
and the grip of winter will not hold.
“the cold is relenting; seeds are wakening up. colors are beginning to imagine how they will return…”
i cannot help it. memories swoosh around me constantly. and these days are no different. in fact, they deliver memories much like santa scooooching down the chimney – sans fanfare or warning. the memories arrive, sometimes with a kerplunk.
i suppose that it is simply a part of me to be wistful. and…the days are darker, the sun is shorter, it is colder and the holidays began to arrive in rapid succession.
i prepare myself for this – i know that time has flown on and that everything is different. yet…there is this piece of me that yearns to go back…to be overwhelmed with all that was going on when my children were little – the time of year that was fraught with choir and band rehearsals prepping, the time of year when it was hard to find alone-time to shop for surprises, the time of year when the children were counting down to school vacation, the time of year when end-of-year business records were lurking on lists-of-things-to-do, when you wrapped presents – that had been hidden in closets and the attic – around the the table in the wee hours, the time of year when you just really wanted to make cookies and fudge and sip hot cocoa around the fire with your children, reading christmas books, watching holiday movies. dreamy.
and then, there’s the further-back…the days in my growing-up neighborhood – along with our neighbors and friends outside caroling. luminaria, my dad making spiked eggnog and my mom fussing with cooking, the grandparents lingering on our old slipcovered couch, nieces and my nephew tiny and enchanted with it all.
it all seemed so innocent back then. and easy.
it’s not as easy now – as i watch families sort through all the gala preparations and the calendar of when who-visits-whom. there is much to do and, seemingly, not as much time to do it all. it makes me wish for a really big close-proximity-family with whom to share it all, all together, everyone from every side.
we prepare for our own christmas. i’ve been thinking and brainstorming and researching and googling and making lists for weeks now. we’ve been out browsing and shopping, we’ve had a moment or two indulging in a treat while out. we’ve encountered wonderful, joyous shopowners and salesclerks and a few not-so-wonderful nor joyous folks. we’ve tried hard to bring light to each person.
very happily, the boys will be coming and we are excited. but we will miss our girl and her husband. so many of us will have a facetime christmas and, though i am grateful for that technological ability, my heart – as always – yearns for in-person. so much bittersweet-ness. but…i am reminded by my own words earlier this week…“even if…enough”. it’s a good time for me to practice the enoughs.
i wonder – if it were possible – what it would be like to live back then and now simultaneously…kind of like walking from one room – the right now – into the next room – where my children were tiny ecstatic toddlers – into the next room – where i was a teenager surrounded by my island family – into the next room – where i was little and watched for rudolph’s red nose out my window.
i guess the gift of not being able to do that is the same as the hard part of not being able to do that – it is the wistfulness of it all. i guess wistful IS the gift. that thing that reminds you – just like in the movie about time to really, really live the day. “I just try to live every day as if I’ve deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life.”
*****
…and, by the way…just in case you misunderstood – in this climate rife with words like great and back – misused and twisted…as you are reading the words “go back in time”…i want to be perfectly clear…even in a post about these holidays…it’ s not THAT kind of going back. this is a post about love and respect for each other. it’s a post about time spent together and mutual generosity of spirit. it’s a post about decency. goodness. it’s a post about unity. together. it’s not that OTHER kind of going back. because we aren’t. going back.
somewhere – in the infinite infinite – i suppose that my sweet momma and poppo might be with my big brother, nibbling on crumbcake and coffee ice cream. maybe they are having a chat about christmas eve norwegian fish pudding and rum cake. or maybe about burning your fingertips making krumkake. maybe they are reminiscing about singing carols in the living room – gathered around the organ or the piano, my brother with his guitar, my uncle with his beautiful tenor.
i suppose that the party might be bigger…with their baby daughter i never met, with my grandparents, with their siblings, with friends they treasured. they may pop open the martini & rossi asti or blend some eggnog, assuming there is electricity. maybe they are swinging on stars and peering through the clouds at us here; maybe they are missing us.
in the way that things are in this place right now, i am glad that my sweetest mom and dad are not physical witnesses to what is happening, for their hearts would be broken by the ugliness of these times. i am grateful – in an odd way – that they do not have to experience what will be in the next for this country, for our world. even with everything they saw and endured in their lives – which is plenty considering they were born in 1921 and 1920 – i know that what’s happening and what’s coming would challenge and disappoint their beliefs and values to the core.
and so, in the meanwhile – between now and the infinite infinite – i will miss them. the axis has never returned to balance since they’ve been gone and this time of year brings that home even more.
i do believe, though, that if my momma – ever the letterwriter – could write in the sky – out there by the moon – she would. she’d likely draw words with the help of clouds and contrails. and she’d spell out something like, “daddy says ‘hello brat!‘” and “don’t forget to live life, my sweet potato!”.
when i look up – or inside – i can hear them both.
the reeds on our trails in the winter – tall and willowy, reaching for the sky in a color that looks like leftover sun you saved in a jar. the cattails are massive, even the ones that have lost tails…all dwarfing us. tall stripes in the marsh cutting perpendicular into the horizon, they are exceptionally beautiful.
i’m not a stripe-wearer. with the exception of one hooded baja pullover, i’m pretty sure i own zero clothing items with stripes. this has not always been true.
i distinctly remember a pair of multi-colored striped bell bottoms i really loved – way back in junior high. i remember my candystriper uniform – candycane stripes for volunteering in the hospital. oh… and those ever-present red and white striped terrycloth footed dr. denton pajamas. i remember the stripes on my v-neck sweater – the one that everyone had back in the day – navy and maroon v-stripes on a white cable pullover. i distinctly remember one other sweater – a turtleneck – a favorite – that had stripes. i wore it tucked into my jeans way back in high school. i remember stripes i wore when i was a volunteer “arrestee” for the american cancer society’s jail ‘n bail. but i can’t remember many other stri-ped (two syllables as they say) things that have made it into either my closet or my dresser.
and – in more information than you ever needed or wanted, some further thoughts on stripes:
as i sit here and look around i am struck by the horizontal stripes that surround me. the obvious wood floors – though these are vertical as well (mostly) depending on where in the room you are standing. the miniblinds on all our windows. the louvered closet doors, the dresser drawers, the many tiny drawers in the wooden armoire, the stacked (not standing) books in the glass-front chimney cabinet. many patterns – all horizontal.
if, however, i were to wear stripes, they would have to be vertical. horizontal and baby-borne hips don’t go well together. (at least in my opinion as it relates to me). i don’t know if this helps to explain my love of beadboard or my love of big old doors. both vertical. there must be a theory of explanation in there somewhere.
i think i also have a thing about wearing stripes – i feel like if i am going to wear them, they need to stay parallel to the ground – 180 degrees straight – even stripes, not all wonky and helter-skelter…like part of the stripe tucked in and part untucked and on some skewed sort of angle, which bugs me to an unusual degree of being bugged. horizontal stripes have a lot of room for error. and stripes…seriously…well, they should be neat – tidy stripes. it just feels to me that stripes are like that. they demand precision. i try to veer away from such strict parameters.
maybe that is why i wear solid colors mostly. there is less worry about conforming to specific stripe/plaid/print rules, real or imagined.
it is good that i am not a santa’s elf. i am way beyond wishing to wear red and white horizontal-striped tights.
it snowed last night. there is a dusting on the deck and on the roofline that i can see out the window right now. even a dusting is magical. even a dusting is snow. even, if it were only a dusting, only this, it would be enough.
the snow earlier – in november – didn’t last long but – while it clung to the adirondack chairs – i went out, crunching through it, to take a photograph, to remember it. it was the kind that snowmen are made of. and, even if that were the only snow, only that, it would have been enough.
i am trying to learn the art of even if, enough. for right now. for this moment. for standing in this space, spinning on this earth in this solar system in this galaxy. the next moment is a mystery – on repeat – a measure of blank space, again and again.
you don’t just arrive there, we are not simply maestros of this art. it is – what i am seeing – a process like the tides. a little wave in, a little wave out. a grain of sand in, a grain of sand out. it is not simple but it is…actually.
it is the recognition – when you are feeling in right mind, when you are feeling more balanced, when you are not hijacked by outside influences – of the right now and a nod that even if….it is enough.
in this time, these times, our yearnings are real. and – as our world turns and we approach a time of far greater chaos than we have likely ever known in most of our lives – we can see that the even if, enoughs are going to play a big role in staying grounded.
it is a work in progress, i suppose, for each of us. we – mostly – live in societies where more is more and less is, most definitely, less. we are not typically validated in our less. we are not typically commended for finding value in less.
but it is the gift of the tide and time. you begin to realize that the tiniest pebbles that drop in on our personal shoreline are often the mica of life. you begin to realize that they balance out the grains of sand that are pulled out each time and tide.
and so i, maybe like you – am trying to be satisfied with – at peace with – the even if, enoughs.
even if we don’t have enough time with someone – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough. even if we don’t have enough stuff, newest stuff, trendy stuff – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough. even if we don’t have enough time – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough. even if we don’t have enough snow – but we have a tiny bit – it is enough.
though the even ifs make us – make it all – feel somewhat fragile, the enoughs are a good place to seek, a good place to live.
we were talking about what it used to be like – out holiday shopping.
we both individually remember the out-and-about of windowshopping and browsing and pondering and findingjusttherightthing as including the time and space for stopping, for a nice cup of coffee and a treat, maybe for lunch out.
it was sheer indulgence the other day when we used a long-saved gift card for dinner out after a fun day of shopping. and yesterday, we did a thing.
we actually – mid-day-mid-shopping – stopped at a bakery to pick out a danish (yes, sacrificing the usual gluten-free-ness) and then we went next door to starbucks to get a christmas blend coffee. we shared both – jubilant at the “old-timey” tradition we were re-enacting, pretty happy with ourselves that we chose to take the time and splurge on coffee and a treat.
it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas!
i spent a-couple-years-less-than-a-decade celebrating christmas in florida. though everyone still decorates and the holiday rush is still pushing you forward, it never quite felt the same as christmas up north. i suppose if i had grown up in the south it – the traditions and rituals and things i associate with christmas – would be different, but having grown up in the northeast, i associate the holidays with being bundled up, the cold, the snow, pink cheeks and noses, mittens and scarves. there is a different sparkle to twinkle lights in snow.
we here in our neck of wisconsin may not have a white christmas this year. but it will be brisk enough for the deck to make cracking noises as we walk to our backdoor, for the radiators to clunk a little, for the wood floors to creak under our feet. ice will paint beautiful images on a couple of the north-facing windows, the stars in the bitter sky will seem brighter and dogga will be in his glory laying outside in the cold. it’ll be cozy inside, surrounded by the glimmering trappings of the holiday.
maybe – as we continue our march toward Christmas Day – in-between bits of shopping and wrapping and shipping and clearing out and giving away – we will take a few minutes here and there to celebrate the right-now of it all. maybe we’ll consider another coffee out, another pastry. maybe we’ll bundle up and go see some special lights. maybe – just maybe – i’ll play some carols in my studio. this is the time of year i especially miss creating a space – with and through music – in which other hearts might open to the spirit of the holidays, to sink into that which they feel but cannot see.
as adults – whose bars for enchantment are higher than in childhood or for whom perhaps reality has life-light-dimmed – we all sometimes struggle as these times roll around. we know it’s up to each of us to create any magic in these holidays, to recognize it, to linger in it. the tiniest bit of indulgence goes a long way. indulging out and indulging in.
i always make him nervous when i start digging for my phone while i am driving. i mean, i reach over to my purse – which is right next to me between the seats in littlebabyscion – and my hand goes directly to my phone – which is right in the outside pocket of my purse. it’s not like i am scavenging through a trunk of goodies in the backseat while i am driving in the frontseat. it’s also not like i am going to text while i am driving, because i don’t do that now – unless i am at a stoplight and i keep an ever-watchful eye on the light so no one has to aggressively beep at me to put my eyes back on the road. nevertheless, he gets a little nervous.
in my defense, i am merely getting my phone because i need – really neeeeeeed – to take a picture. and, despite any deep-seated fear he might harbor about me placing our lives in jeopardy for a photograph, i always either wait for a stop sign or a traffic light or i pull over to take the picture.
sooo, now that that has been established…the other day i had to take a photograph of the car in front of us before it careened away from us and the chance would be gone.
we – like you – have seen many bumper stickers, many window decals, many messages on the back of vehicles. i have been literally astounded at what people will put on their cars – the language sometimes makes me shudder, the innuendo is sometimes embarrassing, the saying is sometimes totally base. it worries me that people with children will put pretty intense cuss words right on their cars and drive around with that so that other small children might read them as well. i mean, really???
but i digress.
the other day – while out and about and on our way to hike – there was an suv in front of us with positive – wait, read that again – positive (!) messages on the back of their vehicle. it was this one that made me grab my phone:
“i hope something good happens to you today.”
i wanted to blow them a kiss and thank them but they sped away and i lost sight of them after i grabbed a quick photo.
many good things happened that day. we hiked about seven miles; it was brisk and parts of the river were frozen. the sky looked like it was about to deliver a snowstorm but never did. we saw five deer on our hike, all sedately grazing slightly frozen grasses just on the side of the trail, none of them eager to bound away. we felt tired and a little bit achy getting back to LBS, all well-deserved and welcome results of getting outside exercise. 20 came over for dinner; we chattered and laughed and played rummikub.
good things. regular stuff.
the bumper sticker stuck with me all day. mostly, i loved that whoever this person or these people were they were offering up a gift to strangers. no bad language, no aggression, no political yuck-yuck, just a kindness.
something good actually happens every day. we probably need to remember that it’s the bar we use to measure “good” that changes. i have found that if i keep the bar low i am more likely to notice the something good.
it’s not generally flashy or lit with neon lights. it’s not generally something that arrives with folderol or with bells on. it doesn’t necessarily make a grand entrance. it’s generally not gigantic. but it’s brilliant nonetheless.
i thought about that bumper sticker again that night when i was hugging dogga goodnight and he hugged me back; i could hear d setting up coffee and a few minutes later we tucked under a warm quilt.
reverse threading 