i had to pull out my pink plaid betsy johnson coat today. winter has
finally come to texas (and by that i mean cold, dismal rain).
last night hilary and seth came over to help me decorate for christmas.
as many of you know, i lurve the holiday season, and one of the first
markers of this time is decking out my little tree with tiny ornaments
my mother has given to me since 1987 (in fact, hilary started giggling
over one of my first, a mouse siting on a plastic yellow star that says
“1987″ in true late 80’s font). we baked peanut butter cup cookies (a
MUST), wore santa hats, and listened to the charlie brown xmas album.
there was a moment, when i was adjusting a tree branch and hilary was
cooing over my “roly poly pig” ornament, when my heart smiled. it was a
small moment, but in constrast to this month, which has been one of the
hardest i’ve ever experienced, it was a brilliant, shining light that
warmed my soul. i thanked god for hilary, for my mother’s love in the
form of precious ornaments, for the unceasing, childlike wonder i feel
whenever i see xmas lights, for the sweetness of the baby jesus in my
navitity scene (hilary says i can’t put out the baby jesus until
december 25th but i don’t care. my nativity says rules be damned).
i can hear meg ryan’s voice from “you’ve got mail” echoing in my head:
“i lead a small life… good, but small.” like her, i enjoy what i’m
doing, but always feel that there must be more, somewhere, maybe just
inside of myself. i wait expectantly, nicely in line with the
traditions of advent.
as i wait, i try to keep watch, taking it all in, as much as i can. i’m
trying to break out of this autopilot mode by actually *feeling*
things… and several events this month have done the work for me. my
grandmother lies in the hospital, half-paralyzed by a stroke, and i
think about how her birthday is tomorrow. when i visited her on friday,
i brought some old pictures of her life in ireland. she gazed for a
long time at a small shot of her and my grandfather, sitting closer
together than i ever saw them in real life, laughter and youth dancing
on their faces. as i watched her, i found myself facing a lifetime of
change, hers as a foreshadowing of mine. change is one of my greatest
fears, and i stared at its horrific beauty in the sweet, faraway eyes
of my grandmother. it has pursued me relentlessly this month, through
santized hospital hallways… to a housewarming party in a home that
seemed awfully grown up for my 6th grade friend… to the sad loss of a
kindred spirit by her own fear and irrationality… revealing itself
even in
the book i’m reading, “from paris to the moon” (thanks amber):
“what made me sad just then was the new knowledge that things changed,
and there was nothing you could do about it. in a way, that was a
parisian emotion too.”
perhaps, then, paris is the right place to go to wrestle with and then
embrace this fear.� good thing i’ve already got my ticket.
good-bye, november. i’m sure you were good for me, but i’m relieved to
see you go. i’m ready for the friendly, familiar face of december.
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