Longings

Longings

“Da-a-ad! Quit tickling me! I’m trying to get my boots on and I don’t feel like laughing right now. I’m going to be late getting to the skating rink. Ben is going to be there and if I’m all red in the face from racing to get there, I’ll blame it all on you.”

Chelsea just wasn’t a little girl anymore. She had grown up. Her dad, Johnson, was sad and happy all at the same time. He had loved every bit of Christmas since Chelsea had been born. That sweet, pink little wrinkled baby. He had been terrified of being a dad, but now? Chelsea had wrapped his big 'workerman' finger in her tiny soft fist and it was game over. Christmas had been fun, and magic and even spiritual sometimes - although he would forever deny that last part. His own childhood Christmas’s had been lonely and bleak. In his memory, it seemed like his own dad had no concept of kindness and giving. He often wondered what his dad’s home had been like. It was never talked about. Johnson’s mother warned him to keep quiet about any of his dad’s family. But Chelsea. She brought such joy into their lives. Joy that Johnson had never felt. Sometimes was even a little uncomfortable when Christmas felt so good. Johnson and his wife, Celeste had, each year, created a magical Christmas time. Not just for Chelsea, but because of Chelsea. Christmas had become, not just for the child in their life, but for themselves. Celeste called it their ‘shining bubble’.

“Okay, I’ll stop. You’re right, honey. You are grown up now - well kind of grown up - and you have other more important things to learn about life. I guess I just miss all the fun we’ve had every year. Is there anything you miss?”

“Well, I’m in a hurry but one thing I miss is driving around with you and mom looking at Christmas lights and singing carols. Can we do that tonight? Gotta go now, dad. Love you, love you. ‘Bye’.”

“Chelsea, you’re forgetting your skates!”

“OMG!  Thanks dad!  Love you!”

The cold blast of air from the back door being flung open, and the sudden warmth again as it slammed felt good. It felt like home with a little bit of teenage Christmas.

“We all have an old knot in the heart that we wish to untie.”

~ Michael Ondaatje,  The Cat’s

Author's note: Edited February 25, 2024

Winter Solstice

The earth tilts from the sun

Days have fallen ever short 

Gardens rest quietly

Roots nestle in cold creativity 

Gentle regrowth of light begins 

“Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; 

winter alone reminds us of the human condition.” 

~ Mignon McLaughlin

Messages ~ 1

Anxiety strikes -

No 

Anxiety creeps

Slipping under smooth skin

Slithering into hearts, and mind

Until, with full force

Anxiety strikes

Squashing love and fun of Christmas joy

Slowly a wall goes up

What is this creep that

plugs on while sludge grows thicker

~ tiredness, exhaustion …………

Stop.

Before anxiety strikes.

Be creative for your life.

Listen to tired exhaustion.

Settle into a special time to rest.

The body has messages.

Errands will wait.

Anxiety does not.

Arise and move forward with grace and a smile.

Joy and laughter are waiting on the other side.

“Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any man, 

but coaxed down-stairs one step at a time.”

~ Mark Twain

Ode to Chaos

There will always be chaos

in a spot of each room

like wee plants rooted to grow.

For each bit of chaos

is seed for new things, 

exciting surprises you know

There was a time in this humble home

when chaos was totally banned ~

shunned as an unholy mess!

‘til out of the chaos came an idea

for the value of chaos to be seen

in creations of artistic ~ or dining ~ success

In our heads, in our hearts

where chaos floats free

our thoughts sadly tangled with woe

let the seeds of this mess

settle and rest

creating peace and ease in our soul.

“There was beauty in chaos, she’d just never known it before.”

~ Amanda Linsmeier, Beach Glass & Other Broken Things

Grandma's Advice

It was a saying certain my grandma shared

from a shy needle point panel hung on the wall

that always clears any cluttered space

creates wee openings through bricks of time

spaces flow rather than jigs, jogs and jags 'til

standing still slowly 

turning my gaze to side-front-side

moving forward with calmed wisdom 

for beneath the surface of any life 

fabric tears and frays

showing only a shining facade

fading and thinning slowly from above 

leaving tiny gaps prey to the sharp edges of

technology that has reshaped this world

leaving emotions unchanged yet

in a world running so much faster and more frantic

with rapidly quick solutions for tangled problems

and therein lies the value of my Grandma’s advice.

“The Hurrier I go the Behinder I get.”

~  Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Secret Passages

There is something satisfying about being with family at holiday time or any time

unconditional love from families that know us ~

wrapping each other in invisible cloaks 

soft, warm and comfortable 

finding secret passages past childhood rivalries tempered by shifting, growing maturity ~

stitching unfortunate fraying tears 

to create newness and love 

while learning how to live

growing and dancing from one family to another 

stumbling through new dance steps or running headlong into expectations 

accepting bumps and bruises, 

listening to joyful exclamations or broken hearts

drying tears and sharing laughter

stepping away when only silence will do 

all with the grace, laughter and love that only a family knows.

“Life makes fools of all of us sooner or later. But keep your sense of humour 

and you’ll at least be able to take your humiliations with some measure of 

grace. In the end, you know, its our own expectations that crush us.”

~ Paul Murray,  Skippy Dies

Out of the Darkness

It seems odd to write about grief in December when joy and cheer and gaiety are grand expectations ~

even though we all know of snaking currents and wild rogue storms

   when grief shares space with anger 

     when guilt of feeling angry in the face 

of a loved one lost and the beauty of the world around us 

settles into the limbo of numbness. 

Oh the numbness and lethargy that is deep, deep grief - 

darkened and black feelings piling more guilt 

leaving an acrid sour taste flavouring the very air that we breathe. 

So we go outside our homes, 

   outside ourselves,  

       outside our pain  

to spend, to drink, to party, to fight and maybe even get lost in holy ritual without spirit just to feel. 

Something. 

Anything. 

Desperate for even a taste of the joy others seem to be feeling 

until at the end of each of the twelve days of Christmas we fall 

exhausted into our beds and sleep the restless sleep of a grief stricken soul.

When morning comes we can breathe again for another day. 

Breathe the air of the world outside our heads 

pulling fresh breaths to surround our heart  to keep them  from breaking completely, 

breathe in the love we feel from those we share life with, 

feeling - feeling - kisses and hugs and hands and flesh against flesh 

so we know we are alive 

and that grieving is not about the person that is no longer in our midst 

but about the loss that cuts our souls to the very quick of living. 

But our souls are protected by fragile walls of 

  our spirits, 

    our hopes, 

      our dreams and 

        our very resilience and will to live. 

If we turn away from all connection with life and living 

standing frozen in a vast sea of stagnant water 

surrounded by grasses, weeds and a tangle of roots and debris 

at our feet, around our legs that threaten

we flail and struggle without gaining purchase on solid ground that will come when we relax into the weeds, 

let go of the struggle and 

with our ragged breaths and with our aching hands 

we slowly begin 

  To feel. 

     To recreate our lives

Swaying gently with the unwelcome current

embracing sadness and grief

letting anger slink away

until the water clears

cleansed with the tears of our grief.

And so I write about grief at Christmas 

for it is a time of grief and loss, joy and growth.

“Only people who are capable of loving strongly 

can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of 

loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them.”

~  Leo Tolstoy