I should be knitting, or working on an embroidery project, or doing laundry, or wrapping presents, or making beds, or prepping dinner, or any other thing on my to do list, but I don’t feel like it. And while I don’t really have any “things” to share with you, I do feel like being here, so I guess I’ll ramble.
We’re watching Christmas movies (we’ve watched Home Alone twice already) and working on Christmas presents and I’m wondering where the month of November went because it was Halloween, I blinked, it was Thanksgiving, and tomorrow is already December.
Our Thanksgiving was made up of part of our family – some having other plans, some in other states. I laughed a lot and cried a little. We made two pies with two different types of pumpkin and held a taste test. Ate too much and took a walk in the dark wearing a flannel nightgown and leggings commenting on the neighborhood lights. The cold against my cheeks felt like childhood.
Our tree is up. The “real garland” and porch pots and lights decorate the front porch, but the yard is bare and green. The nutcrackers sit atop the bookcases and candles are scattered for extra cozy light, but the nativities and stockings and garlands are still tucked away. I love the giving and warmth and light of this season. I hate the consumerism and forced cheer and too muchness of it.
I needed a new pair of jeans – my body (very) slowly changing from 2020 year of sourdough to 2021 year of Peloton – so I bought a pair of “mom jeans”. I am delighted by them. I also ordered myself a pair of Bass loafers, and pout every time I get an email notifying me of the extended backorder. Fourteen year old me and 43 year old me have a truce brought about by taste and budget. V walks down the stairs in 501’s, Docs, and an oversized sweater, while the mirror reminds me of my additional 29 years of wisdom. V and I laugh in shock when Spotify plays a song we both know and like. “How do you know this?” we say at the same time. (They learned it in an IG reel, I Shazam’d it after hearing it in a television show, the generational differences bridged, but still apparent.)
I feel in limbo. I grieve – mistakes I have made, mistakes others made that broke pieces of me, and whole list of things I wanted, didn’t get, or can’t have. I have a list of things I wish I could do again. Differently. Or the same but with more attention paid. I am the happiest I have been in years. I have lines drawn up around me – lines that feel less like a wall and more like a bubble. I wish I had always had this bubble. I am jealous of people who knew how to create one at a much younger age, who didn’t need to fumble and stumble nearly as often. I am full of all this happy and sad and jealous and content and I don’t know how to hold it so it spills over and runs down my cheeks. I wonder at how a few months ago everything felt raw and hard and now everything feels raw and soft.
This my life right now. Except it isn’t, really. My life is actually more like buying groceries, cheering in stands, nagging about homework, transportation logistics, and staying up too late to be getting up so early. (No one tells you how much the teenage years mimic the baby years in terms of worry and exhaustion or if they do, you don’t know enough to pay attention.)
Thanks for letting me come here and share it with you. I hope you are well.