There is an 8 ft. branch beside our front door, with no tree close enough to have dropped it. That is because this is no ordinary branch. It used to be an ordinary branch, but now it is a dragon named Cursed waiting patiently for her rider to return. Rena is eight now, and I hope she never outgrows her enchantment. It is exactly what I am striving to recapture.
“I can hear you, Great Storm, but I must not go out to you,” my daughter replied to the howling wind outside, “for there is fears I might die beyond your winds.” You see? A scary thing, rearranged into a poem, is less so.
She stopped and stared at me as soon as the words left her mouth. “Mommy, that was a good poem! Don’t you think?” It was. I asked if I could use it, and she was delighted. Know the worth of your own work.
I had just worked up to a half hour yoga flow almost daily, after a year and a half of spotty practice, when I injured my back. A month of rest, chiropractic care and stretches saw me ready to begin again at the very beginning, a simple Sun Salutation A. Two weeks of burning muscle protests, tightness and frustration later and I can flow easily through that first series of poses. I’m ready now to advance to Sun Salutation B. Again. I can find satisfaction in small accomplishments.
Schedule should be a four-letter word. But then…I’ve never minded swearing, so that’s really no excuse.
Writing letters, to myself, to the difficult people in my life, or those I still need to let go of, will be my way to clear my mental and emotional space before the solstice, before the light begins to return. This is my intention.
It is good to spend a few moments a day in pure bliss: cuddling a tiny rabbit or a big one, delighting in the softness and purr of a sleepy cat, creamy hot tea and a good book, a really good hug, a pile of girls and blankets and books on the couch, Christmas lights in the snow and moon glow, a scented candle in the dark, a favorite movie, a walk in the woods, sun on my face.
Candles. Candles for setting intentions. Intentions for a healthier, more balanced, and connected, magical life. Magic, like moonlight, for mystery and enchantment. Mystery and enchantment to nourish and heal my girlish romantic soul. I do this for the child I was. I do this for me.
My daughter’s face, so intent, lighting a match, setting the match to the wick, blowing it out before it burns her fingers, looking up to me in delight. “I did it!” You did, all by yourself, because you can.
Sleep as a way to begin the day. Evening to morning to evening again.Starting the day with sleep prioritizes rest. Rest for healing. It is good.
Reparenting myself means wrestling on the bed with my five-year-old. It means pillow fights and tickling matches and swatting each other with blankets. When her feelings get SO BIG the only way to manage them is through safe physical altercation, through aggression channeled in an acceptable way. “All my stubbornness and all your fire,” her daddy says. My fire…directed back at me in the indomitable form of one small, explosive, formidably determined girl. I wonder what I might have been if my parents had wrestled me instead of spanking.
The holidays can mean whatever I want them to mean, and include any rituals and traditions that hold meaning for me and my family. Any rituals or traditions that no longer hold meaning for us need not be practiced. It is that simple.
Three Burning Bushes blaze with bright red berries this time of year, one of them nearly obscuring Rena’s bedroom window. There is a cardinal who particularly loves that bush and that window, and spends an inordinate amount of time trying to flutter through it. Rena has named him, Robin. Robin is a good name for a cardinal. Every year the girls and I string popcorn for the birds, though my honey calls it a bird trap for the cat. This year we will also make little cakes of birdseed and hang them (out of the cat’s reach) on the bushes most frequented by the feathered dwellers of our patch of land, especially Robin. In this way we will give back to the land in celebration of the solstice. It is a new tradition.
Every year we celebrate Christmas as a family by roasting a ham and frying latkahs, an amalgamation of his family’s tradition and mine. We call it our “heathen feast” which always makes me smile. Ham and latkahs, by the way, were absolutely made to go together…heretical though it may be. Today I cooked Macintosh apples in chai tea to go with them. Mmmmmm…I cannot wait.
It is time to write our family Christmas newsletter again. How will I ever begin to encapsulate 2022 in a two-page printed letter?
The wind is roaring outside, I can almost feel our fuel bill adding up with each gust. Time to get out the environmentally unfriendly sheets of thin plastic and seal our crappier windows for the season. I wonder if I can possibly reuse them this time? I feel the need to apologize in advance.
Homemade gifts are both meaningful, and usually less expensive. I have a lot of homemade gifts planned for this year. Maybe too many? How to navigate the holidays without stress…???
I’m not sure I can attend the candlelight Christmas Eve service that we go to every year with my parents. The church is beautiful, of course. The music is heavenly. But I cannot bear to hear the story of personal hardship and triumph of a teenage, pregnant, unwed brown girl be regurgitated by a racist, chauvinistic, misogynistic, privileged white man for his own personal gain and to fulfill his own agenda. The irony is too painfully familiar.
May the following weeks bring just enough snow for sledding, snow people and snowball fights, that we can justify warming up again with peppermint hot chocolate, spicy mochas, and milk tea. ‘Tis the season.
Christmas will mean our final (please, God!) litter of baby rabbits will be old enough to move on to their own homes and out of ours. It will be a hard lesson in giving and letting go.
A new month of the Year Of Small Changes challenge: yoga every day; time alone every week, and making sure I get enough sleep; practicing being enough; following my magic back to an enchanted life; and now…flow. Finding a way it can all fit together. Finding my balance. May it be.
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Hey, plastic sheets are environmentally friendly, if they reduce the fuel use below the amount of petroleum that is used to make the plastic :P