Sunday, December 21, 2014

This Is Our Winter Solstice, So Far

We had to make some big changes to our Winter Solstice plans, a cancellation, actually. No, we didn't cancel the solstice! We cancelled our plans to celebrate Winter Solstice with our friends. No big fire with a ring of straw bales. No Swedish meatballs, and potatoes. And no kitchen full of friends, hugs, laughter, cheer. The disappointment is keen. We've been making a Viking inspired tent. It's huge. We wanted to recreate The Playa in gingerbread, then burn the Gingerbread Man! For a year I have been smiling every time I thought of our past celebrations, and feeling a happy buzz when I though about this year's celebration. I've come to think of this night as a thank you, a gesture of affection for our friends and family, our holiday gift, and have found that the gift is immediately returned, ten fold, in the kindness and company of our guests.


Feeling the loss of our special occasion, feeling concerned for Geoff... {he's recovering from heart surgery, and suffering some setbacks. We stay quiet on such subjects, perhaps hoping we can make big matters small,} I picked up my camera to try and capture moments in this day, because in spite of our disappointment, in spite of our worries, I found comfort in the activity around me, in our space. Maria, in front of the computer listening to music and dancing. William making a latke breakfast for us. Alex and Max immersed in conversation, plans, reflections, silliness. Mister Foo, being Mister Foo. Our tree is decorated, and it looks darling. Perfect for us. Maria and I made loads and loads of cinnamon and applesauce ornaments... to share with our party guests. And we have loads and loads of bourbon pecan cakes, because we were going to share those, too. Alex with a Dremel. The bird I embroidered while sitting with Diana, sipping tea. Things, sounds, smells, sights, and activities, home. Our comforting, good home. Good things, great things happen here. Geoff has been bringing this relic, an old robot he found, back to life. It's his coping activity. It feels as though a silent prayer is moving through our home, and beneath the discomforts, I feel a steady current of hope, of ease, of assurance that everything will be okay.

{I hope our friends know how dear their messages are to us... the offers of help, the concern, the well wishes. I am trying to answer each one, because they are so helpful, so thoughtful. I am eager to accept all of the prayers, and acknowledge that sometimes we need to let help come. Perhaps, big matters can be made small, when we share the burden, when we accept support.}

As for those ornaments, and the bourbon pecan cakes... we may miss this party, but we really must have a do-over, and share our gifts. Winter is here, and we need the light and cheer of friends!


Anna Banana said...

Big hugz.

Sylvia said...

Happy Solstice and Happy Holidays to you and your family. Extra good thoughts coming your way for Geoff. I remember when my husband had heart surgery almost twenty years ago, one of our cats really bonded with him during recuperation. Twinkling lights shine from our home to yours.

PamKittyMorning said...

thinking of you xo

Anonymous said...

I'm sorry that your plans didn't work out. It sounds like a very good time. We've never had a Winter Solstice party. I do well to get it all together for Christmas. I guess our family wasn't big into celebrating solstices and equinoxes. Being Baptist, it probably would have freaked my mother out. :)

Here's hoping and praying that good things will eclipse the missing of the party. Your family is beautiful.

nikkipolani said...

Well, you are all coping as well as you might, even Geoff. We do pray for his complete recovery and that you will celebrate Christmas with all the more wonder and joy.

Unknown said...

I hope Geoff is doing better. Sometimes a quite day at home is really what is needed, despite the feeling of missing out. Your home sounds lovely. Me and the girls made those cinnamon ornaments this year too!