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.
sigh
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!
