Today, all vestiges of Christmas are being taken down and stored. Little Christmas trees that I made, that I loved making and have enjoyed having around, now move me backward.
And I want to move forward.
I hope you want to, too.
The month of December has been a grand time to remember, reminisce, and tread water. I love to tread water in the pool, but can only do so for a set amount of time in my life.
Before I got up this morning, from my own bed, I lay in bed thinking.
That is my favorite time of day, with all of its possibilities and a less cluttered mind. It is a dreamy time, but one were the dreams are buds of things that I want to do, things I want to learn and plans of things to make.
My routine is to get up, walk past the windows along the back side of they house and open them so the morning light can make its appearance when it decides to rise. There is a small lamp in the corner of the kitchen that I turn on. I turn on a wax melter and push the lever down on my water pot, turn an overhead light on, go to the tea cupboard and get my large cup ready for the off the boil water.
While I am waiting for that, I see what is on the counter and organize it, sometimes clean the stove, (I love my stove to be clean), and let Winston outside.
After my tea is poured, I grab the cup, walk to my office with Winston, give him some treats and rub him and do Eskimo kisses with him. I open the blinds in my office and look at the color of the sky. It used to be wide open, but now, houses are part of my vision.
And then I check a couple of things on the computer and begin writing.
I watch the neighbors get their kids off to the school bus. I listen to cars and trucks start their engines and see them pull out of their drives, heading to work in Charlotte and York, and in between.
This is “neighborhood living.”
Last night we pulled in about 5:15. The streets were alive with activity. It was noisy as a work new was grinding and cutting out parts of the curb. They are replacing chipped pieces and getting our street ready for the final layer of pavement, signifying that construction is finished.
Neighbors were out watching the kids riding their electric scooters that many had gotten for Christmas, so I walked over to talk.
It was nice to hear the “Welcome home,” from several.
We chit-chatted for a couple of minutes.
Then, I went back in the house to begin the fun job of unpacking.
I needed the welcomes and the chit chat.
Remember when you missed school for a few days and were off-filet about returning?
That is how I felt coming home.
We live between two worlds. South Carolina and Ohio. Being in Ohio for nearly a week, and with family, is wonderful, but it also discombobulates me. It is one of life’s mental and physical juggling acts.
And having my head steeped in Norwoodiana, in December, is like a bit of a time warp. I enjoy doing it, but when it is over, I am like a dog sho has been given a bath and twitches and shakes and goes back and forth to get rid of the water.
My mind and life have to get into the place to move forward.
And that is where I am today. Ready, willing and able to create new life.
I was thinking ahead, yesterday, in the car. The landscape was a winter monotone, and lovely. It was peaceful and with no expectations of having to feel gleeful. It was mellow and a bit melancholy, which is how I felt, especially after hearing about Carrie Fisher.
I knew she was going to die. I’d read about what happened and the length of time it took the EMT’s to get a pulse back. No matter that her brother said she was stable, I knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.
Her death, at age 60, threw me. I know about some of the struggles she has had in her life. I also know that she had a sense of humor that i enjoyed. Her struggle with bipolar endeared her to me, because, let’s just say, I love some people dearly, who suffer form that illness. And people with bipolar, do suffer. And those around them suffer with them.
Oh, here is another cheery thought. Recently, we watched a show on Jackie Kennedy. I didn’t realize that she died at 64.
I am 64.
She was a larger than life person, and she died at 64.
Both of those deaths, and others of late, have made me intently aware of the ticking clock, the sands through the hourglass, the long shadows, or however you describe the passing of time.
In the “A Very Norwood Christmas,” group that just ended, we reminisce a lot. I don’t recall much talk of the future. Maybe that is because most of us have more days behind us than in front of us, realize that an aging future is different from a future where you look forward to getting a driver’s license or turning 21.
There is one thought that I had that makes my stomach turn. I had it a couple of months ago. It is most likely that I will not see my grandchildren get married.
It isn’t a poor me, thing. It is simply that the numbers don’t add up well. I have to acknowledge that and then, get on with things.
But I have this moment. I, hopefully, have today. I wonder if Carrie Fisher thought that she’d have today, or that day she had the heart attack?
Yet, although it doesn’t seem like it, i am excited. I am glad to hear the whir of the grinder outside, a neighbor dragon a garbage can, and seeing the pink come up on the horizon.
Moment by moment, we live. And I want to keep it that way … until I die.