Our celebration is over, thank you, HP. The house is all jollied up with red and white flowers, candles, crisp white tablecloth, little touches of red everywhere. The wreath was a gift from my son, and it is artificial, which is wonderful because I can use it over and over, and it is such a good one I will love having it on my door year after year. Our dinner was fine. One moment of OMG happened when I was trying to crisp up the ciabata bread and my daughter unlocked the mystery of the broiler, which has not seen the light of day lo these seven years, and was festooned with dog hair on the lid. And I thought I got the last of that when I dusted the ceiling fan. Best laid plans, busted again. My favorite gift was the wedding album the kids gave me. They had one made for all the parents, sweet kids. Beautiful. Wondrous. Precious. And then there are the Uggs, the real thing, all cozy and fuzzy and warm. Money from my parents means some shopping is coming up next week. Feeling really abundant. Then I went to the annual candle lighting service at the Center for Spiritual Living, where Rev. Edward told the Christmas story the way I believe it is meant to be understood, as a parable for the return of the light in the depth of darkness. It is, after all, winter solstice, when the days grow longer and the shadows shorter. We all filed up, very orderly, in the dim light, to light our candles and place them in the trays filled with salt, dedicating each to each person's innermost thoughts and yearnings. Mine was for my darling Boo, and for my father, though still physically present, really losing ground in being present in this world. Just a couple more days, like today and tomorrow, which is my 22nd sobriety birthday, and life can return to its normal, humdrum self in the little yellow house. Special gift to have it all cleaned to within an inch of its life and smelling so sweet, too. Many blessings in this weird little life I am leading here.
1 comment:
sounds like a wonderful day for you and family.
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