Tag: gratitude

What did I do to mark the shortest day of the year?

I wrote a little and slept more than I meant to. Yesterday I got my Covid booster, and the only reaction I had was a sore arm. I also had a slight headache today, but I don’t think it was the vaccination. I think it’s our weird weather. We’re supposed to have a big plunge in temperature tomorrow (Thursday), and we’re hoping it won’t be as bad as the time in 2021 when we lost power and had a pipe burst and went without hot water for several days.

This month, a gift we bought ourselves is this pop-up greenhouse. We bought a lot of plants at the beginning of the summer even knowing we were headed into a drought. We felt like we’d have better luck with potted plants. We did get them through summer, and now we want to get them through any harsh days of winter. Tom moved the plants into their temporary home today. Tomorrow, he’ll add a heat source before the afternoon temp falls.

Tomorrow, we’ll also bring all the succulents from Aaron’s Garden inside to protect them from the freeze.

Meanwhile, Lindsey and Rhonda were here this past weekend, and Lindsey offered Tim a small greenhouse she had that would protect his plants during these wintry temperatures.

Today, I couldn’t help but think of another bitterly cold December night in Alabama many years ago. I rarely talk about my first husband/marriage, but not because it’s anything I’m ashamed of or because it was a terrible relationship. I was simply too young to get married when I did, and four years later, it was clear we wanted different futures. Any ending is painful, but I have nothing but good things to say about him. My family, young and old, loved him, and I loved his family.

I got out our wedding book today not so much because it’s the anniversary of our wedding day, but because I’ve been trying to remember the pattern of my “everyday” dishes from that time. No luck. I’d written down my china, crystal, and silver patterns, but not the one I was looking for. I sold the silver after the divorce, took the china and crystal because he didn’t want it (still have all that and often use it on holidays), and left those everyday dishes with him.

Lynne happened to call when I was trying to find the pattern online by its description. When I reminded her what it looked like, but I wasn’t sure if the similar pattern I found was mine, or if mine was an imitation, she asked, “Where did you register?” When I told her, she said, “If you registered there, you got the good stuff. Not a knockoff.” It’s nice to share a hometown with someone who can solve a mystery because she remembers businesses that may no longer even exist.

This is a picture of me with my bridesmaids, and here’s what’s cool to me about this photo. The matron of honor I was on the phone with today. My friend/college/graduate school roommate I was exchanging texts with today (she lives in another country; we have a long catch-up phone call planned for next week). Just a short walk away in Fairy Cottage, I visited my sister tonight. And the mother of my oldest nephew, I last texted with ten days ago. Only one of these women is someone I lost touch with–no reason at all except different lives going in different directions. A lot of years, a lot of living, a lot of losses and careers and events since this photo, and I still love them and am so grateful for the relationships that have endured and still hold an abundance of laughter, acceptance, support, and understanding.

My parents are deeply missed but are a part of every one of my days and a million memories.

Yesterday, my brother and I exchanged texts, and tonight when I was at Debby’s, the two of them were texting. We miss him. We hope the world will get a little saner so we can all be together again.

Considering just the history shown in these photos, I’ve been so blessed with family, including in-laws, nieces and nephews and grandnieces and grandnephews, and special friends I met through my siblings who stayed around through many changes, like Lisa and Geri, and the ones we miss, like Dottie and Connie.

I also exchanged emails with Pat today and I forgot to tell her that, as every Christmas, the hand towels she once embroidered for us are out in the guest bathroom.

Dachshunds on either side of a bell with holly. It’s like she knew many years later, I’d be living in a place we call Houndstooth Hall.

I have another friend from the old days who texted me earlier in the week. Even though she’s miserably sick with the flu, she wanted to tell me that a character on a show she’s watching reminds her of (young?) me. I hope she feels better soon.

Tonight, as the longest night of the year began, I improvised a new recipe for eggplant for Tom and me. I served it on the brightest, most mismatched dishes I could pull together, because I wanted the cheer of all that color.

Maybe cheer is the point of all these memories and expressions of gratitude. There have been times in my life when my losses were so great that I didn’t think I could keep breathing. I’ve done things I was deeply ashamed of, that filled me with such remorse that I felt unworthy of love and forgiveness. I’ve been so broke, and broken, that only the kindness of others helped me inch toward a better hour, a better day, any measurement of distance that might take me to a better place. I’ve lost friends in anger, in misunderstandings, in cruelties done to me. I’ve had to walk away from people I loved to save myself. And the worst–I’ve lost far too many people through the decades to death due to disease, accidents, and suicide.

There’s no perfect life. There’s no life without pain. But on one of the worst nights of my life, when I felt completely alone and worse, abandoned, I looked out at the dark night and thought, If I can just see the sun come up in the morning, I’ll be okay.

The sun did come up. Everything didn’t magically get better. All the problems and pain didn’t go away. But I’ve looked at every sunrise since as another chance to experience a range from barely hanging on to joyful.

I hope to appreciate another sunrise tomorrow, the first longer day after the solstice.

I hope that if these words ever find you in a bad moment, you, too, can draw strength from every good person, animal, memory, event, and natural beauty you’ve known and remind yourself the sun is still there and you will be okay.