Saturday, November 26, 2016

Day story


Outside my window, shades of white and brown. Overcast sky. Bare trees. Leaves spread out across the lawn. Shane is wearing his wool plaid jacket, winterizing things that need winterizing, and packing up the last of summer things.

Giving thanks for leftovers. Blankets to wrap up in. Shoes on my feet. A thankful banner hangs in the dining room window while white lights trim the living room window. The tree is up and decorated with the girls' short lifetime of ornaments. We had a fire going last night. But today, the rooms are cold. The heater clicks on to let me know that the bottom is reached.

In the school room, Erin puts together the last of a Thanksgiving craft. She is full of thoughts and sweet chatter, and I find myself smiling and grateful for her light heart.

This: "I wonder what the world would be like without any emails. Don't you?"
And this: last night upon the unveiling of the Fisher Price nativity scene with the stable that plays "Away in a Manger" ... "That song never gets old!" she said. She loves Christmas.

From the kitchen, boxed mac and cheese for the kids for lunch. I ate a cold slice of pumpkin cheesecake. Leftovers to warm when my man comes back inside. And soup, for me.

I don't ever want to forget to number my days. Each one grows more precious than the last. I listened to one man's sad reflections of dreams never pursued, a lack of identity or worth--what he could have been. I think long on Grandma Jane, and cherish all the more this mother to the son who is my husband. I am grateful for the love line that brought him here. We prepare our hearts for goodbye, and goodbyes not said. This season grows colder.

I am reading "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens, and I linger longer in "Little Women." Other books in the stack, waiting. A rush of advent pushing against the calendar frames.

I am hearing the girls clanking forks against bowls of hot mac and cheese. They talk to each other and I can't hear their words. Erin turned music on. Our Jesus tunes remind me of eternity.

Around the house, a quiet pause. Former days full of thanksgiving and merriment, now blanketed with somber sorrow of life gone. We all think of losses this year and losses to come, and they feel heavy and cold. Rest in peace, sweet Jane.

A view of my favorite things:

My family.
Linda and Dad

Their  happiness.

My man and best friend.

At the table, the cloth and holiday dishes to pack away from the dining room. Memories warm and fresh from just the other day. Shane and I share a meal space, and he is back outside, and I sit again typing. Now, hot tea in a mug. Now, a fire started in the school room stove.

On, on.

In sweet loving memory of a dear mother, and our Grandma Jane.  August 1933-November 2016.

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