A New Year

I’m sitting in my grandmother’s house listening to the heater vents blow.  I feel so appreciative of this sound.  I know it is surrounded by warm carpets and the art and knick knacks I’ve grown up around in short visits and dark spells of retreat.  These objects of family and warmth and history are more stable than any of the other physical places of “home”  I’d like to hang onto.  I have my family around me here. Now.   I have my love visiting from far away.  I’ve shown her  around my hometown and now feel ready to take off with her into a new adventure.

I’m appreciating memories and moments of love because there has been such darkness in my life this year.  As I sat with friends around a circle of candles in the darkness on Solstice eve, or stared into the depths of a fire in the woods on the night of, I thought about how tough this year has been.  My night has been my own.  I’m just wrestled with my head and heart so much this year.  Talking with my mom as I drove down the slick highway, I had to brake harder than I wanted to as I was lost in the punctuation of describing how much has changed for me.  I don’t see her much so she notices the big things that shift for me more than the small.  And she says she sees a difference too.