My dears...
I am finding it almost impossible to relax tonight.
Plans, thoughts, and lists are running through my brain at warp speed.

I spent 5 hours non-stop (well, with probably 20 minutes for lunch) sorting, folding, boxing, bagging, and tossing out things at my mom's old house today. Now, because I work really fast, 5 hours for me is like 8 hours for the average bear.

I am exhausted. (Somehow, I still managed to do yoga when I got home.)

And, we are about half-way through. Maybe more.

Tomorrow, I'm bringing my camera. I want to capture the residue of my mom's existence in this place (in better quality than the shoddy iphone picture above). After removing wall decorations and paintings in her bedroom, I noticed those empty spots that were untouched by the dust and nicotine that coat the walls. The shapes were fascinating--not stark lines, but almost like sketches in dust.

Wish me luck. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Tomorrow, the job will be done, and we can walk away from that house and those memories--what a relief!

I hope it will be as beautiful a drive as it was today--we have had so much rain that the moss is neon green, and there are waterfalls everywhere in the Gorge. And...everything is surrounded by snow-kissed hills. Simply beautiful.

I've started going to Meditation every Monday night.
It is a blessing...the opening of my heart, the relaxation of my body, the centering of my soul.
Tonight, my mom asked to go with me. At first I tried to put her off, but then I realized that I was being selfish. What was I afraid of? (There was nothing to be afraid of.)

As I sat there, singing along to my favorite chant, with my mom humming and tapping her feet alongside me, tears welled up in my eyes. Gratitude filled my chest. My mom is alive. My mom sat there beside me, eyes open, taking in every detail. My mom is alive.

That is my Christmas Miracle.

In a passage in tiny beautiful things, Cheryl Strayed is relaying an experience related to her own mother's passing:
"'It will never be okay,' a friend who lost her mom in her teens said to me a couple years ago. 'It will never be okay that our mothers are dead.'"

As I sat there, mother beside me, I realized something. For so long, I have thought of myself as the spitting image of my father. In many ways, I am.
But from my mother, I got:

Compassion
Anxiety
Creativity
Positivity
A ridiculous sense of humor
Openness
A sense of history

And so much more.

She almost didn't make it. She was so, so close. But by some miracle of miracles, my mom is alive (and thriving, I might add).

That is my Christmas Miracle.

Christmas is here.
I didn't know if it would make it, to be honest.
And since we're being honest, a big part of me just wanted to skip over it altogether.

The thing is, I LOVE Christmas. It is my favorite holiday, so to not feel it in my chest, in my bones, in my smile...well, there's no words for that.

But, life takes over sometimes and you just have to make the best of it.
I am going to take a cue from one of my favorite gals and makers, Miss JJ Papke of Rosy Revolver, and I'm going to be open with you. You, my readers, whoever you may be.

In October, my mom went into hospital with liver failure. There are extenuating circumstances, which I won't go into, but that phone call...that was one of the worst moments of my life, next to learning that my father had died. I was at school, and I crumbled, wailing. People came running. It took a few minutes to gather myself together, but I did. After I emailed professors, I left and drove two hours east to The Dalles.

Also, my husband was working in a remote area of California at the time. Great timing.

The following weeks saw plenty of ups and downs. I was only able to visit my mom once a week because of my work and school schedule. Thankfully, DW came home a couple of weeks into it, and my brother flew in from New York around Thanksgiving (what a God-send. He took care of so many things that I just couldn't).

My mom is now living with myself and my husband--a reality that I never guessed I'd be a part of. It has taken an immense amount of adjustment for everyone, but we're making the best of it. Now that school is over for the semester, I have a little more time to think, to listen, to take care of the necessities. To breathe.

In all of this, a part of me has re-awakened--the part of me that yearns for solitude, for quiet, for peace. I have been going to evening meditations here, and just rearranged our bedroom to allow for some yoga practice. Part of me wants to start going to church, but it scares me, so I haven't. I pray instead.

I've been reading this and this.
I've been listening to a lot of Bon Iver and Iron & Wine.
And soon, I will be taking many walks on my own, out in the forest, in the quiet.

I hope your holidays are bright and cheerful.
Merry Christmas, may it rest in your heart!

It's official.
The semester has ended.
I have bid goodbye to all my friends who will flee the NW in search of colder, brighter, more familiar places.
I cleaned.
I threw things away.
Then, I turned in my writing portfolio for the semester, and kicked back with Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed before work.

On my way to work, I drove a longer, winding road.
Words bubbled up inside of me.
I pulled over, and wrote my first poem in years.
(I'm talking like 10 years, people.)
It's short and sweet, and completely necessary.

And then, I dragged the kids that I nanny to the library and swiftly collected 11 books.
Some Mary Oliver.
Some Rilke.
Some Ann Patchett.
And a few others that have been recommended to me over the last year.
(Plus 2 that I picked up earlier this week.)
13 books. I hope I make it through them all.

There are changes, afoot, dears. I can feel them stirring within me.
There is more peace within my heart, more hope within my soul.
Poetry, meditation, yoga and hiking. Connecting with friends I have neglected.
Being there for people I care about, even if I think I can't.
Renewing interests in alternative 'sports' (aka, pool), and taking time out.
Difficult, but necessary, conversations.

Soon, I will update you all on the creations of this last semester.
It was full of beautiful, invigorating, uncomfortable, and infuriating growth.
It was incredible.

I hope your days are bright. Surely they will be after this one (how I love Winter Solstice).

Friends...
It has been a year.
A year of growth...
A year of hardship...
A year of joy, and unexpected pain.

I am grateful for it all, but especially, for my ability to have gratitude every single day. To look around myself and see the tiniest bits of beauty on the darkest of days. To know that I am loved and held up by countless friends and family. To be able to look past myself and help others in their time of need. To have a wonderful husband, and crazy kitties. To have talents that amaze even myself. And for all the little things in between, I am grateful.