I got home from my fantastic trip making music with Richard Weidlich and Bill Wells and was met by my husband and daughters at the airport. We stayed up late, late, late, sharing stories, teenagers being jerks, tales of driving cross country, work stories, and various other family member catch up. The next day we met up for lunch with family, and another story swap ensued. That night, I had a sweet party to attend. I brought my daughter, who after two weeks apart, I had glued myself to, and vice versa. I reveled in all the faces of the people who make theatre like I do, and enjoyed every minute of being with them all; enjoying the food, drink, and music, made extra special by the fact that my daughter chose to come with me.
So this morning, I’m a wreck! Everyone’s still asleep and I made some tea to sip while finishing holiday cards. In choosing a pen I saw a beautiful fountain that was my dad’s. A stab of the bittersweet beauty of time hit; making me keenly aware, (thanks Judaism) of time’s responsibility to run out. I took the time to find the ink to fill dad’s pen, and then I had to figure out how to fill it, but now I’m looping and curving along. Oh great, now I’m crying again. It’s a beautiful pen, black with gold edges and a marbly blue middle. His name is inscribed on the side in gold. I am absolutely certain that in letting these tears flow, I’ll have even greater joy in my life, content with the precious moments when I am with the people whom I love. The only trouble is in using a fountain pen, errant tears can melt down your entire note. Now there’s an invention, a holiday letter tear dam; for those who write with a fountain pen.
I am a wreck this time of year, and I am happy to say it. I am ready to cry at the drop of a hat. I cry thinking of the hope I have for peace in the world, and then I let if fly again when I read the stories that remind me how far we are from it. Thoughts of the coming year fill me with hope, thinking of those with whom I’ll share it. Then these thoughts are drowned out by my thoughts of the people with whom I will never share this physical plane again, my darling dad, of course, right off the bat.
Hope itself is a mighty good cry initiator. The hope to find my way in my art paves the way for me to be a thought-full woman, mother, wife, partner, and friend gets me choked up. The truth of recalling when I haven’t been those things brings a flood of tears, then they stem. The thought of giving myself grace on my quest of being, just being, brings the tears back, double.
I cry and I feel washed clean; a child is born, again and again. Bring on the tears; I’m softening into this second half of my life, descending slowly back into the earth.
Wow, that’s kind of a downer…or is it? Everyone’s a wreck this time of year, right? It seems so. I’ve run into grouchy people lately. Really grouchy. And I know, for a fact, that we are all achy break-y creatures. So, take your time, find some hope and have a good cry, on me!
Happy happy holidays to all, and here’s to finding each other sometime next year, and spending time together!