My school district is infamous for never calling a snow day. Perhaps there is some logical reason we never have one even when in every direction other schools have cancelled, but I’m not privy to any reason beyond yankee pride. Thankfully, students and teachers alike miraculously make it despite the scary road conditions or the below freezing temps. But yesterday school was called, and it felt like a gift for sure. No rising in the dark, no trying to figure out how to maneuver out of the snowdrifts before our plow guy does his job, no slippery slide hoping to stay on the road, just me in my pj’s for hours sipping tea and watching the white stuff fall fast and heavy. Been living in a snow globe for months on end but today felt like a peek into a wondrous winter wonderland.
These last weeks I have kept close to home, venturing to work and back with little else filling my days or nights. Mostly because I have been battling one of those winter colds, (and finally winning) but also because the roads have been icy, and getting back to our cozy world seems smart and safe and more important than anything. On this schedule I have gotten home while it’s still light, so a slow meandering stroll to take in the forest and field is a must do.
Not sure why specifically but I guess it’s the whole stinking pot of shit news that’s got me remembering icons. The great ones, who touch down for short snippets of time to do good for the planet. You know the type, those who cure, not infect. Not as almighty as the Christ or as grandiose as an übermensch, but ordinary folks who strive and march and work tirelessly for the betterment of other ordinary folks. I don’t know if those people just don’t make the headlines anymore or can’t yell over the frenzied hype, but I am desperate for their comfort, their strength and their vision. Desperate for those who can lead us out of the status quo state of collusion, corruption and chaos.
You say all your holiday lights and decorations are repacked and tucked away in the attic, and you add, you have returned to life as normal, but I’m still lingering over the gifts that keep me feeling like life is a wonderful celebration and not just a twisted complicated set of lies (or half truths or mostly falsehoods or what ever you call the untruths we have become accustomed to) told by Trump. This week, while the border wall lies mount higher than the proposed wall itself, I especially need to count my gifts, stay focused on what I can control, look up and say thank you to a pretty sunset spied on an afternoon run, and trust, yes trust that the goodness of the good will prevail over those aging white suits frantic to return to a world where their privilege was a propped up principal granted regardless of their bad bad behavior, their criminal behavior, that passed as acceptable for centuries. Ignore them and their willingness to surrender truth I tell myself, and trust that the newbies in Congress will put aside this old order and “impeach the motherfucker.”
Before 2018 fades into the dust, I decided to trip back through Nine Cent Girl to rediscover what a fabulous year it truly was for me. Travel loomed large this past year, as did love with the family and outdoors, and having fun with fashion. Yes to questioning life. I still lend advice on just about everything in post after post, perhaps rather lavishly, but in all honesty, I do so for myself as well as all of you. I wrote this retrospective post for those of you who may have missed a weekly entry or two last year, or, just in case you’d like to revisit. Ready? Let’s do this wearing a splashy pink wig, and glasses that reflect the world back right back to you, as I wore for: “A Light Exists in Spring.”
In 2008 I printed, in duplicate, what I thought a finalized draft of my novel Crazy String, which I spent over a year writing. With all my naive surety I mailed my manuscript to the multitudes, and in what seemed like an instant dream-come-true signed an exclusive contract with a NYC Fifth Ave big-shot editor. In the spirit of holiday days, I will simply state, that 18 months later, we parted ways, headed out opposite doors. Me deflated, contract not renewed, sans publisher, but multiple drafts deeper into story through blood, sweat, and tears. Life lesson 101: dreams can be fleeting.
Wonder. Unwind. Dance. Do nothing. Advice for the holidays once again. Love to all my sweets, xxoo
Not sure what crazy fun you’re planning for your holiday weekend or week or day but my list is growing into a steady passion of joyful dreamy moments cascading in my mind as I drive back and forth to work. My biggest hope? Time to recover from the hustle and bustle. Time to not do anything that I have to. Now that sounds like a Happy Holiday!
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