an ending

I'm not going to do a retrospective. This year was full of growing pains and I'm not quite sorry to have reached its end. But ah, there's another year tomorrow. Fresh, clean, new. Give and forgive. Pray and then move. 

Party riotously, my friends. Enjoy the sparkle, and remember where you've been. 

And tomorrow? 

the gift

Sometime around fifteen, I was at a party. It hadn't really picked up yet; everyone was bored, leaning against the walls, muttering and sighing. Someone spoke up: "I wish they'd just get here already." The rest of the wall-huggers murmured assent. I leaned over to my friend and said softly, sarcastically, "Man, I wish people said that about me!" He turned and laughed and said, "Oh, believe me, we do."

I hope your Christmas was jubilant, if you celebrated, and that you got some sweet and exciting presents. But even more, I hope that somebody reminded you how much you matter, how much you're loved, and how indelible you are.

Love.

the same song, again and again

My current driving jam.

Tell me what the matter is, little man
I have a pretty face and I wear a nice dress
Why can't I keep you?

Wild Belle—Keep You

Spinach Salad, 9 o'clock

I've been in a bad frame of mind for the last week or so, the kind of deal where I lie awake at night worrying that I'll fail calculus and never find love.
 It's just finals. I have to keep reminding myself of that. I'm stressed and wound tight and not everything I tell myself late at night is the truth.
It's hard, though. I'm dealing as best I can. Lots of oranges, lots of hot chocolate. Flannel every day. In a week finals will be over and Christmas will be on its heels, but for now I am making a salad in this dim kitchen and trying to keep some perspective.

ice song

I'm in the library at school, in an armchair by the rear window, waiting out a cancelled class. The ice storm yesterday left the world glazed, and I forgot my camera so I'm trying to focus it in words. Out the window, the tree-covered hills are frosted and dusted, blossoming with powdered-sugar blooms in a frozen wave of still music. The pine trees at the base are white on green, peppermint starbursts in stiff overcoats. The mist sits like a winter scarf on the hunched shoulders of the mountains, covering everything and blurring the divide between the sky and the hills. In the far corner, the stately brick school building is nearly hidden, iced the same color as the trees and nestled within them. Creation hums with beauty. 

It's raining now. But inside, the library is quieter than it has been all semester. I guess people stayed home, like I should have. But I'm glad to see this. I'm glad for the window and the poetry and the quiet. I've been given a gift.

I'd give about anything to hear that song again

"That's the first time I noticed
That I was slowly
But surely
Coming back together."

The meaning of this song to me has changed since I first heard it. Now it's quiet humming across the parking lot, Friday evening, orange setting sun. Freedom.
My heart is my own.

Falling in Love with your Best Friend - Paul Baribeau

12.4.13