Especially when my writing is so out of focus. The lack of precision, the raison de etre.
Well, I guess I have a reason for writing. A practice. A reminder. A way of helping my mind and my fingers to remember what to do.
This afternoon I cried when I realized, for the umpteenth time, I could not please or bring total satisfaction to everyone I love. I couldn't serve one without neglecting another. I couldn't care for a need without having to let go of a wish. I realized that I let a couple of people down, I neglected to get half prepared Christmas boxes mailed to people we love, I neglected calls to relatives and friends dearer to us than anything.
The big kids have to go back to big city and work and life tomorrow and we feel like we have barely started to Christmas. We had the mindset that we would have another week to find time to hike, to prepare Japanese food, to laugh and tell stories and make stuff.
To tell you the truth, we have had beyond wonderfully rich times together. Just not quite enough. And there are still hurting places for us over the holidays, dammit. And those places tend to ooze out around the edges every once in awhile. Not for longs. But I am learning to recognize it in my kids, after how many years?
Something inspired me to grab Maggie and Thomas and stream Julie and Julia on the tv tonight after my tears. The kids love Julia Child. They remember being woken at night by their dad and me laughing so loudly watching the vintage cooking shows. We watched. We laughed. Patrick and Nora joined us. I remembered the first time I saw it, in the Grandin Theater with my friends. My heart hurt a bit as I thought about friendships that were that now aren't, due to the passing of time, the miles, the worries of the world. And then we got busy watching the movie and were caught up in two worlds for a couple of hours.
I know that some people would suggest a family could not bond over screen time. But this time was rich for us this evening. We were inspired. And delighted. And we shared a moment, a story, that wove together into ours, as the kids definitely recognized the Queen of Sheba cake on the screen, hell, we just ate some of that leftover cake after leftover ham and turkey tonight. They recognized my cookbook, which is splattered around the edges, but not because I have cooked every recipe in it.Mostly just a sauce or two. Beef bourgignon, of course, Queen of Sheba, dozens of times.
It feels like a relief to write now. I think at some point, I got a bit of stage fright, when I realized others were reading my blog, and were having little tiny insights into my life. It was very frightening for this introvert. I had to run away for a time, let everyone disappear.
Why? It seems a great paradox. It is my choice to write in a public blog, rather than a yellow lined legal pad or journal. I do write in a journal, but not daily. I have one for private thoughts, hopes, confusions, prayers and wishes. It gets filled around the edges with recipes, dinner party menus, bakery lists, budgets, to do lists, kid calendars and garden maps.
The blog is a habit. A source of accountability in a weird way. And a way for the kids to check in on our life from afar. They like for me to write. As long as I am careful about how I write about them!
I wonder if I will find a reason for writing over the next couple of weeks as I discipline myself? Seems strange talking to myself via this laptop. Ding.
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