It’s here, that feeling of palpable magic brought in by the seasonal shift in weather.
The weather for me in Miami is the first cool breeze in nine months. Nine months since we’ve felt anything but sticky hot! Back home, at mom’s in the Northwest, yesterday marked the first snowfall, which blessedly arrived the day after her power was restored after being knocked out by freak storms a week earlier. She is grateful for heat. I am grateful for a chill.
Both the weather and the calendar say, “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day.”
As I flitted about town yesterday with my boys, delighted to squire them away from the tyranny of school, running errands and playgrounds, weaving paper corn husks, and cracking walnuts for mini Mayflowers, an arrow of time shot through my heart, connecting my young family where I am the mother to my old family where I was a child. Making pumpkin pie with Nana while standing on a stool, making pumpkin pie with Max and Jack tomorrow. The wind brushed small tears off my eyelashes before they fell, creating saltwater raindrops to land on someone else.
Life is sacred.
I rail against the consumerism and mindless busyness of the holiday season because of the importance of this arrow, shooting from our past, and nicking us as it hurtles towards a future too distant to see. This is our heritage. What an old fashioned word and idea that is!
It’s easy to take potshots at the pilgrims with the know-it-all snark that inspires likes these days. I watched the PBS documentary about pilgrims last night, and was
reminded educated about how much loss they had suffered before the famous feast. How their gratitude was born of immense grief. How little pomp was placed on the first Thanksgiving, only a brief paragraph in the annuals of history.
I don’t need to tell you how much grief we have in the world today. We could all use a respite, not a distraction. There’s a difference.
The pilgrims gathered family and invited friends to a large meal. They ate and played games for three days. Games! I never knew that part, but it makes sense. Play is as sacred as childhood.
Two weeks ago a few homes in our community put up their Christmas decorations. My seven year old asked me if we should stop and leave those families a note informing them that there was another holiday first. They are missing it!
“Yes!” I agreed, but I kept driving, not wanting to start that war.
I love Christmas! It’s magical in its own right. But right now my heart could use a reprieve, and I have three days of pie and games in front of me. It can wait.
I can wait.