I hope all the Fringelings and anyone visiting Fringeland is having a lovely holiday season.
I think many of us have that tradition. That one tradition that doesn’t have anything to do with gifts or how good the year was or wasn’t, it just symbolizes how you and yours see the holidays. In our house it’s Christmas French Toast. I make the custard and slice the bread on Christmas Eve, set it all to soak overnight in the fridge, to be popped into the oven and baked while we open gifts in the morning. Regardless of individual tastes, allergies, dietary restrictions, we all eat it, we all like it, and no matter what else I include for breakfast I make enough to feed a battalion. Something about is the perfect blend of comfort food and special occasion. Some years we have several visitors in the early part of the day and it all goes, other years we have leftovers for the next couple of days.
Over the past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about last year at this time. I was still finishing up Astonishing. I made New Year’s resolutions. I was hopeful. I spend a lot of time–and have posted about it several times– thinking about hope vs acceptance. I don’t think the two can be separated, they’re a pair, they balance each other. This year, today, I’m more about acceptance. Continuing to work on finding peace within balance.
I began Mrs Fringe from hope. Hope of connecting, hope of writing regularly. Over the past year, I’ve expanded the blog to include some of my fiction (links to pages above). Still hope, but also acceptance of this is where I am, and where, for now, I have readers. Thank you.
I’ve also been indulging in my other pre-New Years tradition. Panic. This was an expensive year, moving to the larger apartment. I am grateful, every day, that we were able to do this, that we have more space, that I’m sitting and writing this at my own desk! and of course, the unnatural love and appreciation I have for the dishwasher. But the money seemed to fly off the balcony, chasing the blue jay who pops over to the balcony each morning for a quick hello. He’s yet to stay long enough for me to snap a photo. I turn back with the camera, and am left swearing he was just there. Much like looking into my empty wallet.
Christmas morning I was awake early. I’d say too early, but it wasn’t because it gave me an hour to sit with these.
The book and the mug were gifted by friends (both of whom I met online) who’ve spent time with my family and in my home, who know me well enough to give me this peaceful hour of feeling acceptance is a fine place to be. A gift I received from another wonderful friend the day before Christmas Eve: hope. And faith. By choice or by circumstance, I know many who live and live well without relatives, but I don’t know any who live well without friends.
And because my glass box is my ultimate symbol of hope, Husband and Art Child braved the traffic and got me a few new underwater friends.
I’ll be home on New Year’s Eve. Too many drunk people roaming the streets and cheering make me nervous. That isn’t to say it won’t be an exciting evening. Husband has the day/evening off from work, Man Child will be returning from his holiday travels–stepping off a thirty hour train ride–Nerd Child will be recovering from oral surgery, and Art Child will be thrilled to have both of her brothers home at once, even if they’re snoring the evening away. Sounds perfect to me.
So no resolutions for me this year, other than to continue trying to find that balance.
I’m wishing all of you peace for the New Year.