Two extremes of culinary effort for the pot luck “Santa Supper” tonight at the Neighborhood House.
Okay, I confess. I’m responsible for the Peeps. But I also brought a tossed green salad with pears, scallions, yellow peppers, dried cranberries and homemade croutons, so at least there was effort in one of my contributions.
Before dinner, we were treated to a performance of “Frosty the Snowman.”
After dinner we sang songs and waited and waited for Santa to arrive.
Everyone was super excited to see Santa, but 3 year old Johnny went back to thank Santa and give him a big hug. Then he went back a third time to talk with Santa about how much he liked his gift.
Good times in a small island town.
Three little words to describe how I have felt since the end of September. I can’t say there has been any one specific thing to cause me to hide away from life and people for the last three months, and I haven’t been a total hermit. I’ve shown up for things like craft shows and trunk shows, my mother’s unexpected trips to the E.R. and her increasing confusion with life. I’ve kept up with e-mails and writing articles, though I haven’t been so strong on the blogging. But through it all I have felt a profound sense of ennui. I feel like I’ve been living life as a part time job and it has blocked the flow of my happier, more creative energy.
I don’t think I have ever felt like this. I am not in the depths of depression, thank god, because I know all too well what that can feel like. I don’t feel the need or desire to escape life or these feelings with drugs or alcohol, an activity I perfected to a dangerous level in my 20’s and early 30’s. I don’t feel particularly angry about anything, and I don’t feel sick. I love my husband of 32 years and our grown kids are doing well.
It’s like I have been stuck in neutral, and can’t be bothered to be too bothered about it. There isn’t any angst to this, but it sure feels unnatural, empty. Perhaps it is my body’s way of restoring itself from some unknown psychic damage. It could be that I have actually forgotten how to rest, unless I am sick, and my body and mind have staged a coup.
Yesterday I felt the first glimmer of change; the return of the possible, as I walked on the beach at low tide. The day was clear, sunny, and finally the right kind of cold for December. At the end of our walk, Bruce headed home and I stayed at the beach noticing details like perfect salt circles left on rocks by the receding tide. I gave up taking photos when my camera battery died, and looked for rocks to inspire the next necklace design. As I got ready to head back to my house, a friend showed up at the top of the beach. She had come to throw rocks, out of frustration and the need to move, because she was feeling many of the same feelings I was. We talked about how weird these feelings were, and were able to offer each other the recognition and validation that helped us feel at least a little more connected to something. We walked up the road together, a little in awe of the timing of our meeting and our shared sense of having been “lost.” The moment was rarer than coincidence, it was a moment of grace.
Today I feel a hopeful little pinch of my true self returning. The three month tide has finally turned.