Solstice

I have never celebrated the Solstice in any sort of formal way. I am a Christian, and that means that my meaning for this time of year is different, and the solstice, while forming the impetus for choosing this time of year to celebrate, is very much subsumed in Christmas.

The first year, the year we buried Gabe, I was content to do so in the dark. Last year, I lived in the middle, and this year, I chose to live for tomorrow, and not yesterday.

Part of that living has meaning in finding the parts of life, the parts of the world that we interact with, that balance, precariously. It has meaning in finding the parts on the edge, the parts where the margins are thin. It is almost possible that pragmatic me is becoming more mystical. (But only almost).

I understand that there are parts of the world where the lines between heaven and earth, death and resurrection, birth and sacrifice are thinner. Yesterday was one of those days.

I had hoped to be more cheerful yesterday, to have, using my new word, more equanimity. I didn't do as well as I had hoped, but on a day that for me at least, marks an end to the year, I am content to leave that in the past.

I am content to focus on time with friends, and egg nog latte and an engaging discussion about a book. I'm content to focus on shopping for Christmas dinner, eating dinner with Mr. Spit, and the joy of curling up under a flannel duvet cover, after a hot bath with bubbles.

I am content to recognize the very purpose of margins, of edges. They divide. This from that, past from present, and yes, bitter from sweet.

To gently whisper, alleluia.

Acknowledge We Pray

Gabriel's funeral was 2 years ago today. It is hard to believe that I have come this far, that this much time has passed, that he has been gone for so very long. I remember this day not with sorrow, but rather joy at the promise of the resurrection. I remember tears that last for a moment, and eternity forever. If I struggle with anything, it was a death so close to a birth. It is hard to reconcile the death of your child at a time in the year that we celebrate the birth of the Messiah. It is hard to bury your son on the shortest day of the year, it is strange to recognize that this is the turning point in the year. Darkness before, and light again.

I went to the U of A Chaplain's Festival of Lessons and Carols, which was, as always, spectacular. I have heard the text many times: the prayers and the lessons don't change from year to year. This year, for the first time, I heard, really heard, part of the bidding prayer.

The church, or rather the people who make her, are so often unkind to the grieving, especially those grieving children. We are the forgotten, the left behind, and in a church desperate to increase membership through birth rate, we are the unwelcome and the unworthy. We don't fit in, and so often churches aren't a place of care and concern for us.

There was such comfort, to find in the words of the liturgy, space enough for me.
: :
Lastly let us remember before God all those who rejoice with
us, but upon another shore and in a greater light, that multitude
which no man can number, whose hope was in the
Word made flesh, and with whom, in this Lord Jesus, we for
evermore are one.

Bidding Prayer, Festival of 9 Lessons and Carols.

The Winnah. . .

Ladies and Gentlemen:

By an almost country mile, the winner is:

Gidget!

Saturday Quotes

Contrary to popular notion, truck drivers know nothing about good restaurants. If you want a reliable tip, drive into a town, go to the nearest appliance store and seek out the dishwasher repair man. He spends a lot of time in restaurant kitchens and usually has strong opinions about them.

Bryan Miller

Running

I haven't talked about why I started to run again, not really. I jokingly (and on nights like tonight, not so jokingly) say that my goal for running is not to die.

No, I'm not trying to live longer, I'm trying to not die while running. So far, I have succeeded. But, really, every time is a new adventure. I'm, dare I say it, getting a bit into this. Oh, I don't like it much, and the first 2 intervals are very, very close to hell, but, slowly, I'm getting there. I only sort of hate it.

Every time I finish a run, I post that I didn't die on Facebook. Several friends, including blogger friends, tell me that they are proud of me, and believe you me, I'm thankful. I'm still very slow, very out of shape, and desperately worried I will be the last person to finish the 5K race in March.

But the dying thing.

I quit smoking, for good, 3 weeks after Anna died - that was June 1. I took up running 6 months after - the start of November. I won't lie. I sat in my back yard, a week or so after her death, and I realized:

Anna was 36. Just 36. I am 31. We were not so far apart in age. We shared a medical condition, and we were both obese. I sat in my back yard, and with my breath catching in my throat, I realized that we are very alike.

I quit smoking. I tell people a shortened version of the truth - I tell them that I realized that I was then 30, and if I didn't quit then, I would smoke for the rest of my life, and I didn't want to do that. Mostly, I quit smoking because Anna died.

I started running at the start of November, because I need to lose weight. I need weight bearing exercise that increases my heart rate. I can't pretend, I can ignore, I can't deny. I need to be more healthy.

Part of running the St. Patrick's day race is to give myself a goal. I'm a goal kind of person. I like goals, knowing where I want to end up. I suspect I'll run more in the summer.

But also, as I have been thinking for the last few weeks, Anna's baby was due in 15 days. Anna's baby that she tried to conceive for 3 years. I think for most people, Anna's death overshadowed the death of her child. I understand. But I didn't get to go to a birth, I went to a funeral instead.

So, I am running for me, because I'm older, because I need to make some changes. But March?

March is for my friend, and her child. March is for those who finished their race, before I ever began.

Name Game

Warning. . .

There's a Poll.

Could you click to open the post, so that you can participate in the poll?

Yes, that means you. Even if you just lurk.

The iPhone needs a name.

The name options (in the poll on the side) are:

Gidget
Steve
Estelle
Digit512
Bingley-Beep

Have I mentioned that you really should vote in the poll on your left?

Thanks.

Join the Revolution

I had the start of a long, rambly post about isolation.

Except, umm, I kept picking up my new iPhone, to marvel at it.

I think this is love.

If you'll excuse me, I'll be back tomorrow.

I have to go find more apps.

Surely, there must be some good blogging ones.

(yes, I am completely pathetic. I can live with that.)