TIS THE SEASON

To my knowledge, Chris has never been to Iowa. I haven’t ever really been to Iowa, though Michael told me we drove through the state on our way to the Apostle Islands. We drove through while I was sleeping in the back seat because Michael had decided to drive us to Wisconsin in the middle of the night. His idea was that I would sleep while he drove and then we would switch drivers in the morning. His plan mostly worked. I drove us from Duluth to our campsite near Bayfield WI as the sun rose up in the East, with Michael snoring in the passenger seat. Chris was left in Wisconsin on the banks of Lake Superior during that trip. The night before leaving for Heather’s in Des Moines, I realized that Chris had never actually made it to Iowa.

As I pulled his coffee can down from the bookcase, I tried to remember the last time I had taken Chris anywhere. It’s been awhile. Maybe the last time was over a year ago when we visited Vancouver and I left in the hand of laughing sculpture. Our travels of late have all to been to places where Chris and I have already gone. I was in the kitchen, opening the can when Michael and the Cabbage walked in. “What’s that?!” The Cabbage asked as they opened the fridge in search of a snack. Michael answered for me and then there was a brief but frank discussion on human remains. There’s not a whole lot of Chris’s ashes left. Enough left for a few more adventures. Once we made it to Heather’s we sat around the table discussing possible locations to leave Chris. I had looked up some places listed on the Atlas Obscura website. One spot happened to be a cemetery and it was Terry who asked “Have you ever theft Chris in an actual cemetery?”

The Huston Cemetery in Wes Des Moines used to be the center of a roundabout. The intersection has since been remodeled but the tiny cemetery of maybe ten headstones still remain. The last person buried in the space was James B Huston in 1889, the man who founded the settlement. I walked all the way around the cemetery, looking for a good spot to leave Chris. The headstones were all so worn that barely any lettering stood out. I finally settled on a spot close to the tree and in eyesight of an old farmhouse. Really, it was too cold to stand outside debating too long on the perfect place and too cold for tears. There have been a number of times Chris has been left hastily and rushed, mostly because it’s not quite legal. This spot was probably the most legal of all, being it is an actual cemetery.

This is the time of year where everything starts to feel like a scratchy hair coat for those of us who have experienced loss. The memories of our past lives float in to remind of us what it is that we have lost and the Holiday season becomes a mix of pain and joy. Good and bad. Our grief can cause us to lash out in unexpected ways and I am reminded to speak mindfully and tread softly. I am not the only one to have experienced loss. I am not the only one with a ritual for celebrating the life of someone I love. Leaving Chris in all of these different places is a reminder to myself that I do not live in a vacuum. We all have broken or bruised hearts.

This is the time of year for more then ever leading with kindness.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Masala chai

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Can this be a silent Thankful Friday? It's not that I don't have things to be thankful for. That's silly. Just sitting here breathing is enough to rejoice over. No..I'm certainly grateful for many things. It's just that those things are hard to put into words today. There have been many times this week where I have felt all of the words rolling around this noggin yet unable to pull any of them out in a coherent order. The words are a mix of happy, sad, angst, and funny. The problem is that they're all swirling around together and I have been unable to yank out the happy, funny for fear of dragging some of the sad along with it. I'm tired of writing sad. I'm tired of writing about missing. I'm tired of writing of things lost. I'm kind of just tired. 

Fall temperatures have creeped in triggering my inner hibernation hermit. Suddenly I have noticed my lack of leg warmers and how much I may desperately need to add some to my life. We ate our first batch of chili on Monday with cornbread and last night, Michael stood at my bedside to say goodnight and shook his head at me I shivered under my measly two top layers of a sheet and comforter. He swooped down and retrieved his grandmother's quilt from under the bed and threw it over me. Meanwhile, he turns the air conditioner up to the highest (lowest?) setting in his room. He sleeps in the refrigerator. I am torn between fluffy sweaters and shoes without socks. I think that as soon as I pull out the warmer clothes or put away the flip flops, those warm summer temperatures will come back. Maybe I should trick Mother Nature by pretending to put those things away.

But, I remind myself, Fall is beautiful here. The leaves turn to golds and reds that dazzle the eyes for months. It is the season for bonfires and cider and moons bigger and brighter than can be imagined. It is the spell binding season where I'm tempted to smudge the house with sage and burn some candles. So instead of heading into this season begrudgingly, I should be grateful for the beautiful changes to come. In honor of this, I've put butternut squash on the menu for next week and we've started talking about Thanksgiving food. I've started thinking about a pumpkin carving party (Tiffany, remember when we used to do those at your place?). Fall is the season for being grateful for the bounty of food harvested. It is the grateful season and I am ready to open my heart to it. 

I am thankful for my family. I am thankful for the rain. I am really thankful for the return I've made to my yoga mat. There was a moment after class the other day where I was tempted to roll myself up in my yoga mat hug, I'd missed my mat so. I am thankful for warm bowls of chili and calico quilts from grandmas. I am, as always, thankful for you. Here's to a productive weekend, but a truly Thankful Friday.