Eve

Twas the eve’ before Tuesday
And as day turned night
Not a creature awake
Not an elf nor a sprite.

And I was all nestled
In my bed I did lay
And hoped that the morning
Might have a delay

When what to my wondering
Ears should appear
But the beep of my pager
Such a cold, harsh jeer

The second, the third, and
The fourth floor did call
The fifth and the sixth floor
I spoke with them all.

They needed to ask and to check
And to know
The drug and the dose and the
Route it should go

The stock was all gone and
More must be brought
I hopped in my sleigh
And drove to the lot

Bundling pills and supplies
All snug in a pack
I checked the list twice
So as not to go back

I arose to each floor
With a gift for each shelf
But was I mistaken for a
Seasonal elf?

Then they heard me exclaim
As I passed through the hall
Please, no more pages and
A good night to you all

Brightly shining

It’s a balmy -15C (+4F) outside. Quite a drastic improvement from -45C a few days ago.

I went to the theatre tonight, a production of Peter Pan. I made my way home with thoughts of the ever-mothering Wendy who hopes for a thimble from her beloved Peter, of childhood imagination, of parents awaiting the return of their children, of memories that fade only too quickly.

Yet there are some stories that linger. Other stories that you remember them only by the retelling. Still others that only bring a flicker of recognition but catch you off guard.

The balmy air made me linger before going inside tonight. I looked up into the clear, black sky. A gloriously dark night, devoid of moonshine. And there were the stars. I stood, head tilted back, blissfully ignorant of the noisy neighbours, and searched out the familiar: Cassiopeia, the big dipper, Orion, the seven sisters (Pleiades).

The balmy air and the the stars above reminded me of a story from many years ago. A time and a place where the Northern lights would dance every night for me. And in this time and this place my father took me outside with an adjustable star map. We matched this disc with the orbs floating so far yet so close. And he told me the story of the seven sisters, of a father’s love, of protection.

The balmy air brought reminded me of a moment. I paused, I gazed, I remembered.

In that moment, all was calm and the stars were bright.

Momentary

Mornings are rarely leisurely in this household. Sleeping a fraction past the last possible moment. Rushing through the bathroom, the closet, the fridge. This time of year, forgetting that another moment is needed to brush the snow off the car and let the engine warm a minute. And then off to another day.

Last weekend my mornings, the whole days actually, were a little different. Moving slower. Plenty of time to drink coffee, visit with friends, let the tears pass, fit in another afternoon of doing nothing, watch a baby learn to crawl. And it did wonders for my soul.

Except I started to attribute my peace, tranquility, and feelings of connections to the physical location. It was as though my soul knew I would be better if I could only be in that place. But instead I am here. I am here longing to be there. Because being there will solve everything, will make all my dreams come true.

Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t.

I am here. I am in my kitchen. Stuffing in the slow-cooker for an event later today. Fresh coffee in my mug. Jame from Stella’s Cafe on my toast. Delightful new holiday music from Straight No Chaser.

I am thinking about Monday. A day of starting something new, the great unknown. How is one to know if the right decision was made except in retrospect? I am learning that I am not responsible for the plan.

For some reason, my time machine has gone missing so I can’t go back to last weekend, back before the interview, back before moving, back before Africa, back before university. I can’t go back a day, a week, a year or a decade. All I have is this singular moment.

In this moment, how will I live. With enthusiasm? With fear? With regret? With great expectation?

As I have slowed down for this moment on a lazy Saturday morning, what will I choose to do? How shall I live?

[New Music Day] Seasonal Selection

With December comes a few of my favourite Christmas and winter tunes.

Cat Jahnke‘s O Night Divine (an album of classic carols)
Song for a Winter’s Night by Sarah McLachlan and Jewel [based on the original by Gordon Lightfoot]
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Coldplay
Carol of the Bells by Trans-Siberian Orchestra
The Christians and the Pagans by Dar Williams
I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas by Otis Redding
Happy New Year by ABBA