It's that time of year again. That time when the mornings wake up with a brush of frost that disappears before breakfast has been eaten, and you can put on a tank top and some shorts, and walk outside. Everything is in a growing frenzy, the sun heating the Earth, sprouts coming up and eager to mature into the noxious weeds they are. Planting time isn't quite here yet because the nights still threaten some hard frosts. Only the most dedicated will be out sheltering their seedlings with burlap, and back out at dawn to uncover them in time for the morning rays.

I smelled it today, the scent of lilac. I've not written about this for a long time, and perhaps never in a blog, but the scent of lilacs both thrills and unnerves me. Lilac is one of those pervasive odors, at first pleasing to the nose, yet quick to become cloying in it's intensity. Everyone on our street has a lilac bush or two. Yet my issue with Lilacs isn't because the neighborhood is Lilac Hill. It's an older deep seeded memory than that. One of those visceral memories that took me some years to decipher why the strong scent of Lilac in May made me begin to hyperventilate. The funny thing was, when I finally unravelled the mystery, the culprit wasn't Lilac at all, Lilac was just the trigger.

My father was killed when I was 8 years old. It was January, and it was the blizzard of 1979. My father was an auto Mechanic, and managed my grandfather's Garage. The sideline business was wrecker service. My father used to love to take me on calls, and for sure, like any kid back in the day, I LOVED riding in the wrecker. It was probably the most uncomfortable ride you could imagine, no radio to speak of, and springs were coming out of the seat. But it was COOL, and it was HUGE. It was the beginning of January, not so very long after the holidays. Because of the intensity of the storm, school had been cancelled that day, and it was still early. Far be it from kids to actually sleep in on a storm day. On any regular day we couldn't seem to wake up, but throw in a storm day, and the level of excitement passed any conceivable limitations, and we bounced off the walls, to the detriment of my mother's high blood pressure. My grandmother was hanging out with us, since she lived with us too, and she and I were making paper dolls. It seemed like such an intimate thing then, to share that with her. I wasn't dressed yet, still in my nightie. My mother was laid up in bed, just having had all her top teeth extracted, and recovering from the surgery. She'd be fitted for a new set of dentures, but not quite yet. She looked awful, her face all discolored and swollen. So my memere, as always, was there to take care of us.

We couldn't go play outside because, in true blizzard fashion, the temperature was dipping below 20 degrees, and the wind was howling above 30 mph, lowering visibility to below 1 mile, mostly to zero in the thick, heavy snow. The wind chill lowered the temp even more, probably below zero. But we were in the kitchen, and very close to the large steam radiator that heated that room. I was MOST comfortable. So it went when my father got the calls. Yes, plural. Of course there were accidents, it was a frigging BLIZZARD! So he and my uncle split the calls, and my uncle took the one further away, while my dad took the call that put him less than a mile away from the house. A consideration to my dad from my uncle, since we were all home, and he wanted to hang out at the house, and my uncle wasn't married and didn't have to worry about a gaggle of kids to tend to. My father asked me if I wanted to come with, but the thought of going out in that storm made me wrinkle up my nose and decline. There were paper dolls to cut, after all, and games to play. He got dressed up in his winter clothes, an attempt to stay warm in the fierce weather. I don't think I gave him a hug, I don't remember. He left. I never saw him alive again.

It's amazing that 30 years later this still has the power to make me cry. The images still come to me in the guise of a slide show. There were drugs we were forced to take so that we could deal with the trauma of the event. My mother virtually collapsing. I remember not wanting to be fatherless, and wondering who would step into the role. I couldn't imagine being a family without one. It didn't make any sense to me. I just couldn't process it. But even the police coming to the door, and hearing my mother screaming isn't the worst memory. The worst memory of all is that smell.

I often try to imagine the different scars all of my brothers and sisters must carry with them from this one life altering event. For my oldest brother, I can never imagine being the one that has to identify your own father's body. I am ever so thankful that I don't have that memory in my head. Imagining it is bad enough, piecing together the few things my mother has blurted out over the years about it here and there. After all our differences, he deserves all of our collective love and respect for the simple fact that he has that memory. I remember my second brother deployed in Japan at the time. It was virtually impossible to find him, but my Uncle, a National Guard retiree, and apparently quite high up, found him, and flew him home in time. My youngest brother, I just don't know. I know it's something, but I don't know what. My sister, well, we just don't talk about it. But I know, and she knows. And it's there. And there's so much I don't remember. Blocked from my memory by a lifetime of repression, and by those damn DRUGS that stopped us all from functioning. So many people, there were so many people in and out of the house, dishes of food appearing from only God knows where. I can sit here and search my collective memory, and it's a black hole of time that I'm just MISSING.

Then there are the razor sharp memories. I do remember going to the funeral home for the first time, and being terrified of walking in. The priest, Fr Nadeau, took me by the hand then, and told me it would be ok. He led me into that silent room, the room with the red carpet, the ivory and gold dias, the pink candelabras on each side. And in the middle, the still silent body. I bucked against the priest because I didn't want to see it. Seeing it would make it real, would mean I wouldn't wake up from that drug hazed nightmare. He held me firm, and we walked to the body.

So many flowers. Everywhere the eye could roam, every inch of space surrounding the casket, up and down the walls, over, under, and all around were flowers of every hue, every shape, every arrangement that you could imagine. My father was a very popular man...he was great friends with the police, fire and rescue, the EMT's. He was a Knight of Columbus, he served in his Church, and was a business owner. He loved people. Loved talking to them, laughing with them, flirting and teasing. And they showed their collective love with flowers. God Almighty, there were so many. And that smell, it was the Lilies I know now. That strong cloying odor, sickly sweet and very pervasive. For years I smelled that smell and I was paralyzed, right back in that room seeing all the flowers, seeing my father laid out in his casket. Those were also the days of the 3 day wake. Three interminable days of meeting and greeting people, accepting their sympathies, shaking hands, and seeing their pity as they looked at me, the youngest. I gave up after the first day, really, choosing to scurry off to the basement of the funeral home where there was an empty reception area. My cousin and I played there, much to my sister's annoyance. She wanted me present and accounted for but my mother stepped in and told her to let me be. It was a fucking horror show, when I look back, one parade after another. One ceremony after another. All his "brothers" in his various organizations laying him to rest over and over, and fucking over again. I sit here writing this, and I can feel the tightness in my chest all over again, the inability to breathe, the headache starting.

All I remember of the funeral, besides that goddamned smell of lilies still following us as they packed up all the freaking flowers and brought them too, is the voice singing from the back of the church. Ray....his name was Ray, i think. He had the deepest voice of any that I'd ever heard before, and he sang the dirges. It was the kind of voice that can haunt a person, a voice that will ring in your head long after the funeral is done. I'd never heard him sing before, and truth be told, I've never heard him sing again. But I will never, in this lifetime, forget his voice. I remember the smell of the sandlewood incense, another choking smell to combine with the lilies. I remember being horrified that my father's casket was closed, and that even though he was dead, I'd never see him again. I cried at that, I was furious. But what power can an 8 year old have in the face of all that? Not much. The church was full, well over 400 attendees. And after the church service, we all went out to the Cemetary....St Peter's Cemetary, to effect the burial.

Except for that fact that you can't bury the dead outside in Maine in January. And so comes the story of the lilacs. St. Peter's Cemetary is full of lilac bushes. They are everywhere lining the drives. I don't remember returning for the official burial in the spring. I don't know if we did. It's another of those black holes in my mind that contributes to my occasional insanity. But I do remember that I never visited the cemetary again, to my knowledge, until I was in highschool and able to drive myself there.

It was Memorial Day weekend, and I was determined that I would find my father's grave. I only had a general idea of where it was, and I walked the rows of markers, becoming desperate, after a time, that I wouldn't find it. The markers, where my dad is buried are flat on the ground, not a traditional headstone. The thought there was to ease the burden on caretaking so that they could mow the grass right over the headstone and not have to go around. I was not a happy teenager, I'd suffered from years of nightmares concerning my father, and had alot of self esteem and confidence issues. I was a wreck in that cemetary that weekend, crying, face swollen and leaking, and frantic to find the freaking grave. I did finally spot it, and I do remember collapsing onto the grave and just sobbing for a long time, with the smell of lilacs completely permeating the air, surrounding me and bringing back that poignant memory of the room with all the flowers. It was inescapable. My friend Chris was there that day, and saw me. He knew something was very wrong, but had the human decency to allow me my space, and let me have my breakdown. I needed it, that release, to finally begin to let go of all the blame and recrimination I'd felt after watching my father go, knowing that I'd passed up the opportunity to spend those last few moments with him because I couldn't be bothered to get dressed and brave the cold so many years before.

Yes I know I was silly to blame myself. But children are silly, and we hold on to things that hurt us, never knowing that our own worst nightmare is actually ourselves. I look back to that child every time I look in my own daughter's face. I understand so much more of life, and it's workings, and yet she is me on every fundamental level. I would never hold her accountable, and it frees me to have the heart knowledge that my father didn't blame me for not going either, that in fact his spirit was glad that I didn't have to witness his accident. It took me 30 some-odd years to get to that point, but I made it. Interestingly enough I spent 3 years being a florist, and became intimately familiar with every flower imaginable, including those damn lilies. To this day, although I admire their amazing beauty....I can't stand the smell.

Lilacs will always bring a thought of death to me, as they did today. In Maine, Lilacs always reach first bloom right around Memorial Day weekend, which of course, happens to be this upcoming weekend. So it's not surprising to me that I caught the scent just beginning to waft on the breeze. The scent is like a ghost for me, calling up the past for reflection and rememberance. It will always hurt to remember, but I'm not destroyed by it anymore.

Happy Memorial Day to all. May we remember our loved ones that we have lost, cherish the good memories of them that we have, and take the life lessons they taught us about each other and ourselves to make our own lives happy and fulfilled. Celebrating our dead is an honor. Julien Chabot, this is my memorial to you.

Happy Birthday Baby!

December, aside from being the Holiday Capital of the Year also seems to be the Birthday Capital for me and my family. Lets see...Chibit, my friend Chris, Me, my cousin, my uncle, and now Malcolm. So today, as I continue to blitz clean the house while getting ready for Jujubear's Jan birthday, I take a moment to wish the man that has made an enormous difference in my life Happy Birthday. Yep, Belief is another year older. LOL, but damn he looks good for his age. I'm broke and sucking out right now, but for a birthday gift, I give you The List - it's a list of all the things that made me love you. The List ~ You are PERFECT eye candy. Uhhh, that thing you do. Snuggle time. You never let me down. You are always brutally honest with me. You know how to laugh and play. You know my mind almost better than I do. You like to poke my bear. You let me poke YOUR bear. You love The Color Purple. You worry about my comfort. You care about my feelings. You put up with Mr. You make me forget Mr. Uhhh, that thing you do (did I already say that? LOL) Car trips have never been so much fun before. You know how to socialize. You make things happen. You make me explore the Dark Side. You push me out of my comfort zone. You don't forget me. You don't care when I burn the pizza. You are a GREAT dad. Juju loves you. You are so considerate. You are an awesome son, and a better caretaker. Conversations with you are so much fun. You cried when Obama won. You are a great kisser. You are a natural furnace. You are so passionate about the things you love. OHHHH, and lastly? You love peanut butter . So Happy Birthday Baby, and many many more to be celebrated in the future. I'm so glad I met you, you've made me a rich woman, at least on the inside.

Happy F*cking Birthday

Last year, on my birthday, I received a note from DHS letting me know that they'd be in touch with me about some claims that were made. I've blogged this before, my mom's housekeeper, at the time, was upset that my mother caught her defrauding her time card, and called Adult Protective. There was mention of a child, and the case was immediately referred to Child Protective, and voila, all of a sudden it was MY problem. It was resolved completely in my favor, with an apology issued from the agency. My point in bringing this up is that I got that damn notice on my birthday, 2007.
This year, for some unknown reason, my mother, who lives with me, or vice versa, lost her mind, and decided she hates me. She started accusing me of stealing from her, and being every manner of whore, trollop, you name it. Oh, and she decided she hates my kid too. Nice. So I thought about things, I thought about the fact that my being unemployed doesn't buy the oil for heat, and I thought about all my brothers and sisters wanting me to move away from her so that she will end up being forced to admit she needs assisted living. With me not here, there isn't anyone to check on her. There isn't anyone to get her groceries, or shovel the walkways and steps, and sand, and mow the lawn in the summer. Or do the laundry, or get the screens up in the summer. There also isn't anyone around to go to the bank for her or be her fast food taxi. I thought about how the job I'll get, hopefully sooner rather than later, will be in the Portland area. I thought about Malcolm, and how being closer to him would be nice. I thought about the great school system there, about all the programs and fun things to do there. And I decided that my daughter and I, we need to move away. So we've been having talks about it. And my daughter is very sad, and I'm upset, mostly because this happened on my GOD DAMNED birthday again. And I'm worried for my mother. Because honestly, if something bad comes of this, I'll have a hard time cleaning my conscience. Reality tho....reality dictates that my daughter and I can't stand the verbal and emotional vitriol that this woman is spewing. It's just too unstable a situation.
So I tried getting excited about it, have looked into apartment complexes, and gathered names to contact, looked into waiting lists to get on. I also understand that this process may take some time to accomplish. I put up a blast on Myspace today to let my friends know. I suppose that means the fucking psycho whore read it too, true? Meanwhile, tonight, as I was researching this more, I got a call from Mr. He wanted to let me know that we just couldn't continue our friendship. No more calls, nothing. So this isn't new, but it is the psycho whore exerting her pressure on whatever hold over him she has. The ironic part is that I haven't done anything to merit this treatment, although, I haven't done anything EVER to merit how he's treated me. But for real, I haven't even poked the bear lately. I've been focused on my family, poking THEIR bears for a change, and talking to my friends, which I've reconnected with. I've been minding my own business while the psycho whore stalks me, day after day, looking for a reason to act evil. But guess what? I've got my own boyfriend, and I'm not trying to win Mr back. Talking to him is fun, but I'm not the problem. For all the missing times the psycho stalking bitch is trying to insert me into as the cause... I was busy with my own life, and my own man. I don't have an OBC page for him to contact, I'm not on True.com, or any of the other sex hook up pages he frequents, and I'm not interested in resuming a sexual relationship with him again, although I love to tease him about it. I was busy with my family both thru that Thanksgiving week and Christmas Eve. What about me threatens her? Well, I was the one she did wrong against, and she knows it. She also knows that his care for me goes beyond a sexual interest and it infuriates her. The real issue is that she already knows in her heart what the real issues ARE, but refuses to accept them. Like every other woman who's been burned by him, she sees all the red flags but wants to think that she's different. Delusions are a comfort, I suppose, when you aren't ready to accept the truth. So stalk me, rail against me, make me stop being his friend. The issue isn't me at all, and, psycho stalker, you know DAMN well that I'm not lying. You know, the great part is that I'm at a point that I actually feel sorry for her. She must be unbelievably miserable every day, always wondering where, when, and who.
And as for Mr? Well, he's finally succeeded in making me hate him. I think what I despise most in others is dishonesty and weakness. He's showing me both. Again. Oh, and I hate being used, and he's done that too. Again. He's a crafty old bastard, I'll give him that. There's a line in the Grinch that hit me this year, and made me think of him:
" But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!"
So I hope the both of them are happy, for they surely deserve each other. Me, I'm going about my business, same as always. Malcolm and I are happy, thankfully. Malcolm doesn't give me ulcers, or headaches. Only, so far, laughter and relief. There will be a day when Mr is sorry he's done this, again. He probably already is. And the lesson here is that you can't have people be in your life when it's convenient for YOU. Relationships, whatever they are, are a two way street. Friends are friends thru good times and bad. The fact that he'd be forced to give up his friends because of the insecurity of his lover is a big sign that said relationship is not built on sturdy ground. HMMM, I'll take away everything you love and care about so that you can focus on and love me. LOL, Good luck with THAT sentiment!
So Happy Fucking Birthday to me. It's been another great fucking year.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

I had fun today, alot of fun. I haven't felt this way about my family for a long time, but somehow this year, I've done things different in my own life, and I'm happier for it, and I enjoyed my brothers and sisters immensely this year.
One thing I did differently was join my brother's "family" choir. He plays guitar and sings, my sister, The General, directs, and my daughter and I joined to sing. It was fun, and I got to do my bit parts and harmonies, and had a great time creating music for real again. Of course my sister and I got into some minor squabbles about songs and how they are supposed to sound, but then hey, I'm not one to stand around and NOT comment when something isn't quite right. I suppose I ruffled a few feathers of some existing choir members with my presence....some young girls who had up until now been known as the "stars" of the choir. They were QUITE put out that someone new was infringing on their harmony territory. Never mind that I did different harmonies that complimented theirs and added to the overall sound of the choir. They couldn't stand that someone new might be stealing their thunder. It was all very deliciously hilarious. I was chatting with Malcolm about it, and telling him how I had an idea to complement a solo my brother was doing with a minor harmony. It would have made it spectacular. I wasn't recommending that I do it, only that it get done. One of the divas piped up that "it's NOT how we've always done it." I responded, probably inappropriately, "I understand that, but it would be outstanding if it were done." She says "Your brother always does it solo and it sounds fine." My response? "That's great, but if you always have mediocrity, and you are presented with the opportunity for greatness, will you always choose mediocrity because that's the way you've always done it?" Malcolm just about choked when I recited my response to him, and I quickly threw in there..."but you love that about me, right??" LOL, CYA for me. He responds? "Absolutely baby, I'd not be able to respect some mealy mouthed, clinging vine, live for everyone else kind of girl. I love that you have your own mind and aren't afraid to express it." Yeah, that's why I love him too.
So see, I just poke the bear where ever I happen to be. The Psycho Stalker shouldn't take it so personally. LOLOL My need to poke the bear overwhelms my common sense most days. But the true beauty, and the thing that earned my blast was this. My sister and I disagreed about a song verse, she saying it should be sung with the end note going up, me insisting it go down. She, being the director got her way, but it needled me. So I sent her, I dunno, like 8 youtube links to the song to prove my point. And during church, when she was reminding the choir about a timing issue in said song, I looked at her and pointed DOWN.....and she laughed. Damn her, she knew I was right and did it her way anyways. So we joked about it today, and she admitted being wrong. For those who have older siblings, you know what a battle it always is to prove yourself right most days to people who think they are older and wiser. But today I did, and it felt amazing. And it was fun, no tension. Just us, a family of bear pokers, I realized, sitting around and poking each other over Christmas Dinner.
I hope everyone else had as fun a time with their families and loved ones as I did today. I missed Malcolm, but we'll have our own time later when we've taken care of our families. Kids always come first, and to his credit, he knew I needed some extra Malcolm time, and he gave me what he could. He gave me his attention which counts for alot, he gave me is mind and his heart, which I value above everything, and he gave me his unconditional love. Thank you baby for being so in tune with my feelings and needs. I was sad that we'd have so many family commitments that it would shatter our own time together. You knew, and you made me remember why I love you as a man. It's just cuz you get me like that. I miss u, and will see you so very soon.

Do You See What I See?

I spent some time with an old friend this weekend, someone I've not seen in a long time, and who is very dear to me. Life had gotten in the way, I suppose. He's been off doing his thing in his world, and I've been cavorting with stalkers and bunny loving man whores in my world. LOL. Just as a side note, I've gotten more feedback from people on my blog about my friend Kiko. I honestly think he's moving up to blog celebrity-hood. Anyways, it was really nice to spend some time with this guy, who I'll name Jachin for our purposes. Jachin and I shared some relationship time once, and it was pretty intense. So seeing him is bittersweet at times, and may be why it's been awhile. I don't think I've ever completely lost touch with anyone I've dated. We've always managed to keep a working relationship, at the minimum, a friendship where we can catch up when it's convenient.
Jachin has kept up with me thru my blogs, as most of my friends do. Incidentally, he loved the Kiko blog too. As we spent time Christmas shopping this weekend, and the driving started getting a little tough because of the storm, I had a rough time seeing. The windshield was freezing up, and my eyes, seeing the halos that they do when the light is bad and oncoming traffic headlights refract in my vision, only saw streaks of pretty lights in the ice. Jachin asked me if I was having issues, and I was unable to put the problem into words for him in a timely enough fashion, it seems. So he asked me if I was out playing with Kiko's bunnies. LOL, that did it for me and made me choke on laughter.
Jachin and I always had that easy kind of friendship. We'd always laugh and banter, and be able to sit beside each other in easy silence or do our own thing. He was usually a good listener, more of a good listener when we became friends as opposed to being girlfriend and boyfriend. I always felt that there was something about a real relationship that smothered him. He was more the kind of guy that wanted his freedom and his choices. He's alot like Mr in that respect, and perhaps that's the pattern of men I need to break in my life. The kind of man that loves you, but can't love ONLY you. I get it, and it makes me also understand Mr that much more as time goes by.
What most impressed me about this weekend was that Jachin took care of me in the storm. He didn't have to. But my windshield wipers were shit, and he knew it, and he bought me new ones. He put them on for me, and he bought me windshield de-icer. He drove for me. He bought me lunch too. When I dropped him off, I had to use his bathroom, and as I made my way back to the car we stopped for a moment and hugged. And that hug is what made this blog happen. Because in that moment, I remembered every good thing about him, and felt like I was home again. It's a guilty feeling, but one that happened, nonetheless. Perhaps because so many years have passed, and the hurt of the breakup is long gone, but I remembered what being happy with him was like, and it was an amazing thing. Would I go back? No, because I'm happy with Malcolm. But I know I am loved and cared for still, and it is one more thing that warms my winter heart.
I know I have many men in my life that love and care for me and I am truly one of the luckiest women alive. First and foremost, Malcolm. I love him with my whole heart and absolutely adore him. Mr, I know, still cares for me in his Mr kind of way. Kiko loves my audacious big girl self, and loves me more when I do take time to play with his bunnies. LOL. Jachin has shown me that he will always be there if I need him, and will always take care of me no matter what he has going on in his life. Balor still loves me too, as the friends that we always were, and will continue to be. We'll always dance that intricate dance of ours, and maybe incorporate our partners at some distant time. I have my brothers, Chris, Jeff, and a slew of others I'm too tired to think of right now. And I say again, I love you all. Yes Mr, even you. All of my mens have my love and friendship because you've all shown me your love and friendship over this year, no matter the bad spots that might have come with it. My winter heart has room. Our winter castle invites you in. From the Ice Prince and Princess, happy Solstice, happy Yule, many many more to come.
And to Jachin, I can't come home now, but thank you for showing me it's still there.

How Goes Things?

Malcolm and I had a great conversation tonight. His daughter is recently left home to join the service, and he was feeling quite smug that her know it all attitude was getting ready to meet reality. Something about peeling potatoes for 500 hungry sailors. LOL I love conversations with him because he infuses me with humor and optimism. We chatted about parenting, and about how he wants to step in and help me if I'd let him. Duh, cum on!!! PLEASE, help me parent, I'm asking already!! LOL. He's already quite fond of Jujubear, and compliments me lots for doing a good job. But lets face it, it's just easier with two. I'd love his input when I need it.
We talked about a new friend we've made, and how that's progressing. It's a riot really. I'm very very VERY eager to progress this to it's desired outcome. This chick is a hoot, and sweet, and I bet she will be alot of fun to hang with. The funniest moment was when Malcolm asked: "Is she stable?" We both had a moment of silence, and then both burst out laughing. I assured him that I thought she probably was, and reminded him that he'd be privy to whatever I found out. And of course, inevitably, the conversation led to how were things with my psycho stalker bitch? I told him she checks in ripe as rain every day, usually late afternoon. Only once a day lately, so she mustn't be finding the gossip she's looking for. But the reality is that some day she'll wake up and figure out that I'm not even a fraction of her problem, and if she'd wake up and see the forest for the trees, she'd realize that ...well, whatever. I think Mr likes that she stalks me because it keeps her occupied and out of his hair. Oh wait, he doesn't have any hair! Go ahead and run to him and tell him I said it. I can't wait to laugh with him about it. There is a truth to that relationship though, and here it is. He'll wake up dead or in jail some day, and it will be by her hand. The other truth is that someday I will need a restraining order to keep her ass away from me. It's OK, I've got all the proof I need to get it.
Oh, and Mr? You REALLY REALLY need a session with Dr Finklestein. LOL. That and Kiko sends his love and says you owe him a bourbon soon. Cheers!

Starry Starry Night

It snowed today. Not a light dusting of snow, but real honest to god snow. Well, OK, so still light-ish compared to a real Nor'easter, but 7 inches fell today. School went on as usual although several adults managed to call out from work for weather related issues. The snow started early in the dark before dawn, and broke sometime around 4 this afternoon. I never saw the sun today, only soft flakes falling in a continuous swirl and dancing on the cold cold wind.
Getting home tonight meant shoveling, and I started to huff about it, and become cross, but it just didn't last. For one, I didn't have time to fuck around being pissy, because my nephew, Chibit, was plowing. Picture a young 20-something with heavy equipment at his complete disposal. And yet he plows with a meticulous intensity I'd have never believed if someone would have tried to describe it to me. I realized that our Christmas tree, which was still laying like a dead deer on the sidewalk, had to go into the house or be buried for the season, before ever being used. I carefully cleared off my steps, and hauled the tree upright, stomped the trunk on the sidewalk a few times to try and shake off the snow accumulated in it's branches, and brought it in. My nearly frostbitten fingers sought the warmth of my daughter's very warm and cozy neck, making her squeal and dodge, and together we managed to get the tree situated in it's nook. We need only wait for the tree to thaw and the branches to open up before we start decorating it.
Back to the shoveling. As Chibit cruised the plow at 45 mph down the driveway, and carefully cleared not only my sidewalk snowbanks, but my neighbor's as well, it struck me that he's a winter baby too. Chibit is born early in the month, and is part of the winter royalty as well. Chibit is more a Jack Frost, a delightful yet brooding prankster who'd have you believe he couldn't give a damn, but has a bigger winter heart than most. His actions attest to his care of his relatives, friends, and fellow planetary inhabitants. He's matured a lot in the past year, and Chibit has always been a bit of my pet. Christ he was a difficult child, and almost died by my own hand a few times, on purpose, I assure you, but he's worth all that struggle. He came out of it well deserving of his place in the Winter Castle. I name him Anticipation, the keeper of people's swelling hopes and dreams for the final days. He that builds their imaginations, and keeps them wanting to continue, he that makes them push thru the adversity to see what comes next. Like Jack Frost proper, he, by his actions, reminds people that there is something exciting building, something to look forward to. I love you Chibit.
Back to Shoveling. Chibit gone, and the plowing wrapped up, the finishing touches and final scrapings had to be done. So I put my coat back on and headed out with my favorite shovel, and realized that I was enjoying myself. One by one the neighbors were coming out with their shovels too, and taking some time to catch up, maybe help one of the older folk out. The Christmas lights lit up our work, and the snow crystals reflected those myriad colors back at us like a million perfect prisms. The sky was deep Prussian blue, liberally streaked with indigo and countless pinpoints of starry lights. And it was cold. Crisp cold, the kind that pinks your cheeks, and frosts your breath. The kind that makes your winter heart feel warm inside. I was almost disappointed to go in for the night because it was a moment of such profound beauty and contentment. What I can look forward to is that it's only one of many storms yet to come that need to be cleaned up after. I feel so amazingly alive right now. So happy, so in place and time. The Ice Princess wishes everyone a magical night amidst the beauty of the season.