Away

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It is December 5, 2005.

This will be my second Christmas away from home. I know this may not mean much to some, or others may realize they, too, haven’t been home in a while, or a few others may never have wanted to be home in the house in which they grew because of a difficult childhood, or even a few others may be questioning exactly what IS a home…but I, I know exactly what I am missing, and it is so very present in my heart that it makes me both terribly sad and overwhelmed with joy that I can feel so connected to my history, my family, that I can…

Smell the cologne my brothers where when we get together for Christmas lunch,
The paisley shirt, or the hiking boots and jeans, so that we can take a walk up, up the hill after eating
and talking
and fruit
desserts and espresso
and a card game
candles lit, tinkling of the ding-dings, often not working, but hearing the soft ringing as if it were in front of me at this very moment.

My mothers apple pie and Panetone that she makes from scratch, in her flour-covered apron and proud smile…tries to take in a glance every one of her children all at once…in one small glance, or a stare, or even a laugh. We are beautiful in her eyes.
My father, short, often quiet, but powerful and usually quite wise. Laughs when he is at a lack for words, always wins the card game, and usually disappears at some point during the busy days when the house a wonderful chaos.
Orange peels on the wood stove.

A movie and sitting with my niece and nephew on the grey couch. A tree glows in front of the fireplace. I recognize every single one of the ornaments…they’ve been around for decades.
The sound of voices in the kitchen, the porch, outside, comfortingly all around.
Passing of gifts. Catching up on a few of our stories, how much do we tell. Here and there.
A hug. A wrestle.

Back to the huge, dark wooden table, covered with my mother’s lace table cloth, white on top of red. The candles drip wax
And we still talk. Sometimes in pairs, or trios, and mix and mash and share.
About physics, politics, syntax, wine, local economics, job stress, how the children grow, recipes, dreams and memories.
And laugh.

The house is warm.
There are electric candles in the windows.
My father has helped my mother bring in the plants.
Frost tonight.
We are big.
The house is small.
My heart is big
And these memories spill out.
I am lucky to have every single one and it moves me to tears.

I open every letter you send me, every email you write, every moment on the phone, and it is directed to my heart…how complicated I feel, heavy are the decision I made and make, when being a very part of this family means so much. But even though I am not there, and like I will do when I am 60 and looking back over my life…back over the memories that stand out like this very one…where my every sense is alive…I will remember and I will be happy.

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Photos

Sharing the goods...home baked cookies sent to me...and shared with friends
My mother sends me the cookies that she and I used to spend hours in the morning decorating a week or so before Christmas. Now I share this task with friends, which I am lucky to have...but I remember this process with my mother and cherish it. We put colored sugars and frostings on the cookies as we take a break from working in the studio....