heart factory

 I'm realizing heartbreak and awe have a very large overlap in the venn diagram.

the F

May the F in February stand for finally, I mean, for family. 

And for fish pie from our favorite neighbor, for forty seven and for air trajectory failures, for a first time adjudicated solo, for forest initiatives and father/son duets, for fine art and field trips and time with friends.

still January

The boys have turned our dining room into a basketball court. A couple weeks ago, after the tree came down, a hoop went up. And I don't know if it's a testament to desperation or DGAFs, if it's a result of the climate, the bitter cold and the brutally cruel politics, but it is what it is.

And I'm just trying to be okay.

I've been texting with a couple favorite cousins, talking about the books our kids are reading and the cologne our kids are wearing. These are the cousins I used to ride to Blockbuster with, ready to duke it out over which video to rent and passing the same soda flavored Lip Smacker around, oblivious to the peace of being backseat passengers, watching our favorite raindrop slide down the window to win the race to the bottom.

Now I'm suddenly never not nervous.

These are hard days to own a human head and heart. Like I'm wondering if it's possible die from losing respect for too many people at once? I don't know how to speak to Celia's goneness or the president's hereness. I do know our family is full of experts in finding joy in the stories we might rather get rid of. But it's exhausting.

And I need it to stop being January.

I've been alternating between noticing things here and far away, going back and forth between the very close up happenings in our house and the very distant atrocities on the internet. I don't even know how to describe the a-lot-of-it all, the underlying sense that life has become impossible for everybody.

What does mercy even mean? 

a whole stack of yesterdays

When light is limited and the outdoors is hostile, when back to back holidays have exploded routines and the extended liminality feels endless, the beginning of January requires compassion on full blast.

The boys folded origami paper claws and snacked on fresh pomelo slices, plucked tunes on the ancient ukulele and started latch hook pillow projects. We enjoyed the annual Beatles marathon and began the new year with bowls of soup and friendly neighbors, sleds in the snow and scrabble letters on the table, plus a quick trip to NYC, a balm against the itchy unknowability of a whole new year.

Making things and taking deep breaths, a whole stack of tomorrows ahead.

pictured, and not

annual caroling with high school choir friends and a chili bar with neighbors, a slime-making playdate and a RiverFam pajama party, lunch and Keno with the West Virginia Poppies and doughnuts with pals in from Tahoe, soup Christmas and cousins all around and a football playoff, elf traps and Lego sets and new board games, the candlelight service and pickles to hide, SPAM for breakfast plus two harp performances, a gingerbread house extravaganza and cocktail sauce lessons, a home full of music and hearts eager with the anticipation of travel, special events and so many ordinary moments mixed in with holiday highlights: