Card and Calendar

For so many years getting the Christmas card for the year was very important to me. I often spent hours and went to many different shops. And then there were the times when I saw "the one" at the first shop and couldn't wait to send it. I always wanted to send the feelings I associate with Christmas: love, generosity, surprise, fun, grace. In New York I had a post card with a picture of a Christmas themed graffiti covered subway car. That was perfect.
I don't really remember when I stopped getting a card. Some combination of time and money. Maybe a loss of interest but, really, it just costs so dang much. It's one of many things that feel like they're just so much more expensive than they used to be.
I thought I might try to get one this year. I thought I'd be in NC with time on my hands and Mom's always bountiful amount of stamps. But.That changed.
And then there was the calendar of the year. Another way to have art that combined a sense of ... oh I dunno. Beauty. Place. I loved Pre-Raphaelite art on my calendars. There was a cluster thumb tack sized holes on my kitchen wall in SF. For the last two years I've had Kristina's calendars, which is great because it's so personal and even if I didn't know her I'd love the images. Ironically I rarely (maybe never) look at the calendar part. Maybe I never did. But I love the first of every month. I love the image for the month. I love knowing it will change so I'd better enjoy it while I can.
Now that I'm thinking about this I remember always looking for the new journal. I haven't written in my paper journal since 2005. That's just sad. In fact my last entry ended mid sentence.
Everything is on the phone now. I am always changing the wall paper and fussing with folders. But, it all gets deleted eventually.
I miss those things. I miss the search for the card and the calendar. And the journal.
Life is loosely wired now. The days and events and celebrations come and go before I'm ready for them to begin, or end. My time is filled with cleaning and meal preparation and moments of care. And every few days I sort of shred and crawl through. Only doing what I must.
I was very excited to have my first Christmas at the nest. I was excited to have a small tree and see my ornaments. Because my friends embrace the mommy we had packages under the tree and a fun morning of opening them. There is enough candy in the nest to put me in a coma. I didn't get any baking done. But we had a nice time.
When I was leaving San Francisco I thought about how I'd lost a connection with my sense of reverence. I was overwhelmed with gratitude because having a home is a pretty big deal for me. And having this one is really amazing. I wanted to rebuild something. Some process of acknowledgement. I can't use words like spirit because they are so badly used. God. The universe. Can't use them. But something like that. Something that expresses the inner. Something that connect the inner and the outer. And the bigger.
It's not really going that well.
But I am still working on it.
It's hard for me to even say things like Happy New Year because ... happy? Really? Happy is the least I want for the people I love. I want wonder. And joy. And connection. I want happiest. I want ever after. I want more than enough and best ever.
So.
No card from me again this year.
Just these little notes.
These dribs and drabs.