12/23/24

And so today’s moment of happiness despite the news.

As of this past Saturday at 1:00 p.m., I am officially on Christmas break until January 6^th. I normally only take off the week between Christmas and New Year’s, but with those days being on Wednesday this year, it seemed odd to work on those little dangling days that weren’t part of that week. I’m the boss, so I gave myself the full two weeks.

But it didn’t really feel like my break started until today. Today is Monday, and normally, I would have six clients and a class.

Today, I just had me.

I decided to try very hard this time to have a break like what I give myself when I go to the Oregon coast. That doesn’t usually happen with my breaks at home, as there are still distractions. And of course, I have Christmas Eve tomorrow and then Christmas day, and that won’t be like Oregon at all. But at home, I almost always have breakfast at my desk, while going through email.

Today, I pretended there was an ocean right outside my door.

I got up, threw on my old ratty pajamas, and went downstairs. Before fixing breakfast, I had to take the dog out – not an Oregon thing to do – and of course, just as I opened my garage door, one of my neighbors was pulling out of the parking lot. She waved at me gaily as I stood there in my ratty pajamas and bedhead. A sight I’m sure she won’t forget soon.

Then I gave the dog her medicine, also not an Oregon thing. Finally, I settled down in my recliner with my breakfast and a good hot cup of coffee. The fireplace was on. I had a good book. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

Oregon doesn’t have a recliner. It has a wood stove, which I’ve always been too scared to use. I was content, even without an ocean.

I actually managed to drink my whole cup of coffee before it got cold. On a normal day, I would have to reheat it several times, and then finally give up and throw the rest away. I tend to be optimistic in the morning (really!) and fill my cup to the brim, determined to be able to drink it, even though that rarely happens. But today, I warmed my hands around my mug. My fingers did not need to be on the keyboard. Email could wait.

My coffee was in my favorite mug, one that I’ve used for years. It was a gift from my daughter Katie, who was living in Florida at the time. It’s a big heavy mug, artisan-made, with a mermaid on it. I have a thing about mermaids. And I have a thing about her, as I have a thing about all my kids. Every morning, when I use it, I think of her. I miss her a lot (she lives in Louisiana), especially at Christmas, and especially right now, this year.

In the last year, I received another mug, from my daughter-by-proxy Rayne. It’s from Starbucks, but a Starbucks in London. It has Big Ben on it, which I really, really want to see and touch and hear. It also is a big heavy mug, and when I received it, I began to alternate it with my mermaid. Then, when I was in Oregon this year, I wrote about my favorite mug from that kitchen, which has a big blue fish on it. It’s the only mug I use while I’m there, and I’ve been going there since 2006, even though there’s an entire cabinet full. This year, a student traced the photo I took and found me another mug exactly like it for sale in New York City. Imagine. By the time I got home, it was waiting for me on my counter – a bit of Oregon to enjoy year round. So that one was added into the cycle too.

But in the last week or so…I’ve returned to just pulling the mermaid out of the dishwasher, if that’s where she is. Holding the mug in both hands. Missing my daughter. I have been feeling such a pull to have all of my family together, in one room. Before they are missing, before I am missing. If there’s anything Michael’s experience has taught me, it’s that reality of “here one minute, gone the next.”

I seem to be in a missing season.

There is a novel by Elizabeth Berg, called The Pull Of The Moon. It’s an earlier book, but my favorite of all of hers. And there is a line in it, near the beginning, which has just been following me wherever I go.

The time of losses is upon me.

Oh, yes. And I just ache.

But this morning, as I sat there, well…I just sat there. Holding my coffee. Warming my hands. Looking at the fireplace. My book at the ready on one side, brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts, also warm, on the other side. It wasn’t long before I was joined by two orange cats, who were delighted to see me in my recliner at that time of day. One sat behind my head, on the back of my seat, and the other sat on the console, between me and Michael’s empty recliner. The dog was at my feet.

At first, I kept thinking of things I could be doing. I needed to run to the Park & Rec office, to rent a special space for the AllWriters’ 20^th birthday celebration (the space is where I taught for the first time). I wanted to work on both of the books I’m writing, one in poetry, one a novel. My bed needed to be made, my laundry put away. There was a message on the studio voicemail from a long-ago client who wants to return to coaching. “I miss you, Kathie,” she said. I needed to call her back.

I understand missing.

The condo was quiet. Other than the pets, I was the only one there. I didn’t have the television on. My phone was on silent. If there were notifications coming on my computer, that was upstairs, and I didn’t hear anything.

Just quiet. I’ve needed quiet lately.

My list of what I wanted to get done trailed through my head, and then petered out. I pictured an ellipsis.

And then I said, “No.”

And I closed my eyes.

And rested.

Because I could. (I’m the boss.)

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.