It’s safe to say that I have never been a “cold weather person”, in the fall there is one day that I loved throwing on my boots and a scarf, right when the crisp falls in the air, right before everything dies, all while eating a caramel apple, that day doesn’t suck. Being trapped in a bar with my best friends in a snow storm was the number one reason to live in hell, but the sweet responsibility of Scarlett has erased the luxury of not getting a DUI (because everyone looks drunk in snowy road conditions) by giving me something to live for at home.
There is still the night of Christmas Eve, when all errands are done, food is made, and everyone is safely in the place they will be all day the next day, the fire blazes, and you no longer give a fuck about what you look like naked, so “Santa’s cookies” are fair game, let it fucking snow, that night, that is it, that is the only reason to live in Illinois.
Scarlett was clawing to try ice-skating, and I am pretty sure in her mind she was going to glide out on the ice “Michelle Kwan style”, instead it looked a bit more “Bambi-style”, and she took the failure “Tonya Harding-style”. She was pissed, hated ice-skating, everyone who ever ice-skated, and vowed never to do it again. My sister was able to convince her to go again, at this rink they had this fabulous little ice-walker, it went much better, and she is now willing to go again if she ever gets the chance, which isn’t looking good for her.
It’ll take a while for me to forget starting the car thirty minutes before we leave, ten minutes of wrangling a 4 year old into clothing that she isn’t used to wearing, hell, she isn’t used to wearing any clothing. She recently stopped wearing bikini tops cold turkey. So, needless to say, trying to fit every single finger into a glove isn’t happening. Not to mention, getting my own shit together, which is basically the same amount of meltdown.
But, the one thing that the island doesn’t have are “the weavers”, the ones that know me thread by thread, they can tell my tale because it is theirs, and no amount of goodness can quench the thirst for your history, the surrounding of yourself in it’s purest form, the inside jokes, the looks, and answers to why you are the way you are without any questions, that is always home, they are always home.
Being at my Momma and Poppy’s for Christmas does feel like the home-est home ever, it is where I remember most of my life, and it looked like Christmas had attacked this place with the full force of all things holiday. First, you couldn’t tell if it was day or night by looking out the window, a, there was no sun ever, and b, my parents spent their retirement on lights. Not a surface, nothing, was free of some little sparkle and shine. Scarlett said point blank “Nonny’s tree is far better than ours, and probably is the best in the world”, and I can’t lie, I think she might be right. Every ornament has a story and she uses the vintage colored lights, which for a kid? That’s fucking Rockstar.
So Santa dropped off a huge Zebra, thanks FATASS, I guess you didn’t give a shit about how "Zara" would get home? We can be grateful this week that she didn’t name her “Dildo”, her new derogatory term for someone who isn’t very nice, it’s the little Christmas miracles that we need to be grateful for. Maybe she got that from my calling Santa that for getting her such a cumbersome gift. Santa doesn’t seem to think about Jason having to lug that around the airport, what a complete asshole? For once American Airlines was cool, well, not that cool, they charged us the $100 overage for four pounds, but they didn’t smash our child’s Christmas hope, which I consider a big win.
Home at last. It’s back to the series of 6 months straight of unbelievable days. The breeze falls over your skin like silk, and the nights have the slightest chill in the air, just enough for a sheet and maybe a light blanket, and the breeze never stops. After being in Illinois for three weeks and not ever seeing the sun, I think we are even more grateful than ever before.
I finally got the long awaited pictures back from my beautiful and talented assistant. Everyone should have a really talented photographer capture them, I say it over and over, but at least once in their adult life, sometimes they can see something beautiful about you that you have never noticed. We were at a private beach, usually no one or few are there, of course, this day there are 100 people, or so it felt, and I have one shot I have to have, and that is me, walking naked, into my ocean. We waited. and waited. and waited. and finally, we had to make a choice, lose the ONLY shot I wanted, or be naked in front of people.
I got naked.
and so did they.
Thank you to the three people that made my nakedness “so five minutes ago”.
