Seven years old. Soon to be eight.
Christmas 1970. I loved that housecoat.
A blond bob. My hair would turn almost white in the summer. We were outside playing from dawn to dusk in the days of free-range parenting. I can confirm having several unsupervised hair-raising experiences.
The year I got my Crissy doll. Turn a dial embedded in her back, and her hair would grow. I'm sure there was a North American-wide parental scramble to get her that December. I loved her. She got a permanent brush cut at some point — you know, regular brother stuff.
My unique spirit was developing. What a gem.
The occasion for a feast or family time can be fun. But it's not everything.
I see the kids navigating blended families. Divorce changes the season. Even in amicable situations, there are complications. We mostly tell a fairy tale narrative about family and the holidays. I was older when my parents split, but I still remember my heart hurting.
And I have another perspective on the season from being on my own for years. There is great pleasure in stepping out of the christian days-long party and joining with the rest of the free world. The 25th is another day for a lot of people.
If you work in a kitchen, you might feel tired in the final sprint of the year. I hope there's enough left to fill your own spirit up.
I said yes to a pair of tickets for Rupi Kaur on Friday night at Massey Hall. Brought a friend who loves her poetry. A lovely night in the thick of December. There will be trips to galleries and movies in the few days off — the Kent Monkman show at the ROM and Leonard Cohen: Everybody Knows at the AGO.
Joy is the orchestral opening of this song. So rare to better the Rolling Stones, but The Verve did it. I love the bell ringing in the middle of this extended version.
Comments are closed.
© Deborah Reid, 2021 - 2023. All Rights Reserved.