It's the night watch. The "middle of the night, why can't I sleep, if I don't get up and write I'll forget this" watch. Last year I listened to a fascinating book on stages of consciousness, sleep being one stage, and the author explored the notion of the night watch. Now I refuse to call it insomnia or interrupted sleep and instead, enjoy a mid-night moment before I have my second sleep. I just arrange time different on some nights.
http://slumberwise.com/science/your-ancestors-didnt-sleep-like-you/
Time isn't always as easy to manipulate. But sorting your stuff can do it too.
Last night we unpacked and touched, sorted and repacked all of my sister's Christmas decorations. Pudgy handprints on faded construction paper. Santa holding a tiny baby- both swathed in red velvet, in front of a wall of draped crimson.
Four stockings and the brass letters of NOEL they always hung on. Poignant pieces of family time.
We also found yards of garland, more resembling bright green, toilet bowl brushes than fragrant pine boughs. Styrofoam balls wrapped in net and sequined in plastic.
Candles past their prime.
A broken Joseph from a nativity set she rarely viewed, let alone set in place of honor to celebrate the baby's birth.
Not everything we keep is treasure.
We all have moments of transition where the old and new collide.
We all fold the last baby blanket, toss the last soccer shoe, accept the flag from the fresh face soldier.
We clean closets and pack up houses.
Life is about our response to the changes along the way,
and what we chose to bring with us,
what we willingly or sorrowfully leave behind.
She chose carefully. What would be a difficult reminder of loss? What would ease them into a new normal, a sense they are still a family? What did she want to carry forward into a new season? What was only appropriate in this old life with soaring ceilings and open wood banisters and railings to swathe for the holidays? While my sister's life may not ever appear, at least on the outside, this big again, time has proven to me that a large life doesn't always have to involve yards of plastic garland and nine foot Christmas trees. She too will learn what brings spaciousness to her new world, what will be mourned and left behind for what is ahead.
A large life is a repository of the many small moments.
A quiet glass of wine on a porch swing at the end of a long day.
Laughter around a meal carefully prepared with the guests in mind. Especially if guests are "just" family. Bike rides to farmers' markets. Wrapping in blankets and watching the sun rise,
with a cup of tea. Double rainbows. A baby's smell, a toddler's laugh.
And also Barbie houses and Christmas ornaments- transferred carefully from one life to another. Bringing one time into another.
