The Remains of December

I have been secret hours restless lately; a combination of circumstances, illness, and medication, methinks. Last night, I roamed the house, front porch, and gardens until 3 am, at one point embracing the drama by wearing one of my sun hats and my long robe and carrying around the perfect walking stick that Rhodes brought home from the wilds of the Outer Banks. I felt appropriately dressed while listening for the owls and other night sounds, but it seemed I was the only creature stirring. Every being with better sense than I was safely tucked away in a cozy snug, not at all sorry to miss the soft rain. 

Secret hours is a phrase from a book I recently read. That two-word combination is a skeleton key that turned a ward in one of the mystery locks inside me, revealing a truth I needed to know. It is certainly well-suited to the workings of my mind and spirit right now. 

I slept a few hours, cozy in my bed, safe in the sheltering embrace of the Cottage. These are feelings I will never take for granted, and I thought about that when I woke and watched the darkness outside the window slowly melt into a soft gray day. The wind is making all the chimes ring gently, and the sound of the rain hitting the roof is sweet and comforting. It is most certainly a day for curling up, resting, or engaging in quiet activities. 

This has been the sweetest Yule/Christmas season I have experienced in a long time, but these are not easy days for me or the gentlemen who share my home. Regardless of our individual spiritual and healing paths, between us, we carry more than a few ghosts who are active this time of year. So, when I eventually moved from the comfort of flannel sheets, the first thing I did was refresh the simmering pot on the stovetop. I added fresh thyme and time, more pine cones, orange slices, cinnamon, a few drops of balsam fir oil, and a spritz or two of grounding spray. I'm feeling serious about tending hearth and home today, and this was an essential first step. 

Rhodes and I shared some kitchen chores, passing the time together with humor and the depth of ease that comes from familiarity and the release of expectations. 11 years into our togetherness, we are finally crafting our own holiday traditions. Preparing easy-access food is becoming a favorite, I think; a way of providing self-care options for each other that do not require constant attention at a time when we might not be able to provide that. 

There's a crockpot of chili going and freshly baked cornbread. There will be some other easy foods: smashed baby potatoes with cheese and bacon, little BBQ sausages, a festive-looking Caprese salad, and sausage balls if I get back into the kitchen to bake them. Plus, there's already an apple mincemeat pie waiting to be sliced. My father-in-law was just prowling the kitchen, looking to see what was on offering today. I think I'll go get that pie out and fix him a dish. 

Hank says, "Get that cornbread right, Mama!"

If these days are difficult for you, be kind and patient. Love yourself. Rest. Cry. Laugh. Immerse yourself in the crowds of your choosing, even if they are held within the pages of a good book or on a screen. Sit quietly by yourself, wrapped in a warm blanket. 

You do you, boo. You do you. 

Much love from Bear Path Cottage.