From the Porch

The blue of sky pops behind the bright green of the pine tree needles. The tree that has broken, 2 pieces have fallen, and other smaller ones behind it. Two years ago we burned the bigger pieces at Thanksgiving, starting the fire with a broom doused in gasoline. Waving around the fire stick to get the wet wood to burn. It shot up in a ball of flame and we all stepped back, mouths open, excited.

It poured just minutes earlier, thunder rolling through the sky, bringing billowy white clouds that would open to brilliant blues, the sun shinning down on the green grass. It needs mowing Dad would say. It was grey and cold the day we ceremoniously unwrapped his gravestone. The pink granite bright against the cloud covered sky. The rain started to sputter, a misty gloom. People told Sammy and me we did a good job unwrapping the stone. Maybe they meant we did a good job staying strong. I wanted to stand there and sob, there were too many eyes on me. The days can go by so quickly when you’re not recognizing each one as another passing, but stopping to say this has been almost a year brings you straight back to the reality of grief, of longing, of missing, of losing.

Yellow grasses flutter with the green as the wind picks up, gold and green, sparkling in the sun before a cloud covers it. I rock and watch the sky, the trees, the bushes, and the grass, notice the bright white of the porch railing and the now dry porch boards.

The Rocking Chair on the Porch

It is raining now

but I see sun behind clouds

on the horizon

Us

Walking to dinner, you walk the same speed as me, slower because my feet hurt from being in heels all day. Animated conversations over dinner, about the job I'm excited to be interviewing for, baseball players fame, and the bathroom flusher and tiles. We wonder about delivery, the pizza is so good, and pick up a to go menu on the way out.

We walk into a "everything you could possibly need packed into one" store on the way out, you oblige my desire to browse while rocking out to John Bon Jovi's Always. When the song is over your patience wears thin. You notice Lloyd Bridges name spelled wrong on a DVD on the way out.

We walk home, not having to hold hands or have our arms wrapped around each other, just being side by side. I suggest a cupcake and you heartily agree. They only have mini's left so we pop into Tasti D- Lite too. I think you've said it tastes like air before, but you don't mind you'll get a cone anyway. I look at you as we walk the last 1/2 block home. I'm so happy, we live together, have quiet Friday nights together, share good food together and after it all we go home together, our home. We don't have to cuddle closely on the couch, I can get under a blanket with my Real Simple and you can be happy to move about as you anxiously watch the Red Sox and Yankees play each other. This is us.

Harder Now That it's Over

I'm listening to Ryan Adams' Gold on our new Bose sound dock. It makes me think of driving home from Squam during the summer of ‘05, following my parents through back roads of New Hampshire. The green lawns, the rolling hills, the fields that stretch for acres, bare except for the lone tree in the middle of the land, a stone wall running on either side of it marking the land, marking the time. I always wanted a hill like that near me, one I could walk through in a contemplative mood exploring the land as I sorted my thoughts. One I could bring a boy friend to on a warm spring afternoon for a picnic. I've driven by so many, all the same. They roll on for acres, are often empty, and usually have the one old tree marking the middle of the land.

When I first saw Shawshank Redemption I wanted to point at the screen and say, "Yes, that's it, that's just the scene I want at the lone tree in the rolling field!" It’s so romantic, isn't it? Not just in the typical definition of the word, but the English literature definition too. It’s a place to take lonely, tormented thoughts, not just to take a lover for a passion filled afternoon, or evening. A place I'd feel safe when I'm scared, a landmark to allow your thoughts to fill with memories, good and bad.

Like Ryan Adams. He brings my thoughts to that afternoon driving home, which was just a day, another ending to our Squam week. But then because Dad was with us, probably driving the other car, it makes me think of him. He loved Ryan Adams.

I remember being in the car with him and Matt in New York, talking about Ryan Adams, his newest album, how Dad would like to see him in concert but he hardly ever tours and its always a mystery when he does.

And then I’m there, in the car, looking for parking near the St. James theatre, city all around. Except I see a rolling hill to my right, with a large tree in the center and I go to it and sit by it. Alone, except I know Dad is there. He's in the songs coming through the Bose that I now notice I placed right next to a picture of him, he's at the tree. Thinking, this isn't fucking romantic- I'm dead and had to leave you all. Except, it is. We're left with your memory, your spirit following us and we get to imagine all the connections you're making for us. Parking spots multiple days in the row on our block, birds singing at just the right time, Herons flying over city landscapes with no water in sight.

April 11th

I was sitting on the desk of a co worker- a few months earlier she had confided in me losing her mother when she was 14 to lung cancer- I swung my feet back and forth as I sat, “I just can’t imagine losing a parent.” She responded, “You can never imagine it and then you do and you just handle it.” She was so together, so smart, so mature, so with it… she had done it… if I had to, I would do it. I didn’t really let myself go there yet, I kept convincing myself it wouldn’t be me. I went back to my desk and the phone rang soon after, the call I’d been waiting for. It was cancer. I left work immediately, called Matt, headed to Concord Hospital. In the car I couldn’t focus, on anything. I tried some mellow, depressing, moody music, it didn’t help, I tried something update, poppy, dancey, I couldn’t handle that either. I chose to drive in silence instead. My thoughts swirling. What was going to happen now? he would be okay, he would fight this, people fight cancer all the time. I’m going to be optimistic, I’m going to be strong, we’re all going to handle this and get through it.

When I got there Dad wasn’t in his bed. He was downstairs getting a bone scan. I went down with my mom to get him. We were both speechless in the elevator. We stood in the cold hallway, leaning against the cool cement block wall waiting for him to be wheeled out.

I had envisioned myself arriving, seeing Dad in the bed, climbing in with him, hugging him hard and saying: “You’re gonna fight this, alright?” Instead I wheeled him back to his room, sat, all of us staring, waiting. Dad started his death talk, “I’ve had a great life, I’ve done some wonderful things.” I wouldn’t let him continue, I couldn’t hear it yet. What he would later say is, “I’m having so much fun living though, I don’t want to stop.”

Co-Habitating

“Do I have any famous relatives?”

“Do you? How could this possibly be coming up?”

“I’m doing a MySpace survey.”

“Oh, okay. Do you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you spell Geometry?”

“G, E, O, M, E, T, R, Y.”

“Thanks”

“What was the weather like on my birthday?”

“ahhhh, I have no idea. We were at your house, right? I think it was fine, but I don’t really recall.”

“It wasn’t snowy or anything, was it?”

Shakes head no

unrecognizable mumbling

“What honey?”

“It was in that add, you weren’t paying attention.”

“Okay.”

“Am I moody?”

“Are you moody?”

“Yeah.”

“uhhh, I don’t know." Pause "A little bit. Yeah, I’d say you’re a little bit moody.”

“Good answer.”

“Good answer?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll take that.”

Now

Moving to NYC to do list and status:

Unpack: Done

Buy stuff: Done, only need Blinds for bedroom

Decorate: Done

Hang Pictures: Done

Open new Bank Account: Done

Open Joint Bank Account: TBD (to be done)

Explore Neighborhood: TBD

Find Favorites (restaurants, nail salons, hair place, pharmacy, etc): TBD

See old Friends: TBD (starts Friday with Abby!)

Have Visitors: TBD (First one is Jaimie this weekend!)

Find Job: TBD (had a couple of interviews though...)

Visit out of state and then come back and have this feel like home: TBD

My first week here I slept like a rock, I'd be manically unpacking and shopping during the day and then pass out at night, no thoughts to stir me awake, nothing to keep me up and anxious.

Into the second week I started to have restless nights, I'd lay down to sleep and just toss and turn and think about all the things to do, what we still had to buy, how much money had been spent, how fast April was going to fly by and would I find a job, that my Dad was dead. One night I wanted to get up, my typical sleeplessness activity, surf MySpace and write a blog full of emotion and darker thoughts and angst. But I didn't, it wasn't as easy. I had Matt sleeping next to me and I didn't want to wake him and have him worry, I would have to patter down a hall and into the living room, the computer wasn't on a desk at the foot of my bed anymore. So instead I sat up in bed, I let the thoughts swirl through my head, I almost wrote a full "blog" in my head, but I just sat, I let it work itself through without taking action. It helped, I lay back down minutes later and probably went to sleep soon after that.

Things are different here, its not the same life, I really am living this one though, sure having no job makes it different makes it seem vacation like, but many things are still the same and I'm adjusting to how they fit differently into this new chapter of life. I'm living in each moment, doing what I want in those moments, whether it be waking up depressed and just wanting to stare out the window, or waking up energized and wanting to get shit done. I'm doing what my body and mind want, taking the energy and using it in the moment. Right now I don't really have anything big to pin my thoughts out to look forward to, literally look forward to, I have these moments, this time to live in fully and enjoy and I'm making it work. No more in between times, no more just wait till we get to this date. I'm here, this is now.

A Week

How long is a week, really? You always hear people saying things like,

"This week is flying by!"

"I feel like this week has lasted forever!"

"Is this week over yet?"

"I've been one day ahead all week!"

And what makes them short, long, fast forwarded, put in slow mo? Sometimes having something in the middle of the week you're looking forward to makes it go by quickly for me. I usually have plans on Thursday nights, and some weeks the week will fly to Thursday. I also find that when I have a weekend of no plans, the week is all of a sudden over and I'm left to think, "hmm what am I going to do?" But then there will be average, basic, plain weeks that fly and crawl, sometimes at the same time. So is there any predicting if a week will be over before you know it?

I ask because I'm curious how this upcoming week will be. A week that ends in a drive to NYC where I'll be staying for more than a weekend visit.

I've been telling people, "This week is going to fly by." But what if it doesn't. What if I don't want it to. Can I stop it? I've been pretty bad at living in the moment lately, maybe this week I need to put in an effort to do that. Maybe because I'm so looking forward to Saturday, but so wanting to get in all I need to before I leave, time with friends, packing, breathing, the week will go at just the right speed and I'll be satisfied with all I've done and Saturday will get here just fast enough.

I guess I have to wait a week and see.

Dust

There's dust everywhere. Everything I move as I pack yields dust. My nose is running and I'm coughing and sneezing. Sick of the dust.

I want clean, I want new, I want to unpack and set up my things in new ways, in our new place. I want the boxes moved so I clean here too. My life is changing, things are happening, its time to clean the dust left behind, the 2 years of living here, what's been collecting under couches and behind bookshelves.

I've got the good stuff, its not dust. I've got memories, and images of what the apartment was like, how I lived in it, the good times spent it, everything it was for me and how it helped carry me through the last two years. I won't vacuum those up. That's why I'm ready, why I'm yearning to clean. Its the other stuff, the crumbs, the unused spaces, that can be swept up.

I'll want to clean the new place too, make sure as we unpack its our dust that will start to collect. To be swept again when we move on, which we will, but it will be together and we'll be different, but it will be good. So good. And I won't sneeze.

Moment

I haven't done a very good job of living in the moment lately. Something I was told this summer, from people, books, etc was to live each day to its fullest. Live in each moment, don't try to take anything too quickly or rush through how I was feeling, just live, in each moment.

I haven't been doing that lately. I was standing at the kitchen counter, putting my lunch together for work and thinking, "Is it Friday yet? Is this week over yet?" And then in the car, driving home, later in the day, I thought, "I haven't been doing a good job of living in the moment." I've got one date locked in my head, March 24th. Its when I move to NYC, its when I will start to slow down again and be moment to moment. Now I'm just Friday to Friday, or lease signing day to move in day.

Sure, I'm skipping over moments that matter, but I'm also slowing down and really living in moments that matter too. Like sitting at the bar at the Legal's in the Charles Sq. laughing with Sara and Ashley. Knowing I'll miss these moments when I'm 4 hours away, knowing I should enjoy this time, and I did, I fully lived it, forgot what time it was, forgot that Matt was driving to Somerville as I enjoyed it, forgot what I was looking forward to, for that moment.

Maybe because I know I'm flying through the day to day right now, its okay, maybe I am taking in what matters as I push through, my mind, eyes, body fixed on moving to NY to be with Matt, no end date in sight. Maybe I should focus on what this moment means, Matt's here now, who cares that we'll be together permanently in two weeks, I should spend this moment with him.

Marsh

We walked in on the frozen stream, each step risking the breaking ice, but caring little. My mind was focused somewhere far beyond the crackling ice, and then on the vast openness before me. My eyes were quickly drawn to the barren tree protruding from the marsh. It stood alone, a smaller tree next to it, a child to a parent. It stood so tall and bare in this vast open space. I turned, watching mom walk into the marsh, towards the center, her blue jacket standing out above the golden grasses that covered the swamp, the snow not yet deep enough to cover them. The gold grass fluttered in the wind as mom crossed the marsh. I followed.

I stood in the middle, moved by the open world around me, watching the movement of the grass, watching the stomping steps Mom took, I closed my eyes, my body spinning or maybe just my mind. I felt Dad, I wanted Dad, it doesn't matter which one it is or was, he was there. My eyes were drawn down to the gold, up to the blue empty sky, I looked for Dad. Where are you? The wind slowed down and passed me softly. I followed my Mom's steps, stomping where she had. Watching the wind move the tall pines surrounding the marsh, watching Mom through piney branches of a bare tree. I turned back to the large tree in the center, my eyes fixed again. Why was it standing out so strongly when moments early and in moments again I would be surrounded by larger and older trees?

Mom sat on a branch once out of the swamp. "The pain is too much sometimes." We both cry, her more visibly than me. "But it’s too cold to sit here anymore."

Swirling

I drive a little and then stop, taking the time to turn my head and look at the skyline to my left. The Empire State building stands out most for me, but I take it all in. Turning my eyes back to the traffic crossing the Whitestone Bridge to the tolls ahead. The sun bouncing off of cars around me, the snow shining icy in the light, the water, the cars, the skyline all swirling into my thoughts. The weekend. Seeing us sitting at dinner, seeing us walking out of apartments, already in agreement about what we'd seen, what we liked, what we didn't like. The traffic hardly even a bother as I sift through the thoughts.

I used to think, in the early parts of our relationship, will we really be able to keep finding things to talk about? Obviously we did, but it always baffled me. We always have/had something to talk about, we always keep each other entertained. I see us at dinner, sharing fondue, dipping pieces of food into a boiling pot and letting it cook, chatting as we wait, I don't even remember what about. Sharing sushi, talking about what we'll learn about each other when we live together, taken from Sex and the City- our secret single behaviors, and there isn't much we don't already know. How do we do it?

I think about moving, about what I'll bring, what I won't, packing up. I think about what I want the place to look like, what I've already fantasized it looking like in my head and trying to remind myself it won't be as good, maybe close. I inch further, realizing the back up is cars waiting to pay cash. Cash? Who pays cash at tolls anymore? I finally zip through and watch as the light changes, as the road changes from wide to the small tight compactness of the Merritt. The trees surrounding it bare and cold, the light sifting through them as it sets around my drive home.

Death Cab plays as my soundtrack, taking my thoughts to Dad, to death, to everything I've experienced and lived through, I'm sad, but then Mom calls and I'm not, I'm happy.

A friend at work told me about a time she was having a Reiki treatment done. She lay on the table, her mind blank except for this swirling image. After her treatment, she was speaking with the woman who'd done it and told her about the swirling image. The woman who had done her Reiki explained that she had seen the swirling, that her body had been giving that image off.

I wonder if mine is now.

An Exerpt...

Driving home with Matt the first weekend of February, listening to Death Cab, my Mom’s new obsession- I’m sure my Dad would have liked them. She’s taken on so much of who he was, what he enjoyed. I think of Dad listening to the lyrics piped forth into the car. “I will follow you into the dark.” “Love is watching someone die.” I’m not anxious anymore when I make the drive home, but inevitably I focus on Dad. Later that night, Mom shows us poems for her book. Talks about experiencing Dad inside of her, feeling as if he’s right behind her eyes, like she’s seeing things for both of them. How close to the edge she’s come feeling as if she’s living for two. I think, "I need to make sure to write this all down". We order take out dinner from the pizza place down the street. “I always hated Louie’s,” she says, “Now I think I might like it, and Dad isn’t here to appreciate it. He always wanted Louie’s and I would nix it. You know what else I’ve been doing that I always told Dad not to, listening to music really loudly in the morning when I get ready for work. I would always tell Dad to shut it off because it would take me out of my focus zone for getting ready, and every 8 months or so he would test me again. Now I do it every morning.” It makes sense to me, her doing all these things- taking on how Dad was, what Dad did. It’s a way of keeping him alive, a way of keeping him present in this world.

Grace

I walk to the platform, not caring that I just missed a train. I stand in front of an advertisement for diet prodcuts, not caring that I just had a liquid dinner, martinis instead of entrees. I put my headphones on and hit play on my IPod. A song too loud for my mood comes on, and a train pulls into the station. I sit down, scrolling through the playlist and see a song called, "Grace".

An eerie, yet beautifully melodic voice comes on, singing of love, of loss, of being on her "knees with only memories left to hold". Holy shit, I think, this is so it. "Turn my grief to Grace," She exclaims. I'm lost in her voice, her lyrics, how true they are to everything I'm going through, gone through. The play on words of grace and my Mom's name, Grace.

The train pulls into Porter station and climb out, selecting Grace again. I step onto the long escalator. One foot on the step above and let the lyrics pour into me. I'm lost in them, I'm lost in the movement of the escalator and the places the lyrics are taking my mind. Its the perfect combination of being and mind. I almost slide off of the top of the escalator, passing through the doors of the station and into the cold night. I walk with determination, hitting back once more on my IPod, passing once more into her voice, her story, her perfect connection to my experience. My steps are in line with her beat, my head in sync with her thoughts. "Its so fucking perfect," I think. My body connected to her voice, my steps almost outside of my body, but still connected to the rhythm.

Turn my grief to Grace.

Missing

I've been putting all my writing energy into a word document, instead of here. I'm writing a memoir, writing down the memories of my Dad's sickness and death. I'm focused, serious, into it. Its taking all my writing energy though, and I've been neglectful of all the other stuff in my head that wants to get written down. I don't want to post pieces of the memoir here, you already get pieces of it through my past and future entries, which is another reason I've been missing from here. But I've had a couple of things swimming in my head that keep coming up, so I'll post them as I procrastinate.

We Live In

A lot of inspirations come to me when I'm driving. This night was no different. I pulled up to a stop light and looked instinctively to my right. It was a car dealership, a man was sitting at his desk- facing the floor to ceiling windows. He had a focused look on his face, his mouth often moving as he read the words on the computer screen in front of him. There were two empty chairs in front of the desk, potential clients would someday sit in them. To the left of him was a chair with his jacket thrown over it, I pictured a busy day when all three chairs were used and his jacket was probably shoved under his desk rather than hung on a rack somewhere in the building. His tie was too tight and I wondered why it hadn't been loosened already, the work day was over. Or maybe there were clients about to walk through to the door to sign the agreement he was drafting. He looked to his left, at the paper copy of what he was typing I assumed. Writing it all out in long hand first, as I did with this entry, writing quickly at future stop lights so I could remember my thoughts at that moment, so I could accurately capture it here, so he could accurately write up the numbers that had been agreed upon days earlier at a quick stop in to browse that turned into a purchase, a "We'll come back later this week to sign."I wondered why he never realized I was watching him, the light was long and my eyes were locked. Too focused on the work in front of him, driven by the possibility of sale, his tight tie driving him to finish so he could pick the jacket up hours later, loosen the tie and head home. Coldplay's "Beautiful World" came on the radio and the light changed to green. I pictured him standing up, his white man-tailored shirt a little too tight around his belly, his tie straightened, shaking hands fervently with the incoming soon to be owners. Them thinking their world would be a bit more beautiful with a new car.

Future Girl

As the month reaches the middle and I start feeling the end of March approaching my eagerness grows to get to NY and settle in to a new way of life; living with Matt, starting a new job, navigating a new city, making new friends, strengthen old relationships. I'm also starting to find that more and more I'm living in the future, pushing through each day to get to the next and the next and then the weekend and then the next month. Is it healthy? Probably not. Do I keep letting myself do it? Yes. I need something to look forward to and I'm letting myself continue to find the next thing to look towards when current days pass. I can't remember if I've always done this or if its a result of the loss last year. I find days and times when I'm truly living in the moment, not looking towards the next moment, but they are few and far between. I'm not sure if I want to change this current mindset, its driving me, pushing me to work hard and stay motivated. I'm somewhat convinced that when I get to NY I'll want to take in each moment, each newness, relish it all and really live in it-- I'll start being in the present, surely still looking forward to the future plans I'll make, but appreciating what I have in the moment and feeling like I've finally gotten to the place I've been standing on my tip toes to see for so long.

Resolutions

I said I wasn't going to make a resolution this year. I actually said to a group of people, I'm resolving to not make a resolution. One of them smartly replied, "That's a resolution". Okay, so it kind of is... but then I got to thinking about really making one.

Last year I resolved to try a new restaurant every month. I was really on track until April. I found some great new restaurants too, the Ivy was probably my favorite find. Maybe it was last years resolution getting stomped on by the enormous life change that made me not want to make one this year. Maybe it is that I just want to live each day and not worry about fulfilling a resolution. Maybe I've already resolved myself to too many changes and newness this year.

Sunday evening I was doing nothing around the apartment and realized I hadn't turned the TV on. Usually when I have an evening to do nothing the TV is on in the background. I decided, I watch too much TV and I have a stack of 5 books on my nightstand that I want to read. I determined my resolution would be to read more. So, as my starting point here is what I'm reading and why... maybe it won't only motivate me to dig in and read these books, but motivate some of you out there to find a great book, turn off the TV and dive in.

Downtown- I started reading this book last year, it got me through many Lucky Star bus trips to NY. It inspires me to explore my new city and has already gotten me excited at the wonderful place I'm moving to and all the possibilities its held for so many people.

Banishing Verona- I love Margot Livesy's writing. She brings characters to life in such interesting ways and has a really great style of creating quirky characters that you can really buy into.

Kaddish- This books captures not only the mourning process and where it can take you, but its a similar style to what I want to write and maybe publish someday about losing my father and where it took me

Inside Every Woman- I'm reading this for a bzz campaign, it did inspire me to start writing the above mentioned book, but mostly I read it as my "light" reading and to look for some tidbits I can take away.

There are many more on my shelves, and recommendations that have come my way. Hopefully regardless of where this year takes me its a resolution I can keep!

So This is the New Year

I feel obliged to write a New Year post. As a blogger, I read other blogs and I've found that most of them have written the classic New Year post. "I can't believe what happened to me this year, I'm so happy, what a great year, I'm so different, blah blah blah blah." (nothing against those typical new years post, I read them don't I? And I enjoy them.)

Well- mine may be a bit different. I'm so glad this year is over. The first 3 months of it were really the only that hinted a nice 2006 filled with happy changes, fun adventures and opportunities to grow and change in positive ways. I can't even remember anything that happened January-February. Come April and my year basically turned to shit. There were changes, there were adventures and I sure as hell grew- but there wasn't anything positive about it- and honestly I don't want to do the typical "lets find the positivity in it" writing. I think I've done that and I hold that inside of me, the underlying optimism and positivity, still. But at the end of the day, I'm really f-ing glad this year is done.

I wrote back in the fall about my hesitance to call the Jewish New Year my New Year. I'm ready now. I'm still hesitant, there is a bit of pessimism that shows itself more prominently in me now, but I'm also excited at the plans I've made for 2007 and the hopes I have for what the year could mean for me, my family and my friends.

As we rang in the New Year here last night my Mom put on a Death Cab song... "The New Year" and I'll leave it here for you. For me, its a fitting description for the pessimist in me. For the optimist in me I see a fitting description of the possibilities a New Year can hold if you don't put too much weight on the occasion and just keep living each day.

Happy New Year

"The New Year"

Death Cab For Cutie- Transatlanticism

so this is the new year.
and i don't feel any different.
the clanking of crystal
explosions off in the distance (in the distance).

so this is the new year
and I have no resolutions
for self assigned penance
for problems with easy solutions

so everybody put your best suit or dress on
let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once
lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn
as thirty dialogues bleed into one

i wish the world was flat like the old days
then i could travel just by folding a map
no more airplanes, or speedtrains, or freeways
there'd be no distance that can hold us back.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back (x2)

so this is the new year (x4)

Traditions

When I was young- between 8 and teenage years (I was a pretty easy teenager, enjoying family and family friend events) my brother and I would head to Ali and John's (family friends) for cookie making and tree decorating. We would roll out gingerbread dough on counters sprinkled with flour, cutting out trees, snowmen, gingerbread men, stars and circles. Being careful to push hard, make sure the cookie cutters did their job and we got perfectly cut out shapes.

As they baked in the oven, filling the house with smells of warm sugar, we'd prepare the table with pastry bags of colored frostings, sprinkles, silver balls and colored sugar. As the cookies came out of the oven we'd layer them on the table and dive in. I'd use reds, blues and greens to make snowmen with scarves, male and female gingerbread people and circles of frosting layered with color sugar. We'd lick our fingers between cookies, admiring our work, wondering which we should eat first.

When all the cookies were decorated we'd move them to the counter, so we could admire them as we set the table for the next event- tree decorating. Ali would put her boxes of ornaments on the table as we lined the tree with lights and garlands. We'd take out each ornament, admiring it, asking about it. Some we recognized from years previous when we'd made pasta angels that were spray painted gold, or painted ornament balls at school. I took great care in placing each one, knowing to put the heavier ones on stronger branches and ensuring that the tree looked balanced when I'd step back and survey the work thus far. As I got older I often remember doing most of the tree independently as Ali would decide which ornaments would go on and occupy Sammy who is 5 years younger than me.

I always looked forward to this day spent in the Christmas spirit. Yet, I never missed having my own tree to decorate. Spending time with Ali in her Christmas world was enough; it was what I looked forward to and enjoyed doing. I remember years when we would arrive after lunch and the next we knew it was dark out and the tree lit up the room. I never even wanted my own tree, or really though of decorating Ali's as doing something Christmassy. It was more about spending time in her warm house and playing with ornaments and sweet frosting.

I look forward to a time when I can bring my children to Ali's house. To make ornaments that will be hung, cookies that will be eaten and watch them pick and choose where to hang each ornament, knowing that some were made in that kitchen by their mother. And in my mind it won't be about Christmas, it will be about family and friends and how the time of year can bring them together, to share warmth, love and traditions.