Well, we're all having a great time over here, how are you? Violet is maybe improving? I was so worried, but we all feel she looks better than when my mom got here on Wednesday, and she for sure isn't worse. So now we wait. The vet says it could be weeks. Weeks of aggressive rest. How does that sound?! My mom and I had a great day shopping on Friday (Sephora! Smashbox!) and Saturday was quiet and nice. My dad got in Saturday afternoon and the back of his car looked like Santa's sleigh. We had our traditional first night dinner at California Pizza Kitchen and have been hanging out and having fun ever since. We took a long hike at the place I go each Friday with my friend Tracy, and I will pretend that no one related to me referred to it as the Bataan Death March. When we got back my dad and I swung by the grocery store and the liquor store. We go back tomorrow. Neel grilled his beer butt chicken and we watched football games and The West Wing. The best news of all is that my mom is staying an extra day so we get to enjoy her today too.

This is where I admit to being a total sap and you probably don't want to be friends with me anymore. Every winter between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I read a book by Rosamunde Pilcher called Winter Solstice. I read a lot of wide-ranging stuff, but for me not much beats Pilcher when it comes to satisfying comfort. Parts of Winter Solstice are terribly sad, but the premise is this group of loosely connected people gathered together around Christmas time. There are snowfalls and walks upon windswept beaches. There are restorative gin and tonics and faithful doggies. There are old chilly houses and newly-formed warm friendships. See what I mean? Satisfying. I don't care how trite and sappy it may be. Sometimes that's just what I need. We always have fun at Christmas, and we'd developed a nice rhythm, but for many years and for many reasons things hadn't been quite perfect.

Right now, this year, my house is full to bursting and things are as close to perfect as they've been in a long time. Last night, while we were getting ready for dinner, we were all gathered in the kitchen. The football game was on. My mom was making a salad (Her salads are the best, and since she's baking all the cookies they kind of cancel each other out, right?). Neel was in and out, checking on the chicken. I was sitting on the step that leads from the kitchen to the family room with little Violet and Lucy-the-beagle on my lap. Callum played his game, jumping in and out of the conversation. My dad was in the kitchen, making baked beans. We talked about one last thing to add to the Christmas day menu, and we talked about other things too. Politics, friends, football. I'm sure, if we were talking about politics (or football) there was some shared outrage. We laughed a lot. And at one point I thought, this. This is all I need. My house is full and my heart is too.

It's Christmas Eve, are you celebrating? I ask this every year...what's best? Presents or expecting presents? Merry, merry to you all.

My friends. My heart is so heavy tonight as I write this. Time and again the peace of our country, our world, is shattered by senseless violence. Only this time it entered our schools and took away our youngest. Twenty little children, six brave teachers and administrators and the mother of the shooter. It's quite unbelieveable, really. And yet, it seems to happen again and again.

I was on the way to school to pick Callum up early from his exams when I first heard the news of what had happened. Thank God I was on the way to school. I knew he was safe. I knew he was safe, but I couldn't wait to put my eyes on him, to see his fist raised in triumph: another test done. Not much was known then, just before noon on Friday. But even then, as a mother headed to pick up her son, I could only imagine the fear that all those parents felt rushing to their own children's school. When you pick up your kid at off hours at Callum's school, there's a gate and a security guard, and you must stop at the entrance before coming onto campus. You get to know them (and I have some favorites) so that they simply wave you through each day. On Friday, I said to the guard who was standing there, "Thank you for being here." He looked at me like I had two heads! I imagine now he understands why.

This is not my tragedy. It's not my event to live through. I don't get to appropriate it. And you, my dear friends, certainly aren't coming here for sage words on violence or tragedy or loss. Yet, I'm a mother. I'm a parent. Our lives are centered around our home and school community. I am usually good at compartementalizing events such as this. I can see them, but they don't come in. This got in. I was on my way to Callum's school to pick him up when I learned the news. Kids should be as safe at school as they are at home. And these little children. Barely students. At six and seven, school is still such a wonder. They were still in love with the idea of homework. They didn't yet know if they were good or bad at math. They were good at being alive and now they're gone.

Really, I have no words.

So what did we do this weekend? We tried to do what I suggested to Erin at one point on Friday, we chose light and joy. Callum and I cooked together. We spent the weekend with the kids in our life. Dinner with neighbors. Another neighbor's daughter's birthday party. We spent time together. We laughed and I felt my eyes fill with tears a lot. Callum went to play with his friends, which is well and right and just what he should do. He studied for his exams, which is also well and right and just what he should do. But I thought a lot about those sweet and spunky kids, at my favorite age, those early elementary years. And their families. Those mothers and fathers. And the teachers? Teachers? Underpaid, unappreciated. I have dear, dear friends who are teachers, and they shouldn't be on the front lines. Oh, I can't bear the heartache.

I've had snippets of poems slipping through my head all weekend that I've thought to share with you. W.H. Auden, Stop All the Clocks

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

And also, Laurence Binyon who wrote For the Fallen about the loss of so many young men during World War I.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

Callum and I play around with lovingkindness meditation. We are by no means practitioners of it, but anytime we fear that some one is hurting or in distress, we send them lovingkindness. I hate to send you to Wikipedia for more information, but it seems the most accessible approach. We've been doing it for years. We've been doing it a lot this weekend.

May you be filled with lovingkindness

May you be well

May you be peaceful and at ease

May you be happy

Callum and I send this lovingkindness out to everyone in Sandy Hook who is hurting

May they be filled with lovingkindness

May they be well

May they be peaceful and at ease

May they be happy

weekend-gram recap, christmas eve 2012 edition

weekend-gram recap, december 17 edition