Preparing for family gathering, in memoriam

by · December 25, 2021

Many thanks to Professor George Toles for reposting this today on Facebook; for I’m transported to my own memories.. of so many completely different times and places.. where we all made ready and headed off home. For Christmas.
❤️

George Toles
December 25, 2017
Dad cleaned the snow off his Oldsmobile in the graveyard, and waited for mom, grandma and the others to get ready. He was grateful for his newfound patience. The snowy day was enriched with sunshine, and had a Currier and Ives sparkle. The trees and bushes and gravestones were so carefully draped with exactly the right amount of tingly whiteness that there must have been artists at work in the planning. Mom held her mother’s arm and pointed to a pair of contented crows in a nearby oak. Grandma remembered the story of the horse who led her father’s wagon all the way back to the barn on a wintry night, because he knew the way. Soon they and Marg and Phil and Mimi and Alice were all situated comfortably in the Oldsmobile, which expanded generously to make room. Dad set off with a resolve that Christmas had not always known how to kindle in him. He was still confident he knew the route home. He leaned over to my mother and said fondly, “Everything is poetry, Rose. You were right about that too.” She was touched by his memory and his concession. At the other end of town the morning was already well underway. We weren’t sure that dad would surmount all the obstacles that stood in the way of his bringing everyone together. We knew better than to count on too much. But he would try as hard as his freshly awakened spirit could. Because distance is never so great that memory and longing cannot make even the hardest things surrender, and allow love, faithful love, to enter in.
⭐️

Professor George Toles posts the most amazing short-short stories and has even published a collection of them into a book with ‘At Bay Press’. I‘ve been reading his posts and very often they move me. Much appreciation to him, today and always.

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MY WISH

Holding space for grief, heart wide open
mending brokenness with words, colour, texture
inspired in the twilight of our days on this land
not ours.
Welling up with gratitude and despair both
hope is but a glimmer, yet joy is trembling
bursting forth
as the birds sing and flowers blossom
may we take pleasure as we mourn.

Welcome

These days, we are making sense of things after climbing out of a deep sleep, post-pandemic.

Our bodies feel anxious about the rise of fascism and evidence of roiling climate crises at every turn.. and so, as we increase our conscious awareness, it’s important to increase connection, each in our own local communities and become fluent with our channels for mutual aid.

Attempting to maintain control through all this uncertainty is a normal response, though it’s likely to feel triggered and confused.. do relax and feel into whatever comes up, and know it is normal in urgent times like these.. reach out to loved ones, let them know they can count on you, and allow them to be there for you, too……

I’m over here in Vancouver Canada, picking up the pieces of my shattered life. I find it helpful to use writing (journaling) and making things, listening to the land and feeling into my ancestors and reclamation as therapy to work through (and hopefully beyond) post-concussion symptoms.

Thank you for visiting.

As always, I would love to hear from you.. the usual channels, or by email at hitrish @ gmail .com  ❤️ 

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