The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Dreaming of a Green New Year's.

As would be expected, after writing my last entry I fell asleep and woke up around 4am to the beginnings of a gall bladder/something else attack. It's like my subconscious controls my fate, pulling it in the most unsavoury of directions. Ah, but I was ready for it. My trusty vial of magic pills waited in the bathroom cabinet, the pain medication the doctor armed me with weeks ago waited in reserve for my shaky fingers to extricate from the bottom shelf. I swallowed one, not ready to take on the recommended two, and I took myself to the downstairs where the cats play and the quiet lives. No sound of M's laboured breathing (I inadvertently gave him my Christmas cold), or the quick, piglet snorts of my sleeping girl across the hall, only the gentle hum and rattle of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and the quick, padded steps of the cats on the floor.

The house is different in the early morning. Black and blue, it loses its family feeling and becomes something slightly ominous, rousing most of my more morbid thinking. I hate the sensation of aloneness, which is probably most of my problem in life. I do not like being alone for the most part. It leaves me reeling. How I managed for nine months after R. left baffles me because it had been my greatest fear come to life, which might explain my reluctance to ask him to leave for so long. I suppose knowing I was moving toward something better helped, but to be alone without prospect is one of the greatest terrors I could imagine. Before the anxiety could grip me, though, the medication began to fill me, creating a very comfortable and delicious calm in my body and a sleepy lust in my mind. I had been trying to focus on a film, a Ryan Reynolds/Hope Davis picture that I've read is great but did not impress me, personally, and I decided to give sleeping another go. I crept upstairs, stopped briefly at my girl's bedroom door, cracking it open and looking at her as she slept, her quilt pushed down to the end of the bed and her tiny body curled up in much the same way it was when she slept as an infant. Beautiful. I then creaked the floorboards on my way to my own bed where M. lay buzzing and rattling, oblivious to my comings and goings, and I slid into my dent, pulling the covers up and over. The sound of gusting wind menaced me slightly, as I have experienced a tornado once in my life and have always been fearful of heavy wind since, so I put a pillow over my head to silence it. Then, suddenly, it was nine thirty and the house was alive.

The hot water tank seems to be a little off at the moment, and showering is a lukewarm to tepid experience which would normally make me a monster. I like my showers hot, enough to raspberry ripple my skin, and I tend to take one upon waking and going to sleep, bookending my dormant state. Thankfully it worked okay while my parents were here so at least they were comfortable. They had to travel to both my sister's places before finishing their Christmas tour here, and I felt a little guilty for it. Our old traditions, our comfort pudding, is all done now. Now, the priorities are different. There are grandchildren and pets and houses. There are physical distances and grumpy husbands. There is inclement weather and fatigue.

Still, it was a lovely few days and I am grateful for it. Admittedly, I was finding it hard to muster any semblance of holiday spirit, what with the retail phobia of wishing actual 'Merry Christmas!' as I went about buying last minute stocking stuffers, and with the aversion to spending one more penny than necessary. I put all my energy into finding some kind of new tradition for myself, determined not to let the rest of the world take away my right to celebrate something which means a great deal to me. I said 'Merry Christmas' to the salespeople who wore Santa hats but were not permitted to get spiritual, and all of them looked relieved that I did so, giving them an excuse to reciprocate. I made a disc of Christmas songs, ranging from Bing Crosby to Dean Martin, to Wham and Mariah Carey (I always tear up when the song 'All I Want For Christmas' gets going, bringing about the scene from 'Love Actually' which always brings on the waterworks for me). I watched 'It's A Wonderful Life', my favourite Christmas movie, and I made a chocolate fondue which M. and the wee one relished as much as I did. Grapes and chocolate?!, she exclaimed excitedly, who thought of that?! We sprinkled reindeer food out beyond the snow-covered deck (bird seed and gold glitter) and placed two banana chocolate chip cookies on a plate, next to a cup of milk for the illustrious Mr.Claus. After she went off to dream of sugarplums, I composed a letter which was meant to be a response from Frosty the Snowman, who the wee one had opted to write to instead of Santa because that's how she is. I tucked it into the stocking with a smile.

M. and I actually danced in the kitchen at one point, which he found thrilling given my usual detemination to appear controlled and stony. I think it was ''Meli Kalikimaka' by Bing that had me doing some fancy footwork on the tiles as he spun me around and around. The wee one was delighted. Our turkey was not completely cooked by the appointed hour, despite M's careful precision and adherence to the directions, so we feasted on whipped potatoes, honey glazed carrots and spinach salad. I had two glasses of red wine, and I felt loose and merry. While they ate candy cane ice-cream, I decided not to be jealous, nor was I morose over the pumpkin pie I was not eating which I had been desperately wanting. I ate a 'Skinny Cow' and I felt grand. Then, the wee one went off to bed, exhausted and purple-eyed after an early morning and an adrenalized afternoon, and M. and I watched 'Burn After Reading' together, cuddled under a blanket. It was not my favourite Coen brothers film, but I do love Frances McDormand and John Malkovich so I was basically happy. The funniest bits were pretty much covered in the trailer, and George Clooney is looking a little bit weathered which concerned me. No matter, it was better than most of the movies I've seen lately and tonight will probably be given to 'In Bruges' which is I think M. will like more than I will because Colin Farrell reminds me too much of my father in his younger days. It's unsettling.

Four days ago there was two feet of snow on the back deck, and now there is none. A warm front from Mexico has made its way north and we are enjoying some very odd weather. It is warm and wet, with a fierce wind and all I hear outside are the screams of sirens and the hot-breathy push of trees back and forth. The lawn is mostly green again, and I am not saddened by the departure of the cold. It will be back soon enough, more snow to come and we will be shovelling by the end of the week, I'm sure. I had a white Christmas and I was happy with it, but now the white can bleed back into the dirt. I am getting older, now. I do not appreciate the beauty of a perfect snowfall as much as I used to.

After lunch, we are going to make our way to a store which is selling home stuffs for cheap. While I do not believe in Boxing Day, I do believe in discounts on every other day, and I've been eyeing some German crystal glasses which are now less than two dollars each.

At some point, I will need to start writing some poetry again. I've been lazy with it lately since I've been more focused on wine, baking cookies and trying to recapture my youth. I am tired, but it's a lazy, bottomless kind of tired that feels wonderful with the stretch of the arms and legs, the arch of the back.