It's December and I don't know how I feel about that.
Part of me is ready for the season, the way everyone is a bit more merry and everything a bit more sparkly. I want Christmas carols and bright lights and gift wrapping and the works.
The other part of me isn't ready. I'm still trapped in this well of sadness, there's no other word for it, and the joyous season just feels a bit too much amidst my grieving right now. I don't want to pretend everything is okay when it isn't, not really.
But December is here whether I like it or not. And we're here in our new house, slowly making it feel like home. It's beautiful and I'm grateful for it; I've even made my peace with the lack of carpets.
Slow, that's how I'm doing everything these days. I haven't the energy nor the mental presence to dive wholeheartedly into anything, so I'm just plodding along, one slow step at a time. Slowly I'm unpacking boxes and organizing rooms. Slowly I'm expanding our knowledge of our new neighbourhood - where to shop, where to eat, where to find the best library and the best produce and the best butcher and baker (and candlestick maker?). Slowly I'm readying myself to try yet another new church. Slowly I'm preparing to dip our toes in places where we can meet new people, although right now it's only preparing, I just haven't the headspace for new friendships, especially when I'm desperately missing old ones during this difficult time. Lonely, maybe that's how I feel. I need a coffee date with a good friend and someone's shoulder to cry on and a place to spill secrets and crushed hearts and goodness, I had no idea I was still so damn sad until I sat down here to write.
Anyway. Slow. Slowly I'm offering up one thanks after another. Slowly I'm taking two steps forward, one step back, then another two forward and we'll be okay in the end, I know.
It is my intent to approach the holiday season the same way. Slow, methodical, simple, I can't do it all and it's possibly best if I avoid Pinterest altogether for the entirety of this month. But I love Pinterest. So there's that. But if I can just skim past the endless holiday homemade decorations and recipes and crafts and everything else, I should be able to remember: slow, methodical, simple.
Slow afternoons with favourite Christmas carols and new library books and warm blankets, that's where I'm at right now. A box unpacked here, a photo hung there, a bit of Christmas cheer placed quietly on the mantle. Homemade cookies just because, and they don't even pretend to be healthy, just flour and sugar and butter and whatnot. Tea in the morning with a Bible or a baby on my lap; apple cider in the evening as the husband and I read aloud together. Maybe tomorrow I'll wash a window, maybe the next day I'll mop the kitchen floor. Maybe I won't.
These are our days, long and slow. We're not doing a lot and somehow it feels just right.