Incommunicado

Here I am, up at the North Pole Lake Winnepesaukee, the land of roaring fires and holiday feasting and overtired children and dial-up.  So this is the first time I've checked in on blogland since the 23rd, and it's only been a little over an hour, which at 56K is really not bad at all.

Solstice night was good: for the first time the kids participated with me.  They were overtired, and the whole idea of going into the dining room and then TURNING OFF THE LIGHT in the middle of the bedtime ritual was a bit hard for them to deal with.  And they wanted to blow out the candle.  Like birthdays, right?  But they do know about wishing.  Whenever they see an evening star, they point it out as a "wishing star" and then make a wish: usually for a popscicle.  No popscicles were wished for last week, but I think someone wanted to go to the moon.  And at the very end Eleanor wished that I wouldn't get angry (we had had an obstreperous leave-taking at Friendly's that evening: my version of a celebratory meal when the partner is traveling and I have to work all day).  And man, I sure do second that.  I couldn't really decide whether to feel spectacularly guilty (okay, well, check on that one), or just plain agree with her.  Because I'm tired of getting angry too.

But then I took my candle into the living room and sat and knitted the last of the gift knitting and thought about all the wonderful thoughts and intentions I had seen come into my comment email box all day.  And I thought about how wonderful it was to be a part of a community that observes this day, even those who celebrate other holidays.  I do the xmas thing too, but having the support of others remembering solstice with me, well, it gives me hope for the soul work I want to do in the coming year.  And it touched me deeply.

So I sat with those intentions that others brought to my virtual solstice party, and I...well I didn't think all that much.  I just listened to sweet music and watched my candle burn and thought of my ancestors and felt how warm and lucky I was, with my two (admittedly sometimes obstreperous) short people, all snug in their beds.

It was a beautiful night...thank you for sharing it with me.

I have a camera full of photos to blog, more whining about my deep and abiding career ambivalence (I know...film at 11), and utter proof that the concept of basic and I don't even live in the same time zone.  More soon.  Home again tomorrow.

Comments

[Helen]

I celebrated Solstice with you, and lured a bunch of friends in too.
We had so many candles burning it took me about 20 minutes to snuff them all (except the one for all night) at the end of the party!

[Norma]

You affected more people than you realize with your Solstice post. I keep seeing it reference all over blogland.

And you know what? Anger is a human emotion. If you never felt it, you would be less human. So definitely don't feel guilty over it. I'm not an advocate of INFINITE patience with children. I don't think it does anyone any good, including the children.

[Katy]

You mean I'm not the only one who sometimes keels over with guilt when a short person says, "Mommy, I wish you wouldn't yell at me sometimes" ??? Ah--this mommy thing is hard.
Hope you are enjoying some quiet time at the lake. Hope you are coming back with lots of yarn!

[Carole]

Norma is right, ya know. We all get angry and frustrated with our kids, our spouses, people at work, whatever. You're stressed, you're tired, you're under loads of pressure. Cut yourself some slack.
The solstice post was a memorable one and you touched a lot of people. Or maybe we're just all a little *touched*.
Hugs, Cate.

[wenders]

My mom and family do a candle thing on New Year's, but thinking about it, it makes more sense to do it on the solstice. That said, I still like that we do it on New Year's.

And I agree with Norma - your post impacted me more than I realized, as I've found myself thinking about what you wrote over and over these past few days. Thank you.

[Steph]

I hear you on the angry thing. Parenting is hard. And kids need to know that sometimes we get angry.

And more on career angst (misery loves company).

And your Solstice sounded peaceful overall, as it was intended to be. Thanks for telling us about it.

[Ruth]

Your Solstice post was beautiful. And I thought of it during our Christmas Eve service ... as we sang "Silent Night", with a soft guitar accompaniment, and passed the light from one candle to another, illuminating the darkness in the sanctuary ... it was very peaceful, and contemplative. Restorative. As I hope your Solstice evening was for you

As for the other, of course you get frustrated with your kids. And they with you. But if you were never anything but infinitely patient, they'd never learn that you can get angry with the people you love and STILL LOVE THEM ... a very important lesson. At least that's what I tell myself when I'm at my wit's end with my kids.

Safe travels ...

[Rachel H]

Ruth's right, you know. I feel guilty when I get angry with my son also, but if it was justifiable, we talk later about how I always love him but sometimes I don't like what he does. If I know it was just because I was at the end of my rope, I apologize to him. I like to think both are good for him.

And your Solstice post is something I find myself referencing almost every day. Truly. I'd never celebrated the day before, but now that you've associated such a wonderful practice to it, I will be adding it to my annual celebrations.

[Imbrium]

Thank you for sharing your solstice with us. In the storm and stress of the holidays it likely would have slipped right by without notice if you hadn't reminded me to pause and think for a moment.

[Ruth]

One more thought. Have you ever read "The Way Mothers Are" by Miriam Schlein? It's really wonderful ... about a little cat who wonders how his mother can love him all the time, even when she's upset with the things he does.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0807586900/qid=1135791018/sr=8-1/ref=pd_bbs_1/002-1237953-2869665?n=507846&s=books&v=glance

It's a fantastic book. My older kids loved it when they were toddlers, and we're re-discovering it now that the Young'un is so incredibly, terribly Three.

[Cece]

Hi there! I was thinking of you this week, as I started knitting my Marmalade Jacket. Ohhh... it is just a much fun as we thought )http://fiberfish.blogspot.com/2005/12/rewards.html#comments).

I echo what another poster said - when I was growing up - it was just me and my mom. And sometimes we would SCREAM at each other - but in the end - we would always say we loved each other and we were sorry. As my mom would say - I love you - but I don't always LIKE what you do!