The 2:30 December afternoon dims. The mercury hovers at –20F and the world outside is flocked white with snow. The sun stopped visiting our hollow a month ago.In my heart of hearts, I am penning thoughtful year-end cards in envelopes with stamps on them, posted two weeks ago, to everyone. The reality is that Teo has, at best, one more hour to his nap, so I better move quickly. (My note to myself, from last year’s to-do list – Email Christmas cards. Last year I wrote the letter, copied it, printed the photos, but never could wrastle them out from my good intentions into the postal system.)
It was a nice big year. We started out in January with a winter exodus week in Baja, with Teo eating up (not usually literally) the sand and water and sun. We also did get to Sitka and Glacier Bay this summer. It was a rainy but lovely tour of what Alaskans call “Southeast.” The ocean, the big dark forest, the whales and the constant rain are all a foreign land to we from “the Interior.”
When Jeff and I married, we brought two houses with us, Lucky Law to live in, Birch Hill to rent out. Birch Hill went empty just before Baja, and returning home, we set about moving in. The work – packing up my cabin, moving all our overage from a massive storage unit into the two-car garage, sanding & painting, a new water softener & ventilation system – had no intrinsic delight, but it is good to have the work behind us. This new house has warm broad logs and plenty of room for Teo’s cavortings. We are living here for at least two years.
Fall has been work punctuated by travel. Santa Rosa Island with my family (off the Santa Barbara coast), Disney World with Jeff’s family, several work trips to DC & Denver for me, and finally, a week in San Francisco in early December (Annual Geophysical Union for me, Unitarian interview for Jeff – Matteo kept saying in his breathless, new-to-language lilt, "It's spring here. It's so sunny. Look at all the plants! It’s so pretty.").
Amidst the travel, we made it home just in time to allow Jeff a final week with his Mom (see Nov 9 post on his blog, below). Esther along with Patches her dog played a large, sometimes looming role in Jeff’s life for the past 5 years - it was also the only way that I had known Jeff (Esther moved to Alaska prior to my arrival in Jeff’s life). Her parting was a welcome release for her. Patches now has a new adoring home and Jeff’s life has an opening for new things.
I am still working doing arctic field logistics (http://www.vecopolar.com/ - recently purchased by CH2M HILL), 30 hours per week, and being a Mom to Matteo in the remaining. Matteo’s pace is a perfect counterpoint to the phone calling, emailing, and gear-intensive world of my work. Each day is six hours of focused work, and then a languid afternoon of forest walks & gardening (summer) or stories & co-cooking PlayDoh (winter).
My urgency over available time is heightened lately by the awareness that a second child churns around within me. “Pepita” (in utero name for the very active new child of unknown gender) is due February 10th. My entire to-do list is compressed into January – finalize wills, compute taxes, investigate preschools, etc, etc. February we cross a boundary into a world that Jeff and I, and Matteo for that matter, can barely comprehend. Others have done this (having two children). It must be possible.
Jeff is primarily navigating the delightful and oft mind-numbing world of The Toddler (“I don’ want to put on my coat!” “We can’t go out without a coat, it’s minus 30, that’s very cold?” “No! I don’ want it”). He left the Lutheran world behind officially in June and is currently teaching kids guitar & retooling as a Unitarian. His latest endeavor, assisted by an aircard that brings better than dial-up (28.8) speeds to our hollow, is blogging. “Papa Quiet Time” (morning before I go to work) is now focused on a daily entry.
Matteo started really talking this year, and has never looked back. He started attending a preschool/daycare two days a week in October, which he seems to really like, though he still comments with wonder, “You came back to pick me up!” I was totally unprepared for how oriented and eloquent a 2.75-year-old can be. Matteo delights in stars and planets, he lights a candle of thanksgiving for the “crazy world”, tells me stories before bed, and can break an egg in a bowl. Alternately he thinks that Bob Marley’s “I shot the sheriff” song is a Christmas Carol, but this is really a misunderstanding based on having a father who’s teaching a young Tween guitar. He is currently big on Winnie the Pooh, most trucks, planes and engine-y things, and his bandanas (He loves brightly colored fabric. Much to his chagrin, his closet is filled with Boys Clothes in ever-unimaginative shades of blue and gray.)
Overall, I feel the weight of the ills of the present world, and I am struck by how the act of raising a child (children) has hope intrinsic. A friend of ours said that his girls are his gravity and his oxygen. If my children are a lifeline to hope, my friends and family are the rudder. I wish you all happiness, love, good health, and fine adventures.
Love,
Marin
You can't choose between grief and exhilaration; they are the left and right foot on which we hike onward. - Rebecca Solnit
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