sing to the birds

Most years as December approaches I am thinking a lot about the New Year. Not one to wait til New Years Eve, I like to make lists about the last year. I like to reflect. I like to imagine. But this year is different for me. This year I savour. An old word of mine that I have been carrying so deep in my pocket in that I often cannot find it. 

This week I baked my fruitcake. At first I was not going to because I would eat it. Now isn't that ridiculous? My friend Marcella and I were out to dinner and she said she had baked hers. She uses my recipe too. I told her I wasn't going to bake it as I had not been eating a lot of sweets. After I went home, I thought about the aroma that is in the house when I cook it. I thought about my mother baking her cakes at Christmas. I thought about the foolishness of holding back from a special treat. And I texted Marcella and told her I changed my mind and ordered the ingredients for my fruit cake. On Sunday the house was filled with warmth. And Sunday night we cut the first cake and had a single slice. That's the key of course, one slice in the evenings instead of three slices. Early winter tastes like this I thought. The fruitcake is part of the winter, part of Christmas, part of the past, part of the future, but most importantly it is part of the now.

Savour the traditions.

Savour the taste.

The dark in the mornings is a time to write. I go to bed early and wake to say a few prayers. And then there is time to write a letter before I walk. I have never wanted coffee first thing. I mostly want a bit of time alone to gather my thoughts. This feeds me. I love the house when it is just me and the hum of the fridge and everyone else is sleeping. And I often show up to write with nothing more than my hands and the keyboard, no grand ideas, not even a sentence to start the page. And still I find my way into my head, into my heart and though I might not have a story, I have some thoughts that help me find my way onto the page. Just show up, writers say. Just show up, makers say. And when you do things happen. Letters are written. Rugs are hooked. Bread is baked. Gardens are planted. Just show up.

Savour the dark.

Savour the light.

The morning comes. Matins. And the light fills in the spaces between the spruce branches and I can see the trees. Tall and sure. A witness to me sitting by this window at sunrise and getting ready for the day. Black turns to forest green, and then to spruce as the light lifts their bows to the sky. And I think of how familiar they are and how I could easily stop seeing them because they do glitter and they hold no gold. They are plain and old and part of the everyday. And I remind myself that spruce are the trees I grew up seeing. The ones I wandered in behind my house as a child. They are the trees whose sap smells like childhood. That they have roots in me and paying attention to those roots keep me close to the source of life. Every spruce is just one among many, like I am.

Savour the spruce tree.

Savour the roots.

Part of being in my life is being present to what is around me, and this fall I feel present. I am ready for a new year just because I am. Just because I am here. I might take a few minutes and think of something else I want but mostly what I want is to be open to what comes. Mostly I want to love what I have, make rugs, be inspired and inspire. I don't want more, or to be more. I want to be good. Good enough. Kind. Well. Happy. These are simple words and I don't want to wait for a new year to be them. I want to be them everyday. And of course this is all because many years ago I picked a word for the year, and that word was savour. And it has taken many years for me to lean fully into it. And today I am. And tomorrow I hope to be. For I am a weakling and I lose my way sometimes.

Savour Happy.

Savour Kindness.

Think about the day. I am thinking about the day I have woken up to. Tend to it, this little day, this ordinary morning. You have a meeting. There is a gathering this afternoon. There is a rug to be hooked, one at home, one at the studio. I will take a walk. What will I wear? How cold is it? What will I take for lunch? All the simple things that I can deal with easily because I am healthy and well. That is something beautiful in itself. And yet there are no balloons to celebrate it and so I must remember to celebrate this in my own way. Two feet on the floor, meet the day. Thankful. Breathe. Smile. 

And now ..."Go on with ya," as my neighbour would say. "Stop yer musing," and get to it. "Get up off yer arse," and "Get to it". Make your bed. And get outside. And breathe it all in. Whatever goodness there is in your day take note of it, and wave to the spruce tree, and sing to the birds as you do.