One

January 5, 2016

Kansas City, Missouri

Dear Babette,

As you read this, I picture you are sitting in your rocking chair by the fire.  There is a basket of yarn and wool on the floor to your right. It's been a while since you actually knit, but you like how the basket looks, after all, so there it will stay.  A cup of tea that rests on the table to your left, along with that tattered copy of Les Miserables that you love so dearly. Your reading glasses pinch your nose a bit, but you refuse to replace them, so you don't complain.

I haven't written as much as I should.  I say that too often, don't I?  I wish I had a better excuse.  I wish I would stop trying to find excuses by now, because writing is the thing that gives me wings and I know it. So, why do I let myself forget?  I could insert another excuse, but I won't.

The other day, we had our first snow, two days after Christmas, oh, the anticipation from the children. I stole a moment away from everyone and stepping out with my coffee in hand, steam circling in the crisp air.  Why does winter intoxicate me the way it does?  How did I ever live without it?  It stirs my blood, stripping away so much that distracts us, when all that remains is bare, simple, and deeply moving.   We have shrubs on either side of this weird little house and most of the branches are bare, save a brilliant pop of red berries and just a few green leaves.  The frost had lightly kissed the bursts and they were sparkling as the sun carves an opening through the thick, winter haze.

How glorious and daring they seemed to me then.  How brave to be so unique and alive when the rest of the world is drawn into a cyclical hush.  A holy hush, that beckons the stillness of the world in this season.  I don't even mind that it takes approximately 30 minutes to an army of arms and legs, hats and gloves, just to pile into that car that we're enduring just a bit longer.  When we step out from the crowded landing at the front door into the air so sharp that you can feel your heart beat faster and your eyes become more alert.  Hello, pay attention here, it says.  Maybe the snow blinds you, so brilliantly slathered with sunlight and maybe your breath wisps and curls out before you, but to just feel it is to remember you are alive and here. Alive and here now. All of this quickly fading into a chaos of collecting arms and legs and bags and odds and ends into a vehicle, much too small for a family of five.

It's the first week of January and I'm so happy it is.  Bidding farewell to the past year was not an ounce bittersweet.  I can honestly say that transition has never jolted me so and I already feel the heaviness falling away.

I'm not saying there wasn't magic, oh there was, but the first and second halves could not have been more opposite.  January to May was a ravenous explosion of creativity, pushing me past so many limits that I placed on myself.  I painted some of my best work yet. I spent time with dear friends and lived in a beautiful house.  I was dazzled and overwhelmed by my lovely children who are growing into these amazing creatures. I loved my husband deeper, the way that time allows.

And then life presented a detour, a change of course and we considered it to be good and important. Did we understand it would be so hard?  We never do, we're dreamers, him and I. You know that about us.  You're probably chuckling now at our constant naivety.  It's a blessing and curse, that's what you've told me many times.  I believe you. June to December were something of a different nature and it's all rather too fresh to unfold, many a great challenge greeted us and we answered the best we could.

Alas, it's January and with it, a welcome newness.  Each morning I try to slip away with my coffee and let the crisp air greet me with its truth and light.

Here we are, let's carry on with renewed hope and bravery.  Remember who you are and be that person again.  That's what the berries whisper to me in the stillness.

I've been journaling again, in the brief minutes before three tousled heads lift from their pillows. Those morning pages bring clarity and give homes to all the tumbling thoughts. I get mad at myself for ever drifting from them, but it happens.

I'm here now and I already feel the stirring, you know that scent that lingers right before the rain, the way the wind ushers in this wild electricity.  I always try to find myself outside in those moments, to let it roar through me.  Something is giving way to a flow and I can not say with a deep enough sigh, welcome back.  Thank you, thank you, I say and it whispers, I've been waiting. Thank you for finding your way back.

Babette darling, I do plan to write more.  I wish I could sit across from you in that front room with the grand window, where you keep watch over all the birds.  We'd talk about the beautiful hope and redemption found in your favorite book and how you just adore that Jean Valjean.  We'd agree that coffee is best served black, except on special occasions, then it requires a generous dollop of homemade whipped cream.   I'd hint that this situation could only be perfected by a slice of carrot cake.  You'd tilt your head and nod to kitchen, where I would indeed find that very thing.

I'm sending a book, it's my absolute favorite, I'm just dying to discuss it with you.

All my love,
Olivia