Writing during this holiday season, I am reminded of how the end of each year is more like a turning point, a close to another chapter with the celebratory events of the holidays to see it through. For me, the Christmas lights always inspire, as they shine their brightness with symbolic meaning, awakening hope and joy where there is often despair and darkness. This human need for light is simply engrained in our DNA and a primal call to our ancestral connection with the warm glow of a fire. I am always happy to end each year with these magical, little lights. They are the jewels on top.

When I think about what stands out in 2017, I see that it was and still is the need for calm, to escape the overwhelming news, and a longing for the safeness of the ordinary. I felt like surrounding myself with simple things, easy tasks, quiet mornings, feel-good movies, stories, books and definitely no news. It’s not that I want to be in the dark about what is going on, I just want to be sane enough to handle it, and to somehow make a difference. News events today seem heavier than I can ever remember, entrenching us, permeating our collective being to the core. It can seem more like a nightmarish, science-fiction movie instead of reality. Fiction like this would not be believed. I would walk away from such a film shaken, but certain I could go home and all would be fine. But no, it is global warming, massive loss of habitat, thousands of species extinct, fires, floods, hurricanes, earthquakes, violence, hate, cruelty, vulgar narcissism, misogyny, bigotry and a monstrous greed leading the way. It is all this heavy stuff happening, seeping up to the surface, no longer able to be contained under the wound that will not heal until the festering and sickness are pushed out.

On the personal side of news, one of the hardest things to face in life, especially during the holidays, is the loss of a loved one. I am saddened by so much news of friends who have lost someone this year. Every time we follow our hearts and fall in love, we are eventually made aware that it is not permanent. Maybe the love is always there, but our physical reality is not. To live as long as I have is to make this experience unavoidable.

We are more connected than we know, even if only by a remote, social network like Facebook, which brings all kinds of news, often from people who are only internet friends. There is one such who has so touched my heart. Perhaps it is the thread of being a parent and sharing our deepest fear, one that she has painfully realized. Most of us will not touch it, it puts such a horror upon us; that of losing a child. I have the deepest sympathy for her, for all who are feeling the pain of loss. My gratitude expands every time these sad stories awaken what I have in my life. The love of others is priceless.

I was searching for a short video, wanting something moving with a little holiday charm. It is yet another way to lighten the load. I was actually looking for the animation with the boy who flies over a winter wonderland with his snowman, Walking in the Air, which is a short clip from the full 27 minute animation, The Snowman. It is one of my favorites, and tends to fill me with a sense of wonder as I slip back into my own childhood just a bit. It was so easy for me to go into that imaginative world as a child, and something tells me I should visit this place more often today.

While looking for this video, I first found Escape, another short Christmas animation. It is a simple, sweet, story with a music score that I hope won many awards as it was originally used in the film, Meet Joe Black. It stirs up deep emotions for me, not so much because of the film, but because of the music itself. I am overcome with the mood of it, my eyes welling up, and love being able to feel someone’s creation in this way. Perhaps that is why it is called “escape”.

A few days ago, I baked Christmas cookies for the first time in probably 20 years. I slipped into that nurturing mode, shaping, rolling and cutting the dough with love, baking and sprinkling on little, sugary concoctions, minus any red ones that were nowhere to be found in the city of Houston. Seems there was a red sugar/sprinkles shortage, but still plenty of green, which seems odd that one was not on the shelves when both are so synonymous with Christmas baking. Of course, I had to throw in some green dinosaur sprinkles I found. Christmas and dinosaurs make such sense, or at least some of my grand children seemed to think so.

And then there is knitting, which is truly a meditative process, as you often must be aware of what you are doing. The rhythmic motion takes over, like a steady and soothing heartbeat. I have always loved knitting, and have purposely not allowed myself to knit because this valuable time could be spent making art. I must say here that creating art can also take me there, but sitting cozy on a comfy couch with mindless abandon seemed necessary. It becomes a sort of nesting thing, which comes over me every year around this time. I knew it was important to lose myself in this process, which will result in a new scarf, as if I need another one! Clearly, the need was something else.

If we feel overwhelmed, depressed, worried, sleepless and/or chaotic, we are not only harming ourselves, we are unable to benefit anyone or anything else. We become toxic. Our mental and physical health takes a dive, with stress as our nemesis. We must be the peace by finding the calm. Find what gives you a break from the madness. See that there is much beauty in our world, and yes, there is beauty, even with all that is in such upheaval. Know that you are the peace, as it can only start from within us. We are like a flower opening itself up and revealing its alluring colors and honeyed aromas, resonating this peace out to the world around us. It is not something you go search for, although many do. It is us who carry peace within in our hearts. When we are enlightened to this, we connect to each other and all of life. Peace resides in love; in who we really are. We only need to look to see that it is always right where we are, always waiting for us to open our gift and to share it.

It seems that I have gone far too long, once again, without writing something in my blog. I have never liked that word “blog”. It tends to remind me of that early, science fiction movie, The Blob, with the then-teenage actor, Steve McQueen. Although entertaining to watch, especially from these present times, that big pink thing eating everything in its path and growing to the size of a massive building is probably not the best metaphor. Of course, if I get too wordy, maybe.

Then there is the word “slob”, which may be my inner critic’s favorite, reminding me of the condition of my studio, with wrapping paper, multiple bags full of gifts, tools spread everywhere and half-done art put aside, gathering dust. There is also the word, “blah”… blah, blah, blah! My inner critic loves to whisper this one into my ear in those doubtful moments of writing. Of course, blog is short for weblog, as in web-log.

I do love to write. I suppose it is mostly, random thoughts moving through my head that I often feel the urge to jot down, or something I see that day; something that happened. I would not consider myself a great writer and maybe not even a good one, as I wish to be less mundane in my word usage, but one must be natural and true to oneself. Thinking of this, there is the book, On Writing, by Stephen King, which is kind of a biography as well sound advice, and so worth the read!

It does help that I read often, which so feeds me. I have two books going now, not always the best way to fully take in a story, but this is the case presently. It all comes down to the weight of the book, and yes, I do prefer reading real books, although I have read an equal share electronically. I usually read in bed at night and if the book is heavy as Walter Isaacson’s, Leonardo da Vinci, which is at least a 3 pounder, I leave it out in the living room for situp, comfy-couch reading. I have a much lighter, paperback, Margaret Atwood’s, The Year of The Flood, in the bedroom. Both books are engaging, for widely different reasons.

I will not make this a book review, but will say that I do enjoy throwing a fiction in there occasionally, just to not get too caught up in biographies, history, science, discovery or spiritual books. I still have Elizabeth Colbert's, The Sixth Extinction sitting by my bed. It’s informative and depressing in one desparate breathe, so I go through it slowly. It’s a book I would refer to as “heavy” in a different context, and knowing that the author speaks truth, it  shakes up the present moment and any plans of a future with certain clarity.

If you think about it, fiction can cover almost anything, and one of my favorite kinds is historical fiction. I know, the key word is “fiction”, but good writers who do tidy research can make learning history so much more enlightening. I love it when I connect with people who lived 500 years ago who usually seem so distant and un-relatable. A good writer can change how you see and feel these ancient cultures, and you can feel that they are “us”, with all our faults and messiness, and our deep capacity to love.

Anyway, for the one or two of you who occasionally look at these posts, I apologize for being so sparse in my writings. I am planning to write some sort of holiday post, and will visit writing more often in general, even if it is random loopholes in my thinking. I have also made a promise to myself to sketch more often. This may come as a surprise or maybe it’s obvious, but I rarely sketch. I have been working on wire sculpture in recent months, but that is no real excuse. Sketching is vital, and so is writing.

And here is where I will leave it, till the next, not-too-distant post :)