Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Light: 12/9/14


On a day like today when somebody asks if they can light candles for dinner (the silver candlesticks still out on the table from Thanksgiving simply because it’s nice to have them there), go ahead and say yes. It might seem like a very dignified thing alongside your macaroni and cheese, but somehow it fits.

The scrappier the day, the better.

Add the candles to the two cases of strep, and the tightness in Oldest’s chest that won’t go away, and Is there mold in the house? and your own dragginess, which, after more than a week is probably not just “fighting something” but more like a bad cold, and maybe bronchitis. 

Add the candles for sure to the moment in the doctor’s office when one of your daughters interrupts the conversation you are having about her health—Mom, you have a hair—picks it off your shoulder and holds it up for you to see (it is coarse and white), twirling it back and forth between her fingers a few times before dropping it on the floor between you and the doctor. Add the candles especially to that, because even though you may love your hair—unruliness and white streaks and all—this is not one of those moments you ever expect out of life, and even by dinnertime you don’t know how you feel about it, except embarrassed and not embarrassed all at once.

Say yes, add the candles, because there was a kindness, also, blanketing this scrappy day, some kind of sweetness attached to it. And somehow it all fits—odd and lovely and true.





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