Red and green... and a little bit blue

So this week has been one of ups, right? The tree went up. The lights, after some goading and kicking and then gnashing of teeth, finally decided to shine. The stash of ornaments collected over the years came out.

But then I got really blue. I think it started with my cat ornament, the one with the picture of Cuddles, who is still in California serving as a dissertation advisor. I miss my cat. The other ornaments were more of the same, gifts from friends, travel memorabilia, even a few ornaments from Thailand that my mother gave me. I haven't been able to shake the feeling of distance since then. I miss everyone.

So riding Jet is just lovely, bareback over grassy paddocks, working out over a level standard dressage court. Mike got a job and started today. Walking Emmett into town and even into stores is a real treat, I get chided for not letting him jump up to look over store clerks' counters. "It's alright, he ain't doin' no harm." Walking around the mill house area and trying to guess over the next couple of years which one might be the one that comes up for sale that we might buy is a good pastime. Digging through my collected recipes and finding stashed treasures to cook up is fun, blanquette de veau and artichoke bisque are next. And I haven't even gotten into my crafts yet, or gotten around to building the frames I'll need to paint silk. Still the blues nag... Not intense, not even bad, just a light fog.

My dad died a month before Christmas two years ago. My brother Philippe died three weeks after that same Christmas. These bookend events still cast their pall on the season. It's not entirely a negative, because since these losses, I've really learned to disconnect from the mainstream madness that seems to overcome most people, especially women according to a recent NPR story. I float in the periphery, but I know that grief is still a major reason for this change. The rest of the year led me to believe that perhaps I was past the stages now, resolved, able to think about them and laugh. But somehow the loss of them gets mingled with the grief of being far from friends. Sadness is actually a peaceful emotion, it has its own quality and substance, and I think it would be its own blessing, perhaps, if it didn't run counter to the way everyone else feels or is trying very hard to feel, which is joy.

As Catholics, we separate emotions into seasons, and I think we are supposed to keep Christmas from Easter, Easter from Christmas. But I wonder, how not to celebrate Jesus' birth without knowing that He must die? How not to celebrate his resurrection without acknowledging his mother's grief and her memories of his childhood, or the terrible pain of His death? Cry for three days, then be happy the next. I think Jewish people are far better at embracing that contrary emotions mingle at the best of times and at the worst of times. Break a glass at the wedding, remember that joy can turn to sorrow in a heartbeat and cherish the moments of elation all the more.

Maybe it's not just Jews who have this gift. This makes me think of my brother Francois' mother-in-law, who is a Spaniard in origin though living in France. I've never actually met her, so this is hearsay, but she apparently speaks French in a thick Iberian lisp and roll of the rrr's which lends even more comedy to her hearty expressions. Apparently she has this great expression: "C'est bien, pleure! Tu pisseras moins!" Which is to say "Good, cry! You'll pee less!"