on a snowy evening

 

'The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep.'

-Robert Frost

   

the cove

 There are a handful of must-do's whenever my sister, Alysa, comes to stay: we visit the current art exhibits, labor over new recipes, go to the movies, eat at a quirky hole-in-the-wall restaurant and, most importantly, make a trip to the cove.

The cove means salty air, crashing waves, towering cliffs and a rugged shoreline where the ocean kisses the rocks. The cliff faces stand tall, braced for the grey waters that never cease to slap and spray. I feel closest to infinity whenever I'm watching the relentless sea at the cove.

Alysa nibbled on gingersnaps in her throne of passenger seats as Dad drove us past rotting farm fences and horses out at pasture, their furry backsides swaddled in blankets against the mist, until we reached the cove. We stood, dark silhouettes against the horizon, while baby waves hugged the tips of our boots. We searched for our reflections in tidal pools but could only see the fragmented sky. On the deserted beach, we heard our laughter amplified by the surrounding rocks and it only made us laugh harder.

The things I love best about Alysa count to a million and then some. She lights up both my smile and every moment we spend together. My favorite time with her will always be at the cove, with our tread leaving imprints on the sand and the shore finding a way into our hearts.

                                     

light on my shoulders

 

 

Sometimes, it is best to let go of burdens simply because they are heavy. I've been carrying my burden for a long journey, and now I think I'm ready to begin unloading it.

It seems I've forgotten how rewarding it can be to float freely and carelessly. I'm a tad rusty at the whole allowing-myself-to-be-happy philosophy. On nights like these, when my voice goes hoarse from whooping and my stomach tightens from laughter, I have to keep on remembering, let go. Even if it's just for tonight, let go.

To release my burden for even a few hours is to joke, smile and sing more easily. To feel deliciously light upon my shoulders. To rise above my heart's heavy load is to live enlightened, to squeeze the drops out of the new year, my fresh slate. Perhaps I cannot abandon my troubles for long, but when I do, it feels wonderful to let go. 

the post-christmas lag

There comes an unmistakeable lull in excitement after Christmas. It's hard to deny the depressing contrast in activity after all of the presents have been unwrapped and Christmas dinner has come and gone. Yet there is a pleasant kind of emotion that comes bundled with the sorrow: a content peacefulness, perhaps related to the Christmas magic still leftover. We all try to hold on to that magic somehow; whether it's by leaving the lights up for "just one more week", eating an entire Terry's chocolate orange in less than two days or drinking more hot chocolate than water.

I made some real memories this Christmas..

• Getting lost and taking the [very long] scenic route on gift delivery trips.
• Spending the night before Christmas Eve on a drive with a wonderful father and brilliant best friend, giving "tackiest" and "biggest" awards to light displays on houses around the city. 
• Finishing said drive at the highest -- and windiest -- point in the city, where Dad tried for five minutes to take a picture of us while we almost lost our scarves and dignities. 
• Drinking gigantic mugs of cocoa similar to what they must serve on the Polar Express.
• Yelling "MERRY CHRISTMAS, RICK!" to Rick Mercer (it's a Canadian thing) from rolled-down car windows while doing last-minute shopping.
• Intense games of Skittle Ball and Monopoly. 
• Letting Dad convince me that all Mom wanted for her birthday was a four-slice toaster.

.. The kind of memories shared during "remember when.." moments over coffee or at late-night sleepovers. Weatherproof memories that refuse to leave the files of your brain whether you want them to or not. Memories that last.

o christmas tree

 

Fragrant boughs of green, adorned in memories. Swedish glass figures, glistening from in front of white twinkle bulbs. A cedar wooden moose from an old general store in Ontario, representing our family's Canadian traits. Handmade pinky-sized mittens and felted balls, made for the tree by my mother. Vintage colored baubles in different shapes and patterns, inherited from the house when we first moved in. Cheerful painted wooden snowmen and nutcrackers, bringing me back to Christmas trees of the past. All of these ornaments combined result in a tree unlike anything you'll find in a Martha Stewart magazine.

Yet, it's beautiful to me; to us. Honestly, we wouldn't have our tree any other way. We tend to lose track of time while admiring its beauty. The tree lights lure us to the living room and then the woodstove does its job to keep us near. I'd gladly sleep on the couch, gazing at the lights until my eyes finally close.

Whether your tree is artificial or real; themed or free-for-all; with white lights or colored, I encourage you to plop down in front of it with your hot drink of choice and lose yourself in the sight.