First of all, if you're the Christmas-celebrating sort, I hope you're having or have already had or are planning to have the merriest of days.
This year. Where to even begin? This year has been a gift. A gift after anguish and tears in the previous years. I don't know what 2015 will bring -- none of us do. Probably other anguishes, other tears, hopefully other gifts. This year has given me a feeling of wholeness. I feel like I cried an ocean in 2012, then again in 2013, and in 2014 -- I don't know, there's no un-crying tears that have been cried, but I feel like the tears I cried this year were cliche happy tears, and not the frustrated angry lonely tears of before. I am home now, home in the city where we belong as a family, home with the little girl we thought we might never have, home but with more friends far-flung, home home home, like the beat of a drum, a mantra, a heartbeat.
This morning from upstairs I could hear Patrick noodling on the new-to-us piano in the dining room. Freddie was with him and I could hear -- or maybe just wished I heard, it's hard to hear things clearly from upstairs, but for the sake of the story let's agree I heard it -- her small coo of happiness, or at any rate, baby interest. This piano, with its big gold bow still stuck to the top, its cracked keys, its mismatched bench, is perfect, and has been his longed-for household acquisition for years. I don't mean to brag, but I think I deserve at LEAST an A+ for effort and an A- for execution since in the end I did have to call him up to say Hey, um, we need some more hands, want to come help move your present? Merry Christmas, you get to move a piano! Okay, maybe a B+ for execution. The people actually moving the piano might give be a C. Ahem. Anyway, Patrick was a music major in college, and although his line of work was percussion, like all music majors he had to take piano and bunch of theory. He reads music (obviously), but the piano lessons never really stuck, so he just relies on his tinkering skills. And -- insert folksy Garrison Keillor tone -- maybe that's kind of like life. We get a whole lot of theory poured into us from all sides, but all we can really do is noodle. And the noodling sounds kind of nice. Better than nice. Tinkering-ly imperfectly perfect.
We're all just noodling along in this here old life. *drops Garrison Keillor mic*