Backing Into It Slowly
The World's Cutest Nephew is eighteen months old now, and fully, relentlessly mobile.
His parents -- my sister Debi and her husband, the implacable Dr. Tim -- have wisely babyproofed everything in sight and given him complete run of the groovy new house, both upstairs and downstairs.
I stood at the top of the stairwell on Christmas Eve -- fond, foolish Aunt Secra, with her disposable Kodak permanently clamped to her face -- and watched my nephew slide on his belly, diaper-first, down the carpeted steps leading from the living room to the lower level of the house. He was clearly not in any hurry. He would slither down a couple of steps and then stop for a minute, beaming earnestly up at me. The expression on his face said I'll get there when I get there ... and in the meantime, I'm gonna enjoy the ride.
That's sort of how it's going to be with *FootNotes* for a while, I think.
The holidays were so BIG this year, emotionally ... so huge, so family-intensive, so filled with Crisis Moments and Landmark Moments and Moment-Moments, all of them requiring large amounts of *energy molecules* and *wisdom molecules* and *MasterCard molecules* ... that I don't know how I can possibly squeeze it all into a journal entry. Frankly I'm a little overwhelmed, just thinking about it.
So maybe I won't try. Just yet.
My vacation officially begins today. (Yes. I know. I've just spent the past five days in fabulous TicTac, WA. But anyone who has ever flown 1,400 miles roundtrip to spend the holidays with family knows that such an undertaking -- however wonderful, however memorable, however warm and fuzzy -- cannot by any stretch of the imagination be considered a "vacation.") Today, basically, is the first day in weeks that I have not been required to crawl out of bed at an ungodly predetermined hour. The first day that I don't have to stand in line anywhere, for anything. The first day I can get away with skipping the Maybelline and the uncomfortable undergarments and the Kleenex altogether.
The first day that there is absolutely nothing I *have* to do.
The Ambitious Good Angel, sitting on my right shoulder, says "Wow! This is GREAT, Secra!! You have six whole days to write about the holidays and the Tots and the trip to TicTac ... and to announce Jaymi and Joel's engagement, and to publicly thank the Ex-Hub for his hospitality, and to post a bazillion megabytes' worth of murky, poorly-scanned photos of teenagers opening expensive electronics ... and you should get started right now!!!"
The Frazzled Unambitious Bad Angel, sitting on my left shoulder, says "Fudk it. Let's eat some chocolate and take a nap."
If you don't mind ... I think I'm going to listen to the Frazzled Unambitious Bad Angel on this one. Just for today, anyway. I'm going to finish unpacking, in careful leisurely fashion, and find places for all of the new picture frames and candle holders and teeny tiny bottles of bubble bath. I'm going to listen to the new CDs: Emmylou Harris, The Beatles, the "Instrumental Moods" CD from Jaymi, the Celtic CD ("Nua Teorainn") I bought before I left but never had time to play. I'm going to hang my new windchimes. I'm going to periodically douse myself with Tabu. I'm going to drink a whole lot of Folgers Mocha Almond Jive Café Latte. I'm going to polish my engagement ring a lot. I might clean out a couple of kitchen drawers. I might actually get started on the new Dean Koontz. I might write some *thank-you* e-mail.
Or I might just say fudk it and go take a nap ... with the box of See's sitting next to me on the pillow.
I'll be backing into this journal-writing stuff slowly, over the course of the next few days ... sliding butt-first down the virtual staircase, a step or two (or in this case, a paragraph or two) at a time.
I'll get there when I get there. And in the meantime I'm gonna enjoy the ride.