Holidays - I wonder how many, I like, find this season to be the most challenging time of year, of life. Seems to have a happy connotations, but somehow within my heart, I think the majority suffer depression of some sort, whether it be related to a loss or memories which haunt the corridors of one’s mind. The problem then exacerbates itself, as every little thing that happens drives the depression to new depths, until one thinks lower is impossible, only to find how wrong that contemplation was.

When I was a child, I had mixed feeling about Christmas. I knew it was supposed to be wonderful, and like most children, I would window-shop my dreams, with a nose pressed tightly to a window store display. Then one year, Santa finally realized how bad I was, and I got nothing for Christmas, just the opportunity to see how many things my siblings received from being good. I learned then Christmas had to have a different value, for presents surely did not make the season for me. I pretend I was like Jesus, no place to belong, born with nothing. I felt what it must be like for no one to know how special her really was, just like I was sure Santa missed the nice things I had to have done - could I really have been that bad?

As an adult, I got through Christmas and tried to erase my sadness, by making it fun and happy for my children. I never let them forget, though, the real value - the child I bonded with, never forget what it was all about, because presents were never a guarantee. I sufficed and survived until 1991, when a foster child, one I was legal guardian for, raise from infancy to 13 years of age, had a heart attack on a school bus, died without warning, without ever sparing me a moment to say good-bye. I had just shopped for Christmas for him - all his presents just waiting for glittery wrappings, waiting to see his face, to find joy in the eyes of a child. Yes, this time I had presents, but as so long ago, presents were worthless, for I would have given my life, any present I had ever received, for his life to have been spared.

I have since tried desperately not to suffer depression during the holiday season. I put my heart into finding other focuses. I had a great friend who did everything to make me smile, even coming and putting up a tree and decorating it, desperate to help me find a light through the dark holiday tunnel. This year, my sister, who has lived in Texas for 35 years, was coming back to New England. I thought, this holiday season will be a time of family renewal. I put up a tiny ceramic tree, bought her gifts (would do anyway and send them to her), and was putting together a Christmas stocking. However, things have fallen through and now all is in limbo. Life and its roadblocks - happiness always elusive, a butterfly born without wings to freedom. Again presents, again, worthless, again dark corridors closing in.

Yes, there is magic in the birth of the Christ child, but I think it needs to be removed from a “holiday” highlight, and just be allowed its moment, for what it is - a time to reflect, a time to discover what is really important - there is no present in any box that will help me with that...

Tis another bout of sleeplessness. Funny how I cycle - some night I can sleep like a snuggles rug and other time I can not buy sleep. I think to myself, how selfish to pity myself with loneliness and fatigue, when others do not even have a pillow and warmth to even try to sleep. That humles my mumblings real fast. I would really like to just do a bitch session, but the mind torrments me, like a mirror trying to decide if I am fairest in the land - NOT!

I went to a speech contest tonight, with the topic being "what family means to me." The four ladies were good, but two stood heads and tails over all others. The winner talked about the world as a family - she was very profound, and another of how her dad had battled with cancer, and at a young age she learned that family does not come with guarantees. I tettered between these two. I think the judges made the right decision, but still...I am haunted by the other yound lady whose work was also top quality. I am going to another one at Holyoke Catholic next Monday - same topic. Just a curiousity on different perspectives - this group was four ladies (10th and 11th grade), and next Monday is two young men. I wonder how the guys view the topic for contrast.

Today I subbed for kindergarten - WHEW, with a big swipe of sweat. I have gained great admiration for the kindergarten teachers - actually, I think medals and pay raises are in order!!! Yes, I had fun, but this body was not thrilled with floor activities or getting so many children to write their numbers properly. However, I was shocked by the maturity level of girls over boys, and how boys seemed to struggle more with fine motor writing skills and backward printing. Anyway, I am taking tomorrow off, as this body is beat...or maybe just lazy!

Well, hands are cold from the evenings chill, so thingk I will hunt for a blankey and just cuddle with a book for a bit - night world and peace to all! Here is a white iris in offering of the joy

of innocence.

I could not resist sharing a couple of more dreams for spring. If any have made you smile, then they shall rest with hope.

During this pre-winter season, when gardens are being prepped for a long slumber, from which to rejuvinate, I thought it might be fun to share the dreams of what spring holds. I hope you enjoy

It is 12:11 AM. I have to be out of here by 8:15. I do hope sleep saves me from a long and lonely night. Nights like these snack on my soul, and take me to the dark depths of stomach acid. I remember nights right after Jose died, when I would sit in the window, frosted with cold, a candle lit, with the hopes he would find his way through the darkness. Night after lonely, lonely, heartbroken night I would sit, buring candle after candle - I should have bought stock in the candle factory. I remember when Kerryl died, sitting, watching for her to come, lonely, a heart so empty, even the roaches moved out. I remember a lifetime of nights, scared of hearing footsteps which might come in my direction, hiding in closets, under beds, under blankets, eyes wide as saucers, as if it would help my hearing, terrified of sleeping, for fear...and, in fear. Long, lonely nights, nothing new for me, no stranger, once foe, now accepted friend. I no longer fear the night or look for a love lost, but there is a loneliness time can not erase. It is the time when my mind and I come too close for comfort. I always wonder what still lies there - it is usually memories I can forget during the day, when busyness buys space from roaming past realities which still still haunt my sleepless nights.

The coming time is going to carry truckloads of stress for me, as well as memory lanes I would rather forget. Holidays always take a toll on my spirit. For me, holidays are full of memory lanes of pot-holes, the kinds which leave permanent scars the brain will forever stumble over. I've tried avenues of detours, but seems they always end up going in circles. I have a few new roads I will be taking soon, but they are pre-loaded with pot-hole memories, even a tune-up may not be able to keep smooth the travels. I've tried the positive thinking route, and let me tell you...usually just sets up for greater frost heaves promising deeper holes.

Time, time, time - seems I just age more and less gracefully - like giving an old car a new paint job - still just an old car underneath. Why is it cars get more valueable with age, and people just get older - there is definitely something wrong with this picture. I love the stories the elderly have, and to me, the older, the more treasured their stories. I see love which has matured into richer understandings, even when relating to love lost. Wrinkles become treasure maps of life, and white hair the snow angels of winter-crystals of which awe erupts. But for some reason, I can not find that in myself as time moves through me. Instead, I still see the ghosts that seem determined to follow me to the grave in my white hair and in my wrinkles I feel the weight of my fatigue. But every now and then, in the depth of my eyes, I see the glitter of an upturned smile that refuses to lay down and play dead.