Invisible Strings

November 2024 || Hell was the journey but it brought me heaven.

On Thanksgiving, our littlest’s hand slips into mine. We walk slowly, picking up sticks and smelling seasonably late roses, palest pink and glowing magenta. Leaving behind empty plates, overflowing counters, and family members strewn about couches, we find delight in fresh air and the largest gingko tree I’ve ever seen, alight in golden glory. For the first time in my life, I think, my stomach’s not full and my heart is just right.

Just days ago those same small hands had promptly lit the gas fireplace upon our return home from celebrating his sister, despite the day’s warm streak. Minutes later, lights strung, wrapped, and flickering around the house joined the chorus, timed to the sun’s departure. Like magic, soft clicks of switches brought to life entire ceramic villages nestled atop bookshelves. Our whole childhoods, spent collecting buildings bought and gifted. Who’d have thought we’d find each other and fill our home with them and so much more?

And isn't it just so pretty to think
All along there was some
Invisible string
Tying you to me?

For the first two-thirds of my life, I was a never-Christmas-before-Thanksgiving person. You know, the principled and unwavering kind who says: No music. No decorations. No treats. Nothing but leftover pumpkins, the promise of turkey, and turning leaves for me, please. The day after Thanksgiving? Yes. The day of or before? No.

Unlike other varying holiday expectations as the kid of divorced parents, I was almost always with my mother on Thanksgiving. It was as predictable as the clocks that covered the walls of my grandparents’ home by the Chesapeake Bay where we’d gather and eat, the air thick with sage, orange zest, and cat dander. I’d imagine the ticks and tocks of my grandfather’s projects a kind of rhythmic conversation that would erupt, once an hour, in all manner of dings and dongs, filling the otherwise quiet house, to my delight.

Even when I was elsewhere, I liked the day’s unfussy-ness and gratitude. I liked that the parade was the same everywhere and the food, too, give or take a few items. It was my favorite because it was steady. Simple. Comfortable. Sure.

Then I was due with our first child, thirteen years ago, on Thanksgiving day.

At noon that day, while Cliff hung lights on his boss’s house across town and my sister kept me company, I began what I thought might be labor. A handful of hours and three bites of my green bean casserole later, things kicked into gear, and by lunchtime on Black Friday I held our newborn baby girl whom we brought home, a couple days later, to our little brick house with the five-foot, colored-light tree. We’d put it up the day before I was due, and the lights have gone up earlier and earlier, every year since.

This year, having the kids at home from school for the whole week (save for a quick trip to East Tennessee) has been such a gift. Celebrating the birthday girl on top if it all, even better. After bagels and coffee, we wandered around a park we’d not been to since before they can remember; chasing geese, hill rolls, and the towering gold Athena statue the joie du jour.

By the lake, a stranger offered to take our picture together when she noticed me taking photos of the kids. She walked away and then quickly came back, asking whether the birthday girl was a Swiftie and did she know about the bench.¹

Later, I laughed thinking we must have looked like tourists, delighted at every turn by the day's offerings. My laughter then turned to something like wonder, the thread of lyrics far from my mind blazing to life not just in the moment but in the whole month, in my own kind of way.

Gold was the color of the leaves
When I showed you around Centennial Park

No matter how much time passes between now and then, the years I don’t see or sense the Thansgivings of old… they aren’t gone. Like standing in Centennial Park feeling every age between 15 and now. I love this time of year, but each one that passes without certain people due to different kinds of loss… feels strange.

Strange enough that when a soft rain taps lightly on windows looking out into the inky blue of a celebratory day, I recognize that though I am grateful, I am also sad. Because like Christmas accoutrements and Thanksgiving can co-exist in the growing damp and dark of the year, so too can gratitude and sadness. This month has reminded me of that at every turn.

I am tender and achy, missing something or someone that should be but isn’t. A reverse invisible string, one I was born with but no longer see, only feel pain when it’s pulled inexplicably. And yet, each day I mark with an overwhelming thankfulness because right here in that pain there is much to give praise for, not the least of which is the people God put right in my path to build it anew, beautiful shimmering strands of gold.

Time, mystical time
Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

📝 Writing

Oh, how I wish there was something of note to report here! With this newsletter coming in late (though I’ve been drafting it for almost a week), I can only say it’s quite symptomatic of the primary issue on my plate which is finding myself unable to align the time I do have with the work I’d like to be doing.

It’s about expectations and that age-old mindset issue where we mistakenly believe that certain activities only deplete us (because they do, in one regard), forgetting that they also refill and restore us in other important ways, too. I don't imagine December to be the month I shift this mindset drastically, but who knows? But I’m going to write something, anything, everyday, and see what happens from there.

📚 Reading

In October, our daughter and I started reading Little Women together. It’s only my second time reading this classic, and I have to say — while I loved it before and every movie or show version I’ve ever seen — experiencing this story with her takes the cake. It will be awhile yet before we finish, but since I’m doing everything else slowly these days, seems fitting.

We’ve hit the Epilogue in War and Peace, and I can almost taste my planned post-New Years watch of the BBC series which I’ve been dying to watch FOR YEARS knowing I couldn’t until I’d read it. Really, BBC will be getting all my love in Q1 of 2025 with my planned watch of “Wolf Hall” and “Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light” when it releases in March!

Entering the final month of both read-alongs, I’m thinking it may be awhile before I commit to another year-long reading schedule. The rebel in me is ready to be free and read what I want when I want to, knowing full well I chose this — and I’m glad that I did. I look forward to simplifying my reading life a bit next year, though!

🎧 Listening

The last few weeks, I have positively savored David Whyte’s What to Remember When Waking: The Disciplines of an Everyday Life. Technically I could have filed this under “Reading” since it qualifies as a book on Goodreads — except it’s not published in hard copy and is only available on audio (I acquired from my library on Libby). I won’t kid around here — David Whyte goes hard on deep thinking, beautiful imagery, and poetic language — but it’s also quite practical. I took so many notes, played back portions several times, and am so grateful for his wisdom. I’m putting this on my list of works to revisit… maybe even annually!

How blessed are we to live in a world where Jon Batiste is making music? This month saw the arrival of his new album Beethoven Blues. It’s the first release in the Batiste Piano Series, and I cannot wait to see what else we’ll get!

📺 Watching

You thought I was done with Jon? Well, sorry! Seeing him play the Ryman earlier this year was one of my top live music experiences ever, and I can’t pass up the opportunity to see him do what he does. While perusing the official music videos for the album, so far — the simplicity of him just doing what he does — I stumbled upon this gem of him playing “Awake My Soul” with Mumford. Oh, the joy!

It’s been a month of family shows and movies, with trips to the theater to see “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” (I did not expect to be so moved by this movie, being plenty familiar with the book), “Moana 2” (we’re still getting used to the new songs, but loved the story in its own right), and “Wicked” (you have to go in knowing stage and cinema will always be different… but it was as visually and musically stunning as I’d hoped it could be). As much as I enjoy the movies alone — I do love them together!

✨ Enjoying

Emily Jane Johnston, whose sense of style and joy for life endlessly inspire me, is now on Substack!

Speaking of style, I’ve been wanting to take hard look at my own closet in an effort to (again) better align what I wear with the life I’m actually living but also aspiring to. Allison Bornstein’s 3 Word Method is exactly what I’ve been looking for in this process — I’ve not yet settled on my three words, but I’m close!

And on the subject of words, it’s becoming pretty clear what mine will be for next year and given how many times some derivative of it has shown up while drafting this… I wonder if you can guess what it is?

It’s already taken me days longer to get this out than I’d have hoped, so I’ll get started on my aim for next year and simply say THANK YOU. As always, your readership and support are among the things that surprise me, again and again, and fill me with gratitude.

May this month, whether you are practicing Advent (which begins today!) or not, offer you spaciousness and growing light in the darkening days. Blessings.

Until next time,

1. She’ll be the first to tell you: she. is. not. a. Swiftie. And neither am I. But we both have a particularly fondness for the Lover album, and I had my moment with both Folklore and Evermore, as evidenced by the lyrics (and melody) that wouldn’t quit my brain or this newsletter last week!