Morning Musings...

I have arrived at work early today, as my car is in the shop and Lance needed to drop me off. Of course, the first half hour was spent just trying to connect to the Internet...as well as a bit of browsing through Emerson and Thoreau while I waited for my laptop to warm up. Now I sit in the third floor lounge, before a window overlooking the Hudson through bare December trees. In the background, the sounds of people going to and fro begin to gather-- the start of busyness pulling at my sleeves.

It is difficult to find peace to pursue the creative spirit. Last night I wanted so much to spread out my notebooks and create--but by the time I got the kids to bed, I was exhausted, and crashed on the couch before 9. Sigh.

Today I will take notes at an all-day meeting of Wellness trainers; followed by an evening of picking up the car...and then decorating the house for Christmas. And somewhere in there preparing and serving a home-cooked meal...I hope.

Christmas does not seem fully present yet this year. That is, the past few years I have lit the Advent wreath on that first Sunday, and begun the rituals of welcoming the morning with candle-light. It is warmer this year so far, so maybe I am still in November, having just pulled the wreath from the trunk of the car. So, while the Carols are playing, the creche is on the mantle, and the gift lists have begun, I haven't fully been able to put myself in a place of presence to the meaning of this season.

A month just doesn't seem long enough to fully delve into a "theme". I am steeped in the monthly First Unitarian themes of Hospitality, Ghosts, and Memory with such rapture this year....the transitions seem harder from one to the next. Perhaps they are only like separate chapters of one long book... Compassion does seem the next necessary place to travel. But getting there only takes time.

Sunday I am meeting with others at church to plan the Christmas service. I am also meeting with Verne afterwards to discuss the UUCRT history project we are creating. There is so much on the calendar this December that I am looking forward to. It seems odd to feel dissatisfied and impatient now-- if perhaps this is what I am feeling...it is hard to tell.

Emerson wrote of Thoreau that he could not write without his daily walk. I am looking out on a river, a tree swaying in wild wind, the air crisp, yet still no need for gloves.

Making art of life is as much--if not more--in the walk as it is in the work of the pen.