Full

There's playtime in the air as the holidays tumble on in. Suddenly old names are ringing on your phone, and things just get pushed aside & forgiven-in the nighttime celebrations. Without explaining, without making time apart known, and without taking up the quiet tones (and longer minutes) that should be devoted to important conversations. 

But the glasses are full.

...Oh, the lights are going up on the trees along the road! I see Christmas trees, menorahs, and bows in some windows! Oh, it seems like the new night's twinkling is a cure, is hope bottled, or, is something of an excuse to smile....like walking hand-in-hand over a bridge and through the streets.

Window displays, home-cooked feasts, parades/games on TV, shopping splurges, revamped mall. The first snowfall falls early and piles, and we adjust to feeling full. 

Full to the cup/waistband's edge, full to the brim with something that grows sickly later---Maybe that extra serving wasn't a good choice. 

Maybe no one has a clear mind, when they feel so full.

Maybe the celebrating, and the road, turns dicy-and we make it so? 

Maybe there's something slightly forgotten/abandoned (besides diets)?

                                 The other weekend I sat watching a friend's band play a rare acoustic show, and sitting indian-style on the same carpet two little boys sat memorized for the entire 20min set. One watched motionless, they other air-drummed to the beat. They sat-to my amusement, completely riveted in their tiny frames and tiny experiences, at the idea of something magical. Just for that moment. Just for that moment, at five years old, they were full with something that gets lost on us young adults. They seemed inspired, they seemed collected, they seemed safe, and somehow...thankful. 

And me, I almost forget to be thankful for what I'm thankful for now, I almost forget who I'm coming home to. I almost forget the safe routes. 

In all the movement, the choices, and the busying dizzying ideas trying to formulate; I almost forget where I am.

I almost forget next year I might be very far away from Baltimore-without the chance to even come home to the 410. 

So where do we go when the first break ends and we wait for the next? 

You can remember the past year; smile at the good stories made, shiver at old caresses, go forward after mistakes... and really, you can only be so very thankful that in all your searching, all your filling, you don't destroy yourself.....or someone else. 

Then, when your hands shake with cold-unlocking the door so late and disorderly, forget how different home becomes each year....because Dear, 35th street will always be lit. 

And every year the season will come like squelling children. The finals will end, the papers (hopefully) finished, the sanity (hopefully) saved, and the great traditions (hopefully) kept.

We're getting closer to a fresh start, caught-up sleep, dressy occasions, and more days off! 

...we go home in so many ways, because next year can't be known. 

Daily headphones: The Fray's "Dead Wrong", an old classic from the Pretty in Pink movie-Otis Redding's "Try a Little Tenderness", and Kayne's "Coldest Winter"