Reflection

It's still early at our house. The glimmer of dawn's first light hasn't crept through the windows to wake the little ones. Today I started my morning with a cup of french press coffee and a book, Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. The wind shakes the branches outside tapping the windows and walls, letting out one long raspy breath. Inside there is a quiet stillness that I relish because it is so rare. If there were no children, no dogs, no husband, no one to tug and pull at this space, the stillness might feel maddening and oppressive. Kingsolver's book helps me reflect on the value of life, the value of the chaos of growth as well as the necessity to celebrate loss.

I just read the November-December chapter, the chapter that we have just left on our calendars. It is the time that comes after harvest, a time to be thankful for the bounty that the early provides and to be proud of our labors of the previous year. It is also a time of loss. The trees shed their leaves. The sun becomes stingy with its rays of warmth. In olden days folks would begin calculating how to ration their food cellars to prepare for the cold months ahead. Our ancestors did not have the opportunity to stuff themselves everyday. What better way to end a season of growth and prepare for a season of loss than to feast and indulge one last time.

Thanksgiving is one of the few holidays that is actually celebrated through the consumption of native foods. It is also a holiday that hasn't fallen prey to commercialism. The turkey did not originate in Europe. Pumpkins originated in the Americas as well as did corn and the potatoe. After discovering this, I felt cheered to have renewed veneration for the holiday. Now I have a reason to serve turkey year after year. Afterall, the turkey was the first runner up to be our national bird.

The theme of loss resonates powerfully within me right now because I anticipate the loss of time with my children if I begin a full-time job, which seems to be an imperative right now. Kingsolver celebrates Dia de Los Muertos, a tradition she aquired from her Arizona days, though she is now living in Virginia hundreds of miles from Mexico. In Mexico, they invite their deceased loved ones to dinner and celebration. I feel as if loss of any sort in our culture is to be is to be hidden and becomes an unhealed wound. We are very uncomfortable with loss of any kind, especially death. Wouldn't it be healthier if we could open our eyes up to the cycles of loss and rebirth around us, embrace them, and celebrate them.