I wish for sanctuary for us all. A place to go when we need to recharge, renew. A place where we are loved and embraced, in the company of others like us. A place to unbraid, bathe our nakedness, and let go.
Feed the soul. For some, restfulness and quietude come easy. For others, like me, we have to work at it, purposefully. I try to keep a big-ass Zulu basket of crafts, mittens, books, and dried snacks in my car for those moments I need to make a quick getaway. Find me on the beach, basket full of warm pretty things.
Fresh rosemary plucked from my daughter’s hand as she was fussing over a pan of balsamic, garlic, and honey chicken. She volunteered to cook Christmas dinner as her gift to me. She was worried she couldn’t afford to buy gifts. Her academic course load was heavy this semester, I suggested she drop her campus job and focus on classes. She didn’t need to worry. I told her I’d only accept her gift of a meal if she was doing it from the heart and not because she felt obligated to give me a gift, holidays with her is gift enough. She worked so diligently, on her feet for hours, bent at the sink, washing and chopping and peeling and searing. It was delicious. Having her here to share it with was best.