Advent 2

My sister is visiting--the one I'm closest to. In the next room Maisie is asking her about the story I tell: that my sister reported once, as a child, seeing a spaceship floating outside her bedroom window. "Is that true?" Maisie asks, in her best serious voice. (Privately she thinks it's a load of bullshit.) "I don't know what else it could have been," Kathy says to her, and she's talking down to Maisie a little--still talking to her as if she were six instead of nine; Kathy doesn't know what a world there is between six and nine. "I was awake--I know I wasn't dreaming," she says. Maisie nods, fingers on her chin. I can tell she's not convinced, but I'm glad she's learned to put the face on. In the kitchen Liam is examining my mother's face. "You know, Granny, if I count all the lines on your face I'll be able to tell how old you are." And so she tells him to count, and he does, and turns out she's 32. These things bring me unspeakable joy--these casual chats between my children and my family. Moments when my safety net becomes visible--when the "if I die" worry that underlies everything gets a little soothing pat on the head. They'd all close ranks. There'd be no air between those arms.

We've stepped up our church attendance; it's that time of year. Maisie joined the church choir today--totally unprompted by me, though I think she has a very pretty voice and the guy who runs the music program is out of sight. Much better than the after-school choir she's in now, run by a moody guy with body odor. "Will I get to wear the outfit?" she asks on the way out to the car, and suddenly her motivation is clear: the robe and the cross: the outfit. But so what? People have turned to faith for less.

I've missed writing, but the weekends are so packed this month, and there's no time for anything during the week. I've got to say, this full-time, out-of-the-house work stuff really screws up a good thing. And Mary Grace talks this morning about gift buying and cooking and card sending like they're bad things: like they miss the whole point, and I can only think that I guess I won't bring her that bottle of wine and plate of krumkakes this year. I love the gifting and cooking and carding: it's the day job I could do without.

You know--if I could paint the world.