All levels therapeutic yoga class and share session
Saturday, December 19th
Zoom link here for session (live 15 minutes prior)
RSVP appreciated to firstname.lastname@example.org
Our kid. The 10 year old. He almost asked THE question this weekend.
No, not that question.
The other question.
The Santa question.
And I wondered as I saw the train coming down the tracks, what would I say? How would I explain the discrepancy between “is” and “ought” on this since birth belief?
And then it hit me.
I would explain to him that Santa teaches us magic.
In a world that is filled with it but forgets to notice it.
Santa teaches us earth shaking, bone rattling, heart shivering magic.
Because as we age, that thing that we now call serendipity. Or chance. Or coincidence.
Is actually a falling of the dominoes.
A law of attraction.
A knowing of the Web before we know.
What we need.
How we need it.
“What the hell is she talking about?” someone might say right about here.
May I present my case.
Last week, I desired a treat. A treat of a sweet bread to be specific. I desired it on Tuesday. I desired it again on Wednesday. But I made the conscious choice to refrain and planned to wait until Friday morning to buckle myself into my minivan and drive down to La Farm Bakery to stare at their piles of carb loaded amazingness (croissants and muffins and pain au chocolat, oh my) and pick the ONE that called to me for a new home.
In my belly.
You see, I have learned (when I remember) that delayed gratification increases the joy, the indulgence, the sitting deeply into the moment with a choice and not an impulse.
And so, I waited.
Over and over on Wednesday, I wanted that treat. And I thought,
“Friday morning. You can get it on Friday morning.”
Over and over on Thursday during the kiddos’ virtual schooling, I thought,
“I want that treat.” And then the response, “You can get it on Friday morning.”
My children run across the street to enjoy their weekly date with our 90 year old neighbor. They roll her trashcans up the driveway and park them in the garage for her. They race up the three garage stairs and into her house. They greet her with grins and chirps of hello (or so I imagine as I’ve never witnessed this long standing ritual). They skip to her pantry and choose their menu. They exchange pleasantries and answer the wise woman’s questions about their week. They canter across the white linoleum floor and around the corner into the green carpeted sunroom. They sit in their special places – my daughter in the recliner arm chair and my son on the end of the couch with the built in side table and cupholder. “Fancy skylights” overhead and glass surrounding them in display of the deeply wooded backyard. They eat a plateful of cookies and candies and drink Sprites. They watch shows that she has taped for them. They pop up, say thank you (I *think* and pray they say “thank you”) and they race each other back out the garage door, down the 3 stairs, across the street and blow in our front door.
But this week. Something different.
They are carrying something across the street for their return trip. A bit more careful in their steps and a bit more mindful as one opens the door.
“A COFFEE CAKE!!!” Ru exclaims in her top octave. “She made us a coffee cake!”
“She did!” John echoes. “And her house smells amazing! It was so nice of her!!! Look, Mom!!!”
I stand at the top of our foyer stairs. They hand me the tea ring cake on its paper plate covered in a tight sheath of plastic wrap.
I grin ear to ear.
My sweet bread has arrived.
And an evening early.
Friday morning’s treat is here.
And I did not go get it.
I just waited.
I waited and Magic arrived on my doorstep.
So, no. My son did not ask THE question this weekend. But if he had, my response would have been.
“Magic, kiddo, is very real. It is all around us. But we tend to miss it because we are going so fast. So far. Magic answers us throughout our days. Santa is a big and bold and loud way to learn magic when we are children. As we age, magic camouflages in the hubbub of life. So, we must be quieter too. But magic never fades. It never leaves. It is always there. Waiting to be noticed and held dear and danced in just like the joy of Christmas morning surprises.”
Yes, that is what I will say.
Because that is what I feel.
And that is what I choose to believe.
The childhood magic of Santa is a doorway. You all probably walked through that door. Me too. You are in the realm of magic just as I am. Just as they are. Just as we all are.
May we be still enough to see it abound.
With love and gratitude in this heartbreaking and joyous life,