Skip to main content

Tis the Season of Pinpricks

I get knocked down, but I get up again
You're never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You're never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down --


We get it Chumbawumba, we get it. Even as you read this, you're someplace on your way up again and prepping to get knocked down. Again.

Good for you. But that ain't me. I'm trying to get up again and flinching at everything that might possibly could maybe, who knows, knock me down.

Again.

It's been a long November, a month in which I had planned posts on daily affirmations of thankfulness, perhaps a countdown to my daughter's birthday / my mothering day and maybe a post about the minutes I've been missing my parents since all the way back to 1987.

But I got knocked down by a lot of things.

The knowing that so many friends of mine were newly missing loved ones in the season of giving thanks that leads into the season of celebrating family and friends. It's one of the worst feelings I can imagine. And I acutely knew no words can salve that wound. So my brain clenched up. And so did the words.

Then there was the knowing that people desperate enough to leave home and walk thousands of miles in hopes of sanctuary were greeted by tear gas in the name of law and order. Law and order hides behind too many sanctioned injustices. Even in my own family.

The knowing that my daughter looked at a form of racism in the eye, and that I had to handle it as best I could as a parent, while giving her the tools to handle what I couldn't when she's an adult. I mean, she'll face it on her own soon enough. Too soon.

No, Chumbawumba. The knocking down had me really knocked down.

Now I'm looking for pinpricks to pierce the darkness -- maybe we all are, I don't know. So for me, Advent -- the waiting on The Light -- is right on time. So is Hannukah -- light itself being present in a miraculous way.

Even in the darkness, I've got hope -- no matter how tenuous -- in this season of light.

There. Is. Hope.

After all, I got a lot of stories to write about.


hums to self: I get knocked down, but I get up again...


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

What 6 Christmas Songs Got Wrong

After Thanksgiving, a birthday party last week, another birthday party this week and Christmas coming up next week, I am officially overwhelmed. It'd take more time than I have to explain what yet needs to be done and if you're like me, you're probably overwhelmed and don't have the time nor inclination to read it all anyway. But even with an overflowing plate, I still love the Christmas season -- from setting up the Christmas tree that we got two weeks ago and decorated only yesterday, to lighting bayberry scented candles, to every Rankin & Bass Christmas Special, and the music. Oh, the music. Songs have a way of putting you in the Christmas spirit, warming your heart and next thing you know, you're hugging a stranger in the elevator. Okay, um...maybe that's just me. But alas, all songs are not created equal; and the following Christmas songs inspire and awaken anything but peace on earth and goodwill to men. 1. Christmas Shoes : This song makes my ...

The Occasional Car

There's nothing special about our neighborhood. No quaint cul de sacs. Just streets that run north to south, sandwiched in between two busy avenues. It's a throwback place -- a hub of post-WWII homes and tree-lined streets whose limbs form a sort of cathedral ceiling. It's a silent night neighborhood . After dark, outside of a few who power-walk dogs begging them to go potty or poop and the occasional car slowly driving north or south, everyone's inside at nighttime. At midnight, Jamie and I were driving that occasional car, returning from a date night while Georgia was at a sleepover. The sky was clear, snowflakes sprinkled past the streetlamps and the streets and sidewalks were empty. Modern Love came on the radio as we began making the slight ascent to our block. We sang along and I knew we'd have to abandon it and our singing by the time we parked. We reached a stop sign at the top of the hill, and Jamie checked for any occasional westbound or eastbo...

The Post I've Feared Writing

In the few years under my belt as a hack writer, I’ve read a lot of posts from a lot of other bloggers, hoping to pick up on the things that make a piece great or gripping. This nonprofessional research has turned up one thing: honesty. Honesty, as in Are-you-sure-you-wanna-say-that-out-loud honesty. Yeah. That. The great pieces have always been from writers who speak from their hearts and say things that are ironically funny, sometimes painful, but always glaringly, transparently, and sometimes embarrassingly, true.   Bare. Truth. Transparency. That takes courage akin to walking on a frozen pond during the spring thaw.  Think about it: we’ve all got stories that could make us great writers – even the hacks like me, but it’s all a question of courage: what are we willing to share? Are we willing to bare some uncomfortable things?   In my case, it’s missing my mom. Oh, the coward in me will casually refer to losing her at a young age and wax philosophic a...