Winter gives us the most beautiful sunrises here on the hilltop. It's shortly after 7 here, and I had to push back my computer cabinet door to see outside the window. I wish I had a digital camera sho I could show you. From the third floor of our house, I have a view of the treetops, the misty valley, the rolling hills, and little dots of light that glow from miles away. The dark jagged outline of distant trees contrasts with the grey-orange glow of the rising sun, the colors fading from that grey to a bit more orange, then to a most amazing orange that relects off of the contrails which are zig-zagging and expanding and filling the sky with interesting geometric shapes. And there's pink in there, too, and bits of gold. And they all dissolve into the graduating blues of the waking sky. When there's snow on the ground, which there currently isn't (yesterday felt like SPRING here!), everything glows with pinkness, somewhat like my banner above, but much more amazing than a photograph can capture.I was reflecting on my year this morning, thanks to some prodding from Donna over at Quiet Life and I felt like an real pessimist when she asked me to sum up my year in three words. My words? Very Financially Challenging.
Well, I'm sorry. But it has been.
I really wanted to be all happy-happy and find the fabulous things about my year that would show what a grateful and gracious person I am, but I couldn't. It has definitely been a very financially challenging year. Even now, the mortage is late, the taxes are way late, Bard's choir payments are way, way late, and the Christmas spirit is gone, so all of this is very real to me.
That's not to say that I'm NOT grateful for anything. Oh, yes indeedy, I am grateful. Sitting here watching this sunrise reminds me why the financial part is so difficult for me. I really love this house, this community, this hilltop. I feel at home here like I've never felt before. I don't want to lose it. The sunrise, and my view of it, is why all of the financial stuff even matters.
For that reason, our Christmas was a simple one. Yes, we did spend more money than we would during other seasons (except, maybe, the home-improvement season), but it was still very meager compared to others we know who bought large, high-dollar items for their families and purchased for everyone in their extended family (like we used to do, before we had five kids and a house). The majority of what we gave came from the thrift store. Hours of scanning the shelves for the right gift. Three huge bags of blocks for $1 a bag. Beanie Babies with tags for .25 each. Hand-embroidered pillowcases for .35 each. Pink Converse tennies for .75. Yet what did the kids say they liked the most? The new Playmobil toys and the new DVD. The high-ticket items. It's not their fault. They were among my favorite gifts, too. I guess the other things, like the big cotton quilt ($8), and the stacks of books (.25-.50 each), and the sweaters ($1 each) are just as loved, because they're using them every day. Houdin looks so nice in the mossy green sweater I bought him, and he snuggles under his quilt every night. Bard now has a fully-functioning computer in her room, one that works better than mine, thanks to my mother-in-law who scored some that were on their way out of the office. For free. Sweetheart carries that vintage leather purse around the house with everything from oranges to markers tucked inside. And Monet is loving the computer program that was installed on our computer. Those are fabulous gifts. Even though the kids don't list them as favorites, they are. They're quiet favorites. The kind of favorites a person just kind of takes for granted.
So maybe I should change what three words I use to describe my 2006. Maybe I should change it to Early Morning Sunrises. Those beautiful things that you take for granted every day, that keep you alive and warm and awake and moving, that you just know are going to always be there, like a fuzzy sweater or a cozy quilt, but they quietly take the back burner to the Bigger Looking, Noisier, In-Your-Face Things like taxes and mortgages and choir payments.
I see a little orange sphere climbing up above that jagged horizon now and little dashes of contrails lit up white, like a barely-visible thread of spider silk hanging from tree branch to tree branch. What an amazing orange that is. So bright and reliable, washing my whole bedroom in its pinkish-orange glow.
Early Morning Sunrises.
