Christmas, Moonlight & Pavlova

Today it was just me, Mum, Dad, and the pups. Early morning rain and grey skies, with present-giving and kisses. Hair untidy, eyes tired. My head still felt filled with cotton from jet lag and flying. After the long, glorious summer gallivanting through the South of France, the Rivieras, Italy, and beyond, my soul is content, and I'm feeling awfully reflective.

My heart ached, missing Cape Town and how we used to spend Christmas altogether with my whole family—summers standing around in the garden eating watermelon. There's something about saying “I wish I was there, I miss you” over the phone on Christmas Day that encompasses all the words you really want to say but never do because you know none of them could teleport you there. Saying “I wish I was there” always seems to carry a double meaning for me, too. It could mean five years ago, ten years ago. Perhaps what I truly mean is I wish we could all go back.

I can hardly believe last Christmas I was in Paris. I have already been reminiscing so much about that little lifetime, how precious it all was.

Ziva and I went for a run, and my lungs protested up every hill. My makeup and dress were replaced by pajamas and hot coffee by 3 pm, along with watching 'The Holiday.' One very tame rosella visited and sang for some seeds. My arm began to cramp from holding up the bowl of seeds, but I didn't have the heart to let it fly away.

No stars were visible tonight, but the moon was so pretty in its waxing crescent. I stood barefoot on the pebbles outside, singing along as my neighbors belted out "Dancing in the Moonlight." By their voices, I could tell they were smiling, definitely drinking, and very off-tune—but it made my heart feel good.

Looking up at the moon, pondering the galaxies and time and love, I thought of Kelseyleigh Reber’s ‘If I Resist’.

“In that moment, the moon and the sun shared the sky.
For all of eternity, the moon and sun have chased each other around the world.
Long into the future, they will continue this chase, merging the days into months into years into centuries, until the day the sun cannot take the separation any longer and it shatters, engulfing the moon and everything else in a burst of light.
Most will call it the day of final judgment. The end. To the sun and the moon, it will only be the beginning.
For the smallest of instants each day, they pause in this chase. They pause and look back at one another, smiling as if sharing a secret. Two lovers that can never exist as one, except in that single, brief instant.
Lying there, Persephone smiled too. And as quickly as a smile parts two lips, the two sky wanderers parted ways. The chase was on again. Night gave way to day.
That is true love, she had always thought. No force but love can impel one to step willingly into the shadows so that the other may shine.”

It’s Christmas, and it feels like it and doesn’t all at once. But what matters is that the pavlova was extra fluffy, and I suppose I must breathe deeply and realize that no matter where or what I'm so homesick for—home is here, too, and I must, in part, be grateful for that.

Here's to those this Christmas who are hurting, who are trying to forget, who are heartbroken; to those who are victims of natural disasters, immigrants and refugees who feel their voices are lost; to those who are ill and fighting; to all the babies being born and those who didn't make it to Christmas this year. Here's to you lovers celebrating your first Christmas—your eyes undoubtedly sparkling only for each other; to those whose birthday is today; to you who couldn't wait to creep back into bed; to those who'll dance all night long; to those working; to those afraid.

To those far away from home, to those who are home but for some reason feel homesick for another planet even—I hear you, I see you, I'm with you, I'm thinking about you, I feel with you.

Here's to you, and you, and you.