Last week, the first snowfall. We wake to small styrofoam beads glistening in the yard, the patio, the trees.
It’s Christmas! says Scout.
It’s snow! says Bee.
Soon, they’ll both be right.
December paraded in quicker than we’d anticipated, its usual fanfare clouded by the daily swirl of dentist appointments, deadlines, diapers. Each of us on separate routes: Ken finishing renovations on a rental property, Bee practicing Chinese characters. Me, a new project launching in January. Scout trying his darndest to pronounce the word ‘Sven.’
There’s much to throw confetti over, now that I see it all in written down.
Still, we’re carving out a quieter rhythm for the end of December. Time to sit on the sidewalk and catch a bit of candy, we think.
Last month, I’m driving around the neighbor kids – a trio of teens chattering on about multiverse. They tell me of string theory, of physics, of eternal inflation, but mostly this:
When you turn left into the cul-de-sac, what if somewhere else you’re turning right? And that choice leads to a totally different life, one you’re living trillions of miles away in a different time?
I tell them I know very little about quantum mechanics, that it sounds complicated.
Kinda like life, one of them says. We all nod.
All else is all else: Maple-shallot jam, Echosmith ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.’ Pink cheeks bouncing to the mailbox, returning with mittened handfuls. Stoneware mugs, throwing acorns. A beginner’s blanket to knit.
“And the great Now What stretching without end.”
Happy December to you, friends.