In between sanding derby cars with my son at the kitchen table and preparing coffee and breakfast, I’ve lost the theme for this letter. I snap my fingers trying to get it back, trying to jog my memory whilst holding a conversation about bacteria with my son. I look out the kitchen window at the dark morning sky and think to myself, I’m sure the thought had to do with craving some more uninterrupted morning time. I smile and hmmph to myself.
Trying to fit old parts of my life into this chapter of motherhood feels like my recurring dream about missing the high school late bus—searching and hurrying, asking every bus driver, “Do you go to Middle Ridge?!” All the buses leave before I can find the right bus and I’m stranded alone at my high school. I still have the dream and feel that anxious high school season of my life somatically, even in my sleep, twenty years after I’ve graduated.
Motherhood has been my life for the last six years, and some days, like my recurring dream of my fear of missing the bus, I still wake up and think, I’ll get going with my creative writing (and complete it) before the daily wheels that must spin begin to turn: breakfast, lunch and snack packing, dressing, teeth and hair brushed, scheduling, drop off…
But derby car making must happen before the sun rises. I watch the glow of my phone’s timer on Ollie’s precious face and run my fingers through his tousled morning hair. His little, eager eyes counting down the time as he waits for the glue to dry so we can move on to the next step—painting the cars. All before the school day begins. I’m not sure much of my old life fits into the season of life I’m in now. But, there are two things that I still hold tight to now—in fact, even tighter to: celebrating life (travel, experiences, celebrations, degustations) and embracing family and friendships.
I still feel the prolonged blessing of my recent discovery of Chögyam Trungpa’s conversation, “You Are Dying.” His conversation is with a supposed friend that is dying. He acknowledges that the friend is dying. And goes on to say that you’re going to be leaving us, but at the same time there’s something which continues in terms of death. The continuity of your positive relationships to your friends continues. He encourages his friend to work on that continuity. That basic continuity of friendship. Which has nothing to do with ego. He explains that even in death, spiritual friendship continues.
This makes me think about how often I get my panties in a bunch over things that don’t matter, or better said, things that don’t continue on with me after life: pleasantly, there’s much less panty bunching in this season of motherhood than in any previous seasons. The limitations in life now and the warmth and love from my friends and family in this season reminds me—in a less Buddhist master-y way—that the art of deepening friendships and relationships matters a lot. For some of us, this part may come as unfortunate news, but it may be that friendships and relationships are not ‘til death do us part. They continue on as spiritual friendships. (I hope so.)
In intuiting this, I have been hosting salons in my home with my girlfriends as a way for us to invite more friendship into our lives.
Over the winter holiday, I held a themed Mrs. Claus costume party. All my friends had to come in a creatively themed version of Mrs. Claus, and the white elephant gift they brought had to match the theme of their costume. I went as Madame Claus (and my white elephant gift was Parisian hot cocoa and a pair of red sequin Christmas nipple tassels).
As incentive to make the salon even more fun, I awarded a trophy for the best dressed Mrs. Claus costume. This way, I hoped at least some women would come “all out.” In all my creative imaginings, I never imagined Amy Winehouse Claus and Peloton Claus having a tie breaker vote in my living room. The evening was better than I ever imagined.
For this holiday salon, I made Angelina’s hot chocolate recipe from Paris (I doubled the milk. Divine!) and homemade whipped cream, and laid out piles of exquisite holiday cakes and cookies. Wine was drunk, champagne was poured, white elephant gag gifts were opened in front of a group of women crying laughing, and lasting friendships were made.
When we moved into this home, I envisioned hosting these salons. A little wild, a little fabulous, a little creative. I imagined the roaring twenties in Paris.
I think one of the reasons this gathering was so beloved was that we all want friendships that encourage us to laugh until we cry, even with someone we’ve just met. The kind of friendships that reminds us of who we are outside of our jobs and -er roles (mother, lover, entrepreneur, writer, scheduler, meal planner) and continue on with us through our seasons and lives.
Next season’s salon: An afternoon tea. Dresses and fascinators, musical performance, and a table tennis tournament.