December fog

I wake up to fog. Appropriate for my departure from the city, though terribly inconvenient for the drive home. I dont stop for breakfast. No pause even for a photo of Wrigley Field, just across the street. I want to start in on the drive home. So, I Uber to my daughter's house. They're all gone -- to school, to work, but the car is still there (it's cheaper to park for free in front of their home and use Uber than to park at the hotel). I drive over to Allez -- a lovely little coffee shop in this neighborhood:

I pick up a coffee and croissant for the road and then I am off. Chicago radio Christmas music to the halfway point, then I switch to my Christmas mix for the remainder of the drive. Only as I pull into Madison proper do I turn on the local radio and learn of the school shooting in my home town.

This is the crazy world we all inhabit. Guns, readily available. To kill children. Because... remind me again, why?

On the heels of this, my trip to Chicago -- to celebrate Primrose's dance and Juniper's birthday -- seems especially poignant and precious. We talked yesterday about whether the kids still believe in Santa, or if they've let go of that fantasy already (most of them have not). What other fantasies do we want to preserve for them for as long as possible? How about the one that schools are safe and that they'll never have to be afraid?

Sigh...

It's a quick turnaround for me. I drop my bag, make myself a cup of coffee and head out to pick up Snowdrop. (It's not her school that had the active shooter this morning.)

She's nearly ten. She knows more and more about danger. She has to know, of course. But today, as on most days, we concentrate on the holiday delights that await her, her brothers. I tell her about Chicago, she tells me about her weekend of friends, of sleepovers, of family outings. At the farmhouse, she plays with Ed's computer for a minute... 

 

 

 

... then she clobbers the guy...

 

 

And then we read, for a full two hours (the book is that good!).

I know there will be talk of the shooting in school tomorrow. Kids will find out, they will bring it to class, she will have to face it. So I circle the topic of tragedy, giving some reassuring platitudes about how life-death tragedies are a rare thing. And how we do recover. She and I just finished a book where a child dies of cancer. I tell her that the boy in the story had a loving family and a happy life. She thinks about that then tells me -- I would rather have an unhappy long life than a happy short one. I let her stay with that for now. Her parents will have to fill in some more of the day's events for her.

Comfort and joy. Can we still aim for that?

In the evening I cook split pea and lentil soup. Don't you think that it is a perfect winter supper for a foggy December day? Yeah, me too!

with so much love...