I haven’t blogged in a few weeks, and of course it was the busiest weeks of the year. Christmas was a blur of busyness; trying to get gifts at the last minute, wrapping them, getting the last of my homemade gifts done and well-presented, yadda yadda yadda. On Christmas Eve, I saw my family in Rialto at the house where so many of my memories are. It’s the last year we’ll have Christmas there, and that bittersweetness was acute as I looked at things with an eye keen to remembering. There is a large planter full of tall, proud, vivid birds of paradise, and they have been there for as long as I can remember. Whenever I see them in tropical gardens or the like I can’t help but think of my aunt and uncle, who have such loud plants in front of their humble home on a small street in Rialto, where everything else is so plain and whitewashed. They have seemingly always been fearless of being different, and as I grew older and settled into accepting myself in my own skin, their shrugging off of societal norms became a quiet undercurrent of assurance for me. If they can do it, why can’t I? And in that beautiful uniqueness they carry around them and throughout their home, I find a steadiness. They have always supported me, and always will, and they’re crazy, and it’s all beautiful and it’s all okay.
Afterwards, my mother and I rushed off to take BJ to midnight mass at a Catholic Church in San Bernardino, which is always a funny case study. The clothes people wear to church is sadly hilarious. From fully formal silk dresses that reached the floor with beaded boleros to women in skin tight outfits with sparkly hooker booties on. The tight sparkly skank was a Eucharistic minister even! And then there was a child screaming just to scream for almost the entire mass, and people running around with 4 young children and flip flops on (it was in the 30s and raining). Such extremes. What happened to wearing decent, clean, plain clothes to worship your god in? I’m not even Catholic and I know to dress with respectability. Anyway.
Sunday morning, I woke up to both of my parents for the first time. The newness of it wasn’t lost on me, and to have my dad making breakfast and being his witty self warmed a part of my heart that is still a child and had always wanted her papa on Christmas morning. After we opened presents, I went to Kathleen’s for another breakfast with her and her familia, which was always a joy. Kathleen made me a beautiful scarf that feels like a cloud of green swirly heaven. Afterwards, I went to the Cataldos and was able to hug my family and see everyone (and I mean everyone) before I left to go home and pack for Phoenix. Heather picked me up shortly afterwards and we drove to the valley of the sun to surprise the Wnuks. Wonderful. It was a huge surprise and no one had any suspicion we would do something so ballsy. I spent the rest of the weekend with them and we came home Sunday night.
The next weekend was, of course, New Years. I love the overt beginning of something so new and fresh, the glory of having new calendars opening up and a new number at the end of my dates and a new 365 days of opportunity. Interestingly enough, I started talking to someone a few days before New Years online, and he sounded pretty awesome, so we decided that we’d try to hang out on New Year’s Eve and ring in midnight together. That didn’t pan out, so I happily kissed Kathleen, one of my best friends, when that countdown was called out and it seems that was good luck, because everything since then has been wonderful. I’ll break it down for ya.
The next morning, I get a text from Steven, the guy I met a few days earlier. How about breakfast, he says? YES. So we go to a small breakfast place called Zeke’s, then head over to the speedway to watch my brother drag race, and then head over to Pizza King to split a large pie with my brother and his girlfriend, then went to the house to watch Despicable Me, then went to watch True Grit. There we parted ways, after about a 14 hour first date. To say I’m twitterpated by this point is an understatement. Steve is the wonderful, sweet, funny guy who’s smart and so far, everything I’ve ever let myself want in a partner. I feel this rush of excitement when I think about him, anticipation for the next time I’ll be able to hold his hand or look at his different colored eyes. It’s remarkable to me how firmly and solidly I felt for him so immediately; while he was cutting slices of his Belgium waffle for me over breakfast, stopping me because I didn’t have enough strawberries on my bite, I felt the connections that were tying me down to failed relationships be severed away. Meeting someone who was so worthy of my affection and feeling that he wholly reciprocates makes me want to give my complete heart to him, and I’m already there.
Two days later, I sold my Eclipse and was released from the weight of it holding me down, have hung out with Steve again and have had my feelings only become firmer. My new year is starting out phenomenal, and I feel like I have my mojo back. I’m falling in love with my own life, with my own ability to put my feet into the shallow end of the ocean of love, with the ability to hope consistently and seek out perpetual grace.
I hope your year is shaping up to be just as beautiful.
