Trying to catch the wind.
Stumbling words of Thanksgiving, helped by Alzheimer and a five year old.
My dear fellow human,
It has been a while. A while where I did not have words to write and where I did not look for words to read. Isn’t everything said already? And didn’t much of it turned out wrong in the end?
Anyway, the American way of Thanksgiving took up my whole mental load lately, a feast of giving thanks apparently, where families try to somehow survive the festivities and each other.
To my rescue came the wisdom of a five year old and Alzheimer.
Both of our mothers’ are living in different states of Alzheimer. I visited my mother in Germany in early November. Then I had to say goodbye and return. I have bid farewell to my mom countless times when departing. She still knows who I am, kind of, but gets confused when I only visit her once a year. She knows me mostly as the daughter who lives in the phone. Putting my picture back together in real life is confusing.
Still, we hold hands and somehow know we belong together.
My husband’s mother still lives on her own in the American sunshine state. Her Alzheimer has transformed her into a sweeter lady, often laughing and dancing. Which is nice, because when I got to know her, she was a tough southern lady with a black belt who could give looks which burn you to the ground. Now she is still a southern lady, still with a black belt, but who has melted into a less rigid and more loving version of herself. She now watches me cook while humming along with old music from the stereo. When this happens, I give thanks. These precious moments are part of what our lives are made from. Aren’t they?
Then there is my five-year-old. A gem who came to us when we stopped hoping. Often, she drives us nuts. But she also gives us life. Her gift is to bring us back into the present moment when we need it the most.
Look mommy, look!
Spending Thanksgiving with her at the beach before driving down to my mother-in-law to celebrate a humble dinner with a grilled chicken we brought from the supermarket is a memory I still take strength from in these silent in-between days of waiting. Days without words, but lightened by memories and pictures.
At this visit, we tried to live in a camper van for the very first time. And we parked it right at the beach in Sarasota, which was just fitting for a melancholic mind as mine:
Ravaged by the last Hurricane, beauty mingled with brokenness everywhere.
They had poured out new sand on the beach while the remnants of the storm were piled up, high as houses, everywhere in the background.
Sometimes beauty is a choice. We must look straight ahead, where the water meets the sky and where the sun melts into the ocean and not behind us where the trash from old storms still awaits us.
Where the birds greet the morning in choreographed formations, opening the heart of every one who dares to watch, a tiny crack — a crack where the bird song comes through. Where morning dew mingles with the dawn of a new day, over the waves, and the lonely beach goer disappears into the early morning fog.
Morning has broken like the first morning
light from the light
which Eden once saw.
…
Still breaking,
still calling,
still asking us to watch.
And so my dear friends, into my wordlessness I am sending you pictures from this daybreak, a foaming dawn filled with the cries of birds, which melted into my memory and has since then saved me from despair.
Join us
Perhaps I am indeed saving words for the 12 Days of Christmas journey, where we again will walk together through the season of Christmas like weary pilgrims searching for the living light.
This journey will be for all who, like me, arrive at Christmas late, barely making it to holy night. For those who turn the radio off because they feel like it sells the Christmas pilgrimage like a birthday cake.
If you are one of my cherished paid readers, you will be automatically added to this year’s 12 Days of Christmas pilgrimage, and receive my stumbling reflections every day in your inbox all the way to Epiphany (no worries, if you do not have the time this season you can opt out of the daily emails here without unsubscribing).
If you are one of my esteemed readers who have not walked with us before, all you need to do is to become a paid subscriber (which equals a coffee a month) and trust yourself to the journey into the unknown. I cannot promise you much for your offering, but I promise you we will arrive at epiphany renewed.
Also, if you are a member of a religious order or otherwise need assistance, please just email me and I will add you manually to the list for free.
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🙏
Saying thanks
Dear one, what is left to say?
Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for bearing with us. Thank you for being with us on the way. Thank you for being a reader and thank you for inviting others to be with us on the way.
Thank you for clinging to hope when the world seems to fall apart at the seams. Thank you for watching the sun rise and for still believing in a God who holds our universe in loving embrace.
Thank you for being yourself and for trying to get to the ground of things every time anew.
Thank you for keeping believing in truth and in hope and for being still bold enough to play like a 5-year-old who collects seashells.
Thank you for sharing your words of courage and hope and insistence and wisdom and vulnerability here with us.
Thank you for being here, dear esteemed reader.
Thank you, indeed.
Yours, Almut (with Chuck and little one)
In case you missed it
Coming up
PS: Dec 6 is St Nikolaus day in Germany. It is when we celebrate the good deeds of Bishop Saint Nikolaus by sneaking sweet treats into each other’s shoes over night.
So here, dear friend is a St Nikolaus treat just for you:
Enjoy :-)
Wow! What an amazing photo of Little One drawing in the sand.
I haven't had many words lately either - but have definitely missed you and your voice! Thank you for reminding us of the beauty among the brokenness.
(Also, I need to know where in Florida your MIL lives - as my grandma resides there and is always begging me to come visit - so my fantasy is that it's the same part of that state and we can coordinate visit times!)