That Time of the Year

I need to find a new favorite time of year. I had always loved September and December.

The former for its promise of a new start. (Forget January 1; the time to start fresh has always been the beginning of the new school year.)

And the latter, for the approaching sights and sounds of Christmas. Not the shopping (to which I seem to be allergic) and the other commercial parts of Christmas; but rather the dogged infusion of Advent light that denies the lengthening of the nights, and the vulnerable sounds of unaccompanied carols.

After a few years of struggling to reclaim the comfort I used to find in early fall and early winter, I think I may need to move on. Three Septembers ago my mother died suddenly, on a crisp fall day that should have felt like a fresh new beginning. In subsequent years, the accumulated mental fatigue of my summer job and the cyclic reminder of my mom's passing have made September a hurdle.

But I expected that. Not a person who has lost a loved one can help but mark that anniversary. It is early December that surprises me. I have a great job that requires a brief intense period of travel every November. Returning home at Thanksgiving should be, in contrast, a particularly enjoyable time. But somehow it's increasingly accompanied by soul-searching of the worst sort - the kind that feeds on fatigue. And, as I finally realized today, this time of year still belongs to my mother.

See, Christmas was her hobby. She and my dad ran a small cottage business making and selling holiday crafts. Adorable, whimsical and beautiful creations. I always coveted them and enjoyed picking out one of each year's new items from whatever was left over after the series of fall craft shows. So I should take some comfort in that fact that I now have one of pretty much every design she ever made. The truth is that it's overwhelming. My son helped me take 24 boxes out of the attic yesterday. There's no way I can display all of these charming angels and snowmen and Saint Nicks and wreaths. And the act of sorting through them every Christmas is beginning to defeat me.

Clearly a problem that needs to be and will be solved. In the meantime, I am trolling for a new favorite season. This year I have my sights and my hopes pinned on April.

I believe in the tradition of gratitude journals, but I've never been disciplined enough to keep one, and my "real" blog isn't conducive to such things. So here's my Thanksgiving 2008 list. Longer than the typical 5, and a bit more overarching.

• Good health. Can't be overrated.
• Kind, intuitive, loving children. Two of my favorite people in the world.
• A tireless, wise husband who will never let me forget how to laugh.
• Stable, challenging, rewarding work. Grounded, empathetic colleagues.
• Music. Even if I ignore its essence for months at a time. It's always there when I come back.
• Home. I've often been embarrassed about caring, but am realizing that I shouldn't be.
• Time. Eigenzeit. It's doesn't give up its secrets easily, but it's there if I just look for it.