Two evenings before Christmas, my husband and son gave me a gift and I burst into tears. Not just a few moist drops around the eyes, I broke into a full-fledged ugly cry, one that startled them and me. The night began with my small family –husband, son, and myself—watching holiday movies and hanging out together. I curled up on the sofa in my grandmother’s mink coat, sipping tea. I’d rediscovered the mink in a forgotten closet earlier in the week. Grandma Arlene didn’t save this coat for fancy occasions, and she wasn’t wealthy. Wearing it around the house seemed like an appropriate way to honor her. She lived in Florida and liked to wear it to Bingo in the winter.
I’ve been thinking of all my dead relatives lately, missing them, and praying to them. Perhaps it’s because I’m reading Perdita Finn’s book, Take Back the Magic, which encourages us to honor our connections with our ancestors. Perhaps it’s because this year was the first Christmas without Dad, who died in July. Perhaps it’s the aching nostalgia of Christmases’ past and the wabi-sabi soundtrack of A Charlie Brown Christmas. Winter is the season of death and remembering. The world is cold and dark outside, but we have memories of summer and life.
Our house, at that moment, bubbled with memories and life. My son bounced around the room with excitement. The tree glowed with old-fashioned, big C9 lights and bubble lights that looked like little candles. We decorated the tree based on the memory of the one that mesmerized my husband as a child; the one at his uncle’s house in Chicago. Christmas does this—pulls us inside ourselves and our memories. The whole house felt as warm and cozy as I did in my grandmother’s mink coat. My son eyed the presents under the tree. “Can we open one present each tonight? Please?” He’s thirteen years old and had been circling the gift-laden tree like a calculating fox for weeks.
“Sure,” I shrugged. The enormous fur has ridiculously big shoulders and it grazed my ears. I looked at my husband.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
My son placed a present in each of our laps and we took turns, tearing at the paper. I was the last to open mine. When I unwrapped it, I had a DVD set of the 90s TV series Northern Exposure in my hand, a show I watched religiously as a kid. Suddenly, I was twelve years old again, living with my parents and sister in the brick house in Milledgeville, Georgia.
I looked to my husband and whispered, “You bought me Northern Exposure?”
He nodded, pleased with himself.
My heart became an ocean. This is the part where I broke down sobbing. “Thank you,” I managed to whimper. I couldn’t stop the tears. Where did this come from? The mink coat, Christmas nostalgia, Dad’s death? Also, there was a raw patch from a marital disagreement earlier, only freshly resolved…so there was that. And now grace: sometime in December, my husband listened to me casually say, I’d like to watch Northern Exposure again and you can’t stream it anywhere. He’d heard me and bought the DVDs. I was touched. I needed that thoughtfulness.
“Thank you,” I said softly again, through the tears. Perdita Finn says we should pray to our ancestors for what we need. I’ve been praying to my grandmothers for strength during the holidays. They were both incredibly strong women. I pulled all my emotions back. I didn’t want to alarm my son as to why his mom was suddenly a basket case. I nestled down into the mink. “I’m okay,” I said. I was barely sniffling now.
And still—something deeper had been stirred up, like silt in a calm lake. I thought of myself at my son’s age, watching Northern Exposure and dreaming of my life and what I wanted for myself as an adult. I remembered who I wanted to be. I could write a synopsis of the show here but that’s not the point. A wormhole cracked open into my adolescence. I thought of the character Maggie, whose independence inspired me. I wanted to be an Alaskan bush pilot like her. I thought of the lush setting of the Pacific Northwest, and the connection with the spirit world of nature that was part of the show’s ethos. I thought of the characters: Chris in the Morning, the scraggly radio DJ with a poet’s soul, and Shelly, the innocent wife of the local barkeep. I thought of Ed, the thoughtful and naïve Shaman-in-training. I thought of Maurice, the town’s most powerful man, whose good side came out with gruff generosity. I was enthralled with them all.
“When you get older, you’ll understand,” I told my son. “I’m crying because this show is a connection to the dreams I had for myself when I was your age.”
Dreams, dreams.
I’m writing this story because we’re on the cusp of a New Year. The external world is frantic with writing resolutions and goal setting. I guarantee—my gym will be full the month of January until the resolutions fall away in failure. Only 8% of resolutions set in the New Year last the entire year.
I believe this failure rate is because we’ve got the timing all wrong. We cause more suffering by not following the natural rhythms of the season. The spring equinox is the potent time for new cycles—not now. Spring is when the world fully wakes up again, seeds burst upward, and action is taken.
In astrology, the end of the year is in March, in the sign of Pisces. Aries is the first sign of the zodiac year.
But right now, it’s winter and we’re still hibernating. Winter is a time of dormancy and conserving our energy to cultivate potential. There’s great internal work going on here, though it won’t be visible. Hibernation benefits our parasympathetic nervous system—it’s the “rest and digest” stage. Rest the body, and digest the experiences of the past year. We reflect upon lessons learned and assimilate these lessons.
When we hibernate, we dream. When we dream, our heart glows like a bright ember, and heart seeds of potentiality are planted. In hibernation, we can make room for new experiences. We can make room for our dreams to unfold.
So, no, I’m not writing resolutions or setting goals this year.
I am decluttering my house to create space for the new.
I am meditating, sitting in silence, and doing breathwork to declutter my mind.
I am exploring the deep crevices of my heart.
I am writing down dreams which I will begin to cultivate into existence.
I am remembering the aspirations of my childhood and connecting back with them.
I am watching DVDs of Northern Exposure from a new perspective—an older me.
I am dreaming of a new world of peace and no war.
I am dreaming of a world in which nature is honored and revered.
I am honoring my ancestors. I am their living hope. I am praying to them for support.
I am praying for my son and his future wife and children.
I am praying for all children.
I am dreaming forward.
The reason why you can’t stream Northern Exposure
Well, I thought you could not because of the music rights. I swear, I searched a month ago. However, when writing this piece, I discovered that you can now download the episodes on Amazon. Yay! Thankfully, we have a DVD player for my Christmas gift set.
The tea I’m drinking this month
Blue Lotus Flower
Blue Lotus, Nymphaea caerulea, is a water lily revered in many Eastern cultures. I bought it as a Christmas present for myself. It’s connected to Isis (Aset), the great mother. Don’t you think the world needs all the great, wise mothers right now? Mothers who can cultivate peace? Perdita Finn said in this podcast, “The best ascendant masters are just mothers.” One reason I’m drinking Blue Lotus is to honor Isis, Mary, and all ancestral mothers. It’s a flower for dreams, for dreaming, and for walking between the worlds of the living and the dead. I’m drinking it because the world needs our dreams.
The world needs our dreams.
Happy New Year. Thank you for reading.
Much love, Katie
How we were not closer living such parallel lives in our shared little town. I seriously thought I was the only one watching that show and dreaming of a life somewhere else. In my 20’s I made it to that Cafe in Rosalyn. I also made it to AK multiple times. I went to Talkeetna which might be the place most like that show. I still struggle to find myself. It is remarkable the things which can break us open in a moment. Thank you for so beautifully sharing your opening.
So good to hear from you again, Katie, and I love the new name of your blog. Your theme of dreams, and honoring ancestors, is so perfect for this season. This is a lovely piece. And .... I really resonate with the blue lotus. Blue flowers are my favorite, and Lotus is my daughter's middle name. Happy New Year to you, and I look forward to more of your writings in 2024.