So many things beneath the surface, unspoken histories, subterranean messages, especially at Christmas. Don't buy me anything. I have everything I need. Look at those bills. Did you buy me anything? I can do it all, but I wish there was a Santa. Do you remember your mom's house, the smell of wood smoke, the gun rack over the fireplace, eating ice cream out of the carton? Black oak trees in fog and our hair all dripping as we came back to the yellow windows. After 26 years together, the roots are all intertwined.
Maybe this painting should be called Herding Cats. Is the significance of six that I came from a family of six, and it is so challenging to all get together at the holidays? Will my children feel that same tug of obligation ten years from now? Or will I be the one spending Christmas on another continent?