Cocooning

I sat down at the computer this morning to check up on a few blogs, when I noticed an old notebook lying at my feet. The kids must have pulled it off the bookshelf and left it here, I thought. Flipping through the pages, I discovered it was a journal of mine from last summer. And in reading some of the entries, I was shocked to see how despairing I was about our financial situation back then.

I am in such a different place now.

Things are still bad, but we're moving forward with plans for bankruptcy. December is a difficult time to be dealing with all of this. But, overall I am at peace.

At the same time I move through this season with such a sensitivity to materialism. Maybe that's why the following poem (from a July journal entry) is one I feel compelled to share:

We reach
tears leaking from our fingertips,
grief
puddling
at other people's feet

there's nowhere
for grief to go
but down
and out. . .

it rains, rains, rains

on the self-righteous
who hold sturdy umbrellas
and large shopping bags
determined

to look the other way