December is the month of dreams, of nostalgia, of memories, expectations, hopes and disappointments.
We were all little children once… dreaming our dreams of light and mystery, wide awake under our covers. It doesn’t matter whether those covers were cotton or silk.
We are still those children. Some of us still imagine the twinkling light dreams – and decorate our lives that way. Some of us can only remember them. We cast those sepia shadows onto our grown-up holidays.
This month, my family and I are far away from our own families.
Colin and I are spending the holiday the way we did last year: here in Connecticut.
We are working to create our own traditions. We are working inside boundaries, like many people are: tight budgets and the even tighter bonds of our ideas of what this time of year should mean.
What does it mean to be home for the holidays?
How do we – intentionally or inadvertently — reshape the imaginations of our own children and our community?
Can we do it, without succumbing to the naiveté of nostalgia? Should we?
My December series is: “If Only In My Dreams” – featuring images, poetry, and thoughts that prod at the Big Question: What is our dream of holiday all about?
Feel free to participate; however you like.
Think about it
Talk about it.
Tweet it, hash tag #BigQDreams