Saint Gertrude, the Patron Saint of Writing, watches over the desk in our home office. It is also positively snowing outside right now! Maybe it's a gift from Gertie.

We're going to be okay

Sleep is nowhere to be seen tonight, as I sift through a mix of emotions ranging from sadness and regret to peacefulness and excitement.

Maybe all it takes to get through the hard moments is one full-fledged venting session, releasing all of our doubts and our fears, and letting the things that cause anxiety fade to the back of our minds. Because today I am feeling much more hopeful about the state of things in general, and I am filled with a holiday spirit that is almost impossible to contain!

A snowy Saturday
The day began in quite the normal way.

I rolled out of bed in a leisurely manner and took my time to get acquainted with the morning, pursuing nothing more than a hot latte before 10 a.m. After taking in that comforting cup of java on the couch while admiring our beautiful Christmas tree, I lept to my feet in with the hope of getting a computer to replace our broken laptop and as many gifts as I could possibly find in one shopping trip.

I'll spare you the details of said shopping trip, as mundane as they are, except to say that after swiftly reaching my first destination, I was sent on a wild goose chase.

The last presents the twins received from me were wrapped with care, disguised to look like something they were not. Lawrence's gift, for example, was designed to look like a rose.

"Missinia"

When I was growing up in London, Ohio, we had a saying. Though it wasn't unusual to hear interesting turns of phrase like "a herd of turtles" or "bats in the belfry" on a daily basis, there was one saying that stood out above all the others.

This one was an original, born out of the complicated relationship I had with my father after my parents' divorce, and softened by the tender memories we formed together when I was a teenager. The phrase was a combination of two words, or rather, two names: Mine and my sister's. My dad took the first part of my nickname, Missy, and the last part of my sister's name, Virginia, to express the sadness he felt when we were apart for too long.

The turn of phrase
Missinia.
Or "Missin' ya."

It's strange to see that word spelled out tonight, though that is the only term that came to mind when I sat down alone on my couch this evening in front of my brilliant Christmas tree — a freshly cut Scotch Pine. (Matt is catching up on sleep after a late night of studying, and my dog is sprawled across the carpet, her belly turned upward and her paws in the air, in a sleep she only enters into when she is ghastly tired.)

Alone. In front of a beautiful tree, with its lights glowing just inside patio doors that lead out to freshly fallen snow.