Legends and myths are commonplace this time of year, and each generally have threads of truth winding through them. When you find that thread, and you take the time to tug on it a bit, more and more of the factual side of the story might begin to show itself. That thread, woven into the tapestry of the infinite, begins to take shape, begins to become more clear and finite.

Her mom was gone, her father got sick, and she was the only one of her siblings that was willing to put her own life on hold while their father held onto the last of his. It’s a decision she never regretted. Those three years of caring for the man that always saw the good in her, no matter how bad she tried to be, served to expand her heart beyond that which she had believed a heart could stretch. Now he’s gone, now she needs to take care of herself, now she needs to fill that big heart that now has space to spare.

She hadn’t intended on buying a pumpkin to carve when she went to the store to stock up on the unlimited 2-for-1 Hot Pocket deal advertised in the sale ad. Hot Pockets were the go to meal during those years she cared for her father. Quick and easy, it seemed selfish to take too much time to herself when his time was so short.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but this was probably the very same reason she had taken to wearing floral print moo moos around that same time. Quick, easy, little time or thought required. We only have so much thought we can attend to in a day, and she wanted hers available to attend to him.

Besides, she joked that they were slenderizing. Slenderizing much in the same way throw pillows make a couch look smaller. She really wasn’t in need of slenderizing, but the covers on the magazines she saw while waiting in line at the supermarket told her otherwise.

She is aware that magazine covers are not a rational metric to measure one’s self-worth or body image against, but squeezed between rational thought and general checkout line daydreaming, she found herself planning to start a diet sometime soon, even while still rationally convinced that a diet wasn’t what she needed or wanted. Perhaps after the Halloween candy was properly disposed of, perhaps after the last of the Hot Pockets, perhaps…

Her cat Whisker, it used to be Whiskers, but time and circumstances have whittled away the plural, sat with its crooked, mangy tail flicking about as she transformed her pumpkin into a jack-o-lantern. Many more years ago than she can remember, the cat showed up on her doorstep. Not cold or hungry, just in search of company it seemed. Whisker was a fine looking calico then, a proud feline. She knows that, she remembers that, and chooses to see that, rather than the tattered cat before her now.

She senses that Whisker extends the same empathy and graciousness to her. Whether flowing out or in, empathy feels good. Good to understand, good to be understood. Understood for who you actually are, not who you appear to be through the lens of whomever decides to point their lens your way.

It’s easy to say that someone’s life is a fine mess, when we only see the messy parts. Messy parts tend to sparkle in the spotlight we shine on them, making them seemingly represent the entirety of that person. We don’t see, or choose not to see, all that falls outside the periphery of that spotlight.

The normal, the mundane, the kindness, the day-in and day-out compassionate displays of humanity extended to all who take the time to hold up their hand and shade the brightest part of the light and see it all. All of that is who she is, and when we see that who she is just might be a shade better than who we pretend to be, we can either move our hand and continue to be blinded or hold it there and feel shameful.

Shameful for missing all that is good, shameful for laughing at all that was different. Different from our normal. Maybe our normal needs to be different, maybe we need to just keep looking, keep getting closer until that thread of truth reveals itself. Even if it’s not found, at least it was sought. There’s no shame in that.

I wasn’t sure where this was going when I started, and now that it’s finished, I’m not sure where it went. The start of a story bigger than a column? A ramble turned babble? Is there a difference between the two? This nonsense is yours to make sense of. So it goes.

Something that I know to be true and factual is that later this week, November 5th to be exact, is our daughter Sierra’s 22nd birthday. We’re going to head to Bozeman and help her celebrate her day, so if you have any suitcases full of money, or extravagant gifts that you don’t trust to send through the mail, I can deliver them.

The holidays are coming…consider yourself warned.