tock.

time flies when i share a meal with rusty.
her fingers are slowly becoming harder to manage,
they angle in different directions now.
it's hard to open jars and hold two cups.
she allows me to wind her clocks, which feels oddly familiar.
not because i ever wound the clocks growing up,
but because it feels like i'm sinking into my roots,
like i'm coming closer to who my father is and who my grandfather was.
or maybe i should say who my father was.
thirtyone years he wound clocks and made magic
happen for those intricate little pieces.
his fingers are so thick and his hands are so large,
i don't know how he did it, day after day.
i suppose it was a labor of love
where his commitment and knowledge allowed for a skill
to fix things, making them better.

i grew up with grandfathers and grandmothers and anniversaries and
carriages and regulators. brackets and tambours and schoolhouses.
their nightly noise became soothing; to not have them would bring
unfamiliarity to my slumber.

when i go to wherever my dad makes his home,
there's always the sweet sound of his clocks.
we have to turn them off for guests
as they've not known the pendulum's swing
to soothe and comfort,
but rather to annoy and distract.

but rusty knows.
and so does my late grandfather,
and my father.
they understand the warmth and ease
of the repetition.

the lives they lived.

i always seem to skim the year-end articles that capture things like "the best ___ of the year" or "the twentyfive ____s you should have ____ this year"; it reminds me what happened as i'm often wrapped up in the world of me.

this year i read almost every "the lives they lived" put out by the new york times magazine. there's something about celebrating life, but also about remembering what one has left behind that i connect with. ariel kaminer wrote a heart warming letter to david rakoff, who passed away in august, and it caught my attention as he seemed to leave three meaningful lessons behind. i've heard many of david's stories on this american life, and after reading ariel's letter, it made me want to do better and be better.

this led me to think about those in my life who live out these lessons:
thank you lisa for never trading up.
thank you molly for always being kind.
thank you peter for living out gratitude and humility-and meaning it.

i have much to learn, but i'll remind myself that i mustn't rush these lessons.

the transition between twelve and thirteen.

twothousand twelve was marked by:
-a move to the castro and its many unexpected rewards
-breakup nights with three girl roommates
-failing my exam and later becoming licensed
-celebratory flowers, dinners and boots
-journaling for threehundred and fifty days
-the end of a twelve month stint as a hostess
-a redemptive wedding in april
-the best birthday ever, complete with a vitamix
-a most courageous love letter
-cleanses and conscious eating and thinking
-welcoming baby brennan
-family reunions, complete with horse races
-coordinating in july and august
-"he's the one before the one"
-a new job, a new car and a new haircut all in one week
-the "guys weekend" in december
-wonderful holidays with family, old and new
-understanding more about love
-realizations about privacy and patience and trust

in twothousand thirteen i'm looking forward to:
-not studying for my mft exam and reading for pleasure
-a trip to hawaii with moose's parents
-learning more about slowing down