the whole truth

In 1988 I moved back and forth from my hometown in Idaho for the last time. Dave, our two elementary aged girls and I were moving to Pennsylvania. Our journey would take us on to Chicago and Minnesota, but I never went back to Idaho except for the two funerals of my parents. Despite the years of neglect and abuse in my childhood a quasi-relationship existed with my parents, no spoken apologies on their part and a lot of therapy still to do on my part to live a healthy 'rest of my life.'
In the early hours on the morning we were leaving, my mom and dad were waiting for us when we arrived at the airport to catch our flight. This in itself was an omen because they had to drive the 50 miles in the pre-dawn to see us off. My dad was teary eyed and my mom smoked a lot while we waited. Then she put out her cigarette, reached in her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of tissue paper. Unwrapped I found three Christmas ornaments from my childhood in the 1950's. They were my favorites; ones I helped put on that special place on the tree each year and she wanted me to have them. A peace offering?
Only two remain thanks to what seems like endless moving in my life. Knowing that the holidays rearrange our feelings of nostalgia and longing for those weeks in December every year, I still can't help smiling when I find these in the decoration boxes. This year they seem especially dear to me, enough to have their own photo taken. Can you see me in the one where some of the color has rubbed off? A metaphor for the sweetness of life?

The truth is that life is delicious, horrible, charming,

frightful, sweet, bitter, and that is everything.
Anatole France