Tonight is a full moon, a blue moon to boot, a fairly uncommon event for this eve.
I'm not usually a big New Year celebrator, mainly because it seems to be an excuse for alcohol fuelled binges and acting like a pratt, and while I don't mind the odd tipple and occasionally enjoy a bit of prattiness myself, I cannot abide the crush of bodies, the noise and well, utter lack of spirituality and meaning that modern day celebration of the New Year in this country has become.
The moon however, has inspired me. This has been a difficult and worrying year, combined with excitement, fun and joy, a real mixture - as any year should be. The worries though have left a lingering stench, a palatable shimmer of fear and negativity that I need to vanquish from my home. This begins with a good tidy up and cleaning, along with taking the tree down, which I've been threatening to do for days now! Then as the eve draws ever shorter, flinging open all the doors, windows, drawers, cupboards etc in the house and forcing all that horrible negativity out and welcoming fresh optimism indoors. There will be much banging, bell ringing and general woopiness, along with the burning of sage and other incenses to purify the house.
Out doors the wards on my home will be renewed, the boundaries re-instated. Lucky that tonight is the night when folks will be out, fire works will be banging and those few who stay in will be imbuing a few drinks at home while, no doubt watching, the countdown on the telly. My little ruckus should go fairly unnoticed ;-)
It is a 3 day ritual really, the next two nights won't be quite so fulsome; just ensuring any wee shadows hiding are cast out.
And then that of course, leads me nicely onto my boy's birthday. Tomorrow Rye will be 3 years old. There is an odd dichotomy that on one hand it only seems minutes ago that Rye was born and where have the past 3 years gone? And on the other hand, I can barely remember life before Rye, and it's like he's been with me all my life.
He is no longer a toddler, he is a little boy, who loves to run and jump, to play with his cars and trains, to paint and "rafts" (crafts), a little boy whose smiles and mischeviousness brings giggles and wry smiles at his antics. Full out bellylaughs at his bourgeoning sense of humor. I love to observe as he watches Ice Age and laughs at the sloth, shouts at the tiger to leave the baby alone, and then he will suddenly run over and jump on me, shouting, "tickle you, tickle you,".
He has gone from this little soul:
To this little boy: