I've started a book in my mind. Many, in fact, and this one in particular is one of those where the title whispered to me first. Before the haze spread to an opening where storyline meets up with character, the title shot off in my mouth like pop rocks candy.
I was driving - I think to the store to get eggs or toilet paper or something equally as basic. With the freezing temperatures we've settled into the past few weeks, a sort of permanent white, glistening veil of sheer frost slumps down between clumps of broken dead grasses, in the rut where dogs pace a fenceline, where the wooded hills shoot up to the left - the south - where sun never reaches....slung low in the horizon. I've been telling the girls about the frostline....that line where the edge of the veil rests....and how we've always been mindful of it when we were house hunting. A perfectly divine house would be crossed off the list of potentials if it sat behind the frostline.
And there as I was driving down the road not thinking of anything in particular and especially not of books or writing or carts before horses, the "Frostline" jumped off the frozen ground and into my head. I haven't been able to shake it all these many days. I take note of it's almost undetectable creeping each day there is sun and how, on days when there is no sun, the line blurs - the space behind the line not all that different from the space beyond. And it makes me think of seeing the dark corners so much more blaringly when light pours in the room and how maybe there is a gift in fog and how maybe, when the line isn't so obvious, the crossing of it seems less...less...less jolting. The difference less distinguishable. Here and there. Before and after. Them and us.
We spent Christmas eve at the home of theman's ex, her husband, and the total of five kids between us all. We celebrated a Christmas birthday with food and stories cooked up in remembering. A friendly game of "duct tape sister to the chair" kept us entertained for a while. The the instruments were pulled out and we all sat, full-bellied, listening to and plucking out simple tunes. The guitar, a mandolin, a fiddle. Then a stately old oak upright piano found a player and a weighty banjo from the 1920's landed in my lap. I plucked out the song made famous in "Deliverance" and smiled when the other husband pulled out a second mandolin for my littlest wild pony to "take home and practice on."
Where did that line go again? That line where frozen hearts don't fully thaw? Where did that line go that defined then and now, hurt and forgiveness, children and adults, them and us? I couldn't see it then...there in that room heated with wood fire and music and seeing the humanness. And I'm good with that....