Taking Down the Christmas Tree

I didn't put it up. My daughter Jenna did, with help from Connor, her guy. Consequently, I didn't even pay attention to the ornaments that adorned this year's fake tree. Although the smaller-than-the-past tree cannot accommodate all the ornaments we had gathered over the years, I became aware, when dismantling it, that absent were the blown-glass icicles, the candy canes, and the tinsel. (Yes, I am of the Tinsel Fan Club.) The only ornaments that graced this year's tree were those from places we'd traveled . . . Australia, Germany, Vieques, Isla Mujeres, Costa Rica. But where was Italy? Jamaica? Greece? Gettysburg, Siesta Key, Austin? I guess Jenna was conservative in her decorating. Since I didn't pay attention to it anyway, I cannot complain that she minimized our travel adventures on this year's tree.

And I certainly minimized my house decorating this year, too. No twinkly lights on the mantel, no pines and hollies and winterberries in the window boxes, no staircase banister lights and evergreens. It was bare-bones Christmas decor.

So taking it down was (relatively) easy. Much less to put away. Much less emotional trauma? That remains to be determined.

Do I miss the extravagant Christmases of the past? Yes, I suppose so. Well, at least when I watch the old home videos of Christmas Past, I do. What is absent these years is young children. So it is possible that maybe one day, I will become excited again for this crazy holiday of excess. For now, I admit that I am happy that it's over. And it is noteworthy that just putting away the decorations of the holiday makes it all disappear, as if it never happened. Moving on.

I think I would have made a good Pagan. Winter Solstice celebration, and then focus on the days getting longer. Spending my winters in Florida makes that ideology possible. There's no snowfall to extend winter. In Florida, one can pretend that it is summer all year long. Sure, it still gets dark early, but so what? It's like 70 degrees at night.

It amazes me how we are slavish to the geographical area in which we were raised. I spent 65 winters in the Northeast. I know winter. There are things I still love about it. Like ice skating, bonfires, hot chocolate, fireplaces. But at my advanced age, I have been given the opportunity to live a different kind of winter. And I have to admit, I like it.

But there's this: if you are blessed to be living with people you love, the climate matters very little. But if you live alone, as I do, a warm climate is less confining, less depressing, less lonely. Looking forward to my return to the South in a couple of days. And the fake Christmas tree will live upstairs in my Northeast home until it is summoned again to call back the way it used to be.

Home Alone

Disclaimer: this is not a "Bah, humbug!" or "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me!" post. (Unlike Trump's "Poor me" tweet on Christmas Eve.) I happen to find myself alone on this Christmas Day, perhaps for the first time in my life. And it's friggin' weird.

It is simply a matter of circumstance that I am alone today. I returned to my home in the Northeast a week and a half ago, leaving my guy back in the sunny South, because I needed to have my leaky basement waterproofed. Two of my kids and their significant others returned home and spent most of those days with me, and I quickly got used to their company. Despite the bad weather and the jack-hammering and dust and disruption of my basement, we had some good times. Home movies, home-cooked meals (and I wasn't the one cooking!), dining out, some modest holiday decorating, and just chilling in front of the (electric) fire. It was all good.

Christmas Eve was our Christmas. We had our traditional "munchie dinner," the remains of which will feed me for the next week. A few presents were exchanged, I gave in to some Christmas CDs (James Taylor, Diana Krall, Sarah McLachlan), we lit some candles, and it was all lovely. We said goodnight (and so long) early, and retired.

At 5:00 this morning, they were gone, off to the airport. I woke up at 7:00 to a very empty house, as if they'd never even been here. I was unprepared for how that would actually feel. I've been saying for weeks that Christmas is just another day. But although I don't really buy into the Jesus' birthday thing, I have always "celebrated" this crazy holiday. I have never been alone on December 25. Until today.

It was a struggle not to succumb to the loneliness. Most of the time I live alone, and I rather like it. But alone on Christmas? That "just another day" thing wasn't working out very well.

So I cleaned the kitchen, changed the sheets, washed the towels, put the basement back together, and counted my blessings.

There are people who love me. By circumstance, they could not be with me today. But that does not diminish the love that we share. I could not help but think of the lonely people who live their lives unloved and alone. And why? Is it simply a matter of circumstance?

I end this lonely Christmas feeling grateful that I am loved. I will also be grateful for tomorrow, which will be, truly, just another day. If you are fortunate enough to not be alone this evening, get off your phone or computer and go give a big hug to that person or those people that are with you tonight. And if you are alone, like me, you've only got a few more hours until you can pat yourself on the back for getting through this day. Tomorrow will feel better, I promise.

Cold Shower

I had already stepped into the shower, buck naked, before I realized that there was no hot water. I wasn't going to back out now, though. I cursed my way through a cold shower and got her done. That large bath towel never felt so good!

I checked everything I could. Yes, both pipes on the water heater were cold. No, there was no leak underneath. Flipped the circuit breaker a couple of times. Waved my magic wand. No hot water.

I have lived through week-long power outages during and following Northeast blizzards. No heat, no water (hot or cold), no music, no oven, no lights, no nothing. If you're lucky, you've got a fireplace, some booze, and a big snow drift to access for purposes of flushing the toilet. If you're really lucky, your neighbor has a generator and a very long extension cord to charge your phone. So comparatively, a lack of hot water is no big deal. I suspect it might get old pretty fast, though.

Yes, I am in the process of finding a plumber down here who won't rip me off. (Been there, done that.) But if there's another cold shower in the near future, I'll survive.

You don't miss your water till the well runs dry. How true! And it is humbling to think about those who are missing more than one of the bare necessities. No food. No water. No medical care. No heat. No shelter. No education. No love.

One of those things costs nothing to give. I hope that as we enter this holiday season, you give some love. And if you have been fortunate in your life, if you are comfortable, if you have more than you need, give something else to those who could use some help.

Yep, shower the people with love. It will warm you right up!

Everything Waits to Be Noticed

I have never been as observant as I would like to be. I'd probably be a better writer (and teacher and parent and friend and just about everything else) if I were. I'm also not very good at living in the moment. As one of my mentors, the poet Mark Doty, said, humans live in memory and anticipation. He noted that dogs, on the other hand, live in the present. I believe that these observations are true. How much time do we spend reflecting on what was or what might have been, while at the same time, worrying about the future or waiting impatiently for it? But as soon as you walk in the door, a dog will have no memory of the hours you were away from him, nor will he think that you are going to leave him again the next morning. You are here NOW, and that's all that matters.

I am trying, at my advanced age, to correct these bad habits of mine. It's harder than you think (unless you are trying to do it, too). Here's a perfect example: Most mornings, ten minutes after I've stumbled out of bed, I am on my way to a local park to begin a five-mile walk/run as soon as the sun comes up. At that early hour, I am often the only human in sight, and I like it that way. It only takes a little more than an hour to do my thing, depending, of course, on how much I walk and how much I run and how much I chat with a passing bicyclist. But most of the time, I am trying to hurry, eager for that morning coffee back at my place. (Anticipation?)

This is wrong-headed! This morning walk is likely the best part of my day, and I'm trying to hurry it along?

Whenever my better self points this out to me, I slow down and try to take in this simple beauty with no regard for what comes next. So, yeah, I'm good for a day or two, and then the old me, the one who's always looking ahead, re-emerges. Old habits (and faults) die hard.

This morning was one of those mornings when I declared the clock be damned. I took my time, walking more than running, and stopping along the way to observe. I was rewarded many times over. Although I have seen a couple of wild parakeets in the trees many times, I have never witnessed a flock of them fly overhead, screaming their signature noise. But that was nothing compared to the gathering of egrets across the lake. Again, there are always egrets at the park, but today, there must have been a party, because they just kept coming and coming. I watched from the other shore and stopped counting after 40.

I took the time to sneak up on a Great Blue Heron (my favorite bird) and he rewarded me by  allowing me to get really close before he took off. There were smaller birds, too, ones that I don't have names for, and I was thinking about them when my iTunes treated me to Art Garfunkel's "Everything Waits to Be Noticed," a gorgeous song from his 2002 release of the same name. I don't know why it is that music so often shakes its finger at me and says, "Listen to this!" But I do pay attention, and today's lesson was heard.

There is so much to be noticed. And the natural world has so much patience. I can't wait to get to the park tomorrow! (Oh, snap! There's that anticipation again.)

The heron who let me get so close!

We Are Stardust, We Are Golden

At 10:34 (PST) this morning, a Space-X Falcon 9 rocket with 64 satellites on board blasted off into space from Vandenberg Air Force Base in California. And one of those satellites contained the remains of Lee Hackler Matson Weiss Speary.

Lee was the mother of the man in my life, and she died on October 10, 2017 at age 95. Yes, all those names show that Lee buried three husbands, which seems to support the contemporary wisdom that women are stronger than men. Indeed, from what Ed has told me about his mother, she was a tough one.

As Lee approached old age, her three children, Ed, Martti, and Jon, would ask her what she wanted done with her body when she died. Her response went something like this: "Freeze me, shoot me into space, and bring me back whenever they find a cure to whatever it was I died of."

Obliging children that they are, Ed and his siblings arranged to have a capsule of Lee's cremated remains shot into space on the Elysium Star II satellite. Along with several other adventurous souls, Lee's capsule will experience "Sun Synchronous Orbit" for the next two years. Ed will be able to track the progression of the orbit on his phone, which might make up for the fact that none of Lee's children were able to be in California to watch the launch. And it's not that they didn't try. Unfortunately, the launch was scheduled and postponed a couple of times, wreaking havoc with travel plans. The launch was available online, however, and if you are a space geek (like Ed is), you can watch it here: Space-X Falcon 9.

As happens often to me, songs kept popping into my head today. I spent the afternoon on the beach, observing the passing clouds that blocked the sun. I didn't need my iTunes. Joni Mitchell's "Woodstock," Oliver's "Good Morning, Starshine," and Bowie's "Space Oddity" made up the soundtrack for my musings on the afterlife.

In a 2015 interview with Larry King, Neil deGrasse Tyson explained why he would rather be buried than cremated. He discussed how our intake of food provides energy, and that when we die, that energy is released as heat into space, "of no use to anybody." He further opined that burial into the ground would allow that energy to nourish the earth. So for Tyson, a traditional burial is his choice. (Tyson Interview)

But the romance of orbiting the earth for two years! I will admit to favoring Lee Speary's final curtain call more than Neil deGrasse Tyson's. And what happens after two years? "Eventually, in a last poetic moment, the spacecraft will harmlessly re-enter the Earth's atmosphere, blazing as a shooting star."

What a way to go. Blaze on, Lee!