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Author: Anne Cassidy

Stars in the Darkness

Stars in the Darkness

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“To take a walk at night in a city that has settled into silence and a darkness that has become far too rare is to return to something precious, something lost for so long you’ve forgotten to miss it.”

— Margaret Renkl, Graceland, at Last

Thus does Renkl describe the days after tornadoes ripped through Nashville in March 2020, bringing the city, already Covid-bound, to its knees.

Or did it? It was a lovely, early spring that year, as it was here, gentle and rainy, and neighborliness was flourishing along with the flowers. People lingered outside because there was only darkness to go home to — and they could look up and see the stars.

But then the power company arrived, and life was back to normal. It was something to celebrate, but I picked up on a gentle melancholy in Renkl’s description. There is something to be said for stepping out of the routine, as long as you don’t step too far. Because once the lights came on … the stars went out.

(Photo: Wikipedia)

Preserving the Cheer

Preserving the Cheer

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I just watered the Christmas tree, able to reach the stand now that gifts are opened. At this point a few needles are beginning to litter the red felt skirt, but the tree has at least another week to grace the living room.

When I worked full-time, the week between Christmas and New Years Day was all about relaxation. It still is, but now the focus is more on preserving the holiday spirit as long as possible — not always easy in a December 25th-centric world.

So we watched “Elf” last night and are still nibbling on sugared star and candy-cane cookies. The egg nog is flowing freely and stockings (mostly empty) hang from the mantel.

It’s not December 20th … but it’s not January 2nd, either.

(A poinsettia catches the morning light.)
Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

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Once again I’ll re-run this blog post, which I wrote eleven years ago. Merry Christmas!

12/24/11

Our old house has seen better days. The siding is dented, the walkway is cracked, the yard is muddy and tracked with Copper’s paw prints. Inside is one of the fullest and most aromatic trees we’ve ever chopped down. Cards line the mantel, the fridge is so full it takes ten minutes to find the cream cheese. Which is to say we are as ready as we will ever be. The family is gathering. I need to make one more trip to the grocery store.

This morning I thought about a scene from one of my favorite Christmas movies, one I hope we’ll have time to watch in the next few days. In “It’s a Wonderful Life,” Jimmy Stewart has just learned he faces bank fraud and prison, and as he comes home beside himself with worry, he grabs the knob of the banister in his old house — and it comes off in his hand. He is exasperated at this; it seems to represent his failures and shortcomings.

By the end of the movie, after he’s been visited by an angel, after his family and friends have rallied around him in an unprecedented way, after he’s had a chance to see what the world would have been like without him — he grabs the banister knob again. And once again, it comes off in his hand. But this time, he kisses it. The house is still cold and drafty and in need of repair. But it has been sanctified by friendship and love and solidarity.

Christmas doesn’t take away our problems. But it counters them with joy. it reminds us to  appreciate the humble, familiar things that surround us every day, and to draw strength from the people we love. And surely there is a bit of the miraculous in that. 
Flash Freeze

Flash Freeze

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At this hour the rain is still falling, not freezing, and there is even a softness to the air. But soon, perhaps within minutes, the winds will rise and the bomb cyclone will strike these parts.

The temperature will plummet, the rain will freeze, and at sunset we will be in the single digits. Roads and sidewalks will grow slick. The ground will harden. Nature will lose her diadem.

It’s winter, so we expect ice and cold, but not this much, please. A light fluffy snow would be just fine. 

The Christmas Special

The Christmas Special

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In preparation for family visiting since last week, I did something I seldom do around the holidays: got ahead of the game. Christmas cards are written and mailed. Cookies are baked. Gifts are purchased and (almost) wrapped. 

While there may be trips for last-minute items, for the most part I have a little more time than I usually have. I won’t say I’m caught up, but holiday preparations are flowing along at a slightly more leisurely pace than they usually do. And that means I can linger at the breakfast table and work in a walk here and there. 

When I was young I remember Mom sighing this time of year, saying that if only she could finish all the buying/wrapping/baking, she’d have time to settle down and watch one of those Christmas specials on TV. I think what she was wishing for was time to savor what she had created — the ever-elusive pause before the chaos of Christmas Eve and Day. 

It’s still dark outside, but so far I’m the only one awake. I’m about to stream a holiday movie. It’s my Christmas special. 

Solstice Miracle

Solstice Miracle

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The low light was shining directly into my eyes during part of today’s trail walk. But it’s all part of the package on the shortest day of the year. 

For some reason now, as I write this post, a funny little glob of a rainbow has appeared. I don’t recall seeing anything like it before: an ordinary sky except for one cloud bleeding yellow and orange light.  We’ve had no rain; the sun is lower in the firmament. 

I’m sure there’s some sort of scientific explanation. But I’m going to consider it a solstice miracle.

(P.S.on February 2, 2023: I just learned that my “solstice miracle” is called a sundog.)

Grandparents Rock!

Grandparents Rock!

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New research finds that grandmothers may be one reason for the dominance of homo sapiens. Humans have alleles (alternative versions of a gene) that protect against late-onset Alzheimer’s Disease and otherwise safeguard the functioning of  grandmothers and “other human elders who are involved in caregiving of the young.” 

This study helps explain why women live on past menopause and bolsters the “grandmother hypothesis,” which posits that it’s in grandmothers’ evolutionary interest to ensure that grandchildren survive to reproductive age.  

Scientists who study the evolutionary effect of various genetic mutations have noticed that these mutations were not present in Neanderthals and other early human lineages. 

All of which says, to me at least, that grandparents rock!

(My parents, who lived to see almost all their grandchildren graduate from high school.)

Alert and Predictable

Alert and Predictable

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Noticed on my walk this morning: signs reading “Be Alert and Predictable!” Not your typical path-sign wording, but understandable given the busyness of the Washington and Old Dominion Trail, where bicycles whiz by at 30 miles an hour. 

An unsuspecting pedestrian who strays from her lane might be mowed down by one of these speeding cyclists, so better to walk steady and stay to the right. 

The signs had me thinking, though, about predictability and alertness and how those two don’t always go hand-in-hand. An alert human may in fact be less predictable, more prone to straying off the beaten path and into a tangle of undergrowth, lured there by the song of a bird or an angle of light.

The Christmas Position

The Christmas Position

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I’m in what I’ve come to think of as my Christmas position. Unlike the warrior pose or downward dog, this position requires very little of the joints and tendons. It is, in fact, a posture of repose, of satiation. 

All that’s required is that I plop down on the couch, facing north, a pile of  books beside me and (sometimes, like now) a laptop in my lap, and savor the Christmas tree, which is, as always, the most beautiful one we’ve ever had, the fullest and most aromatic. 

I’m not usually able to still and just be, but this time of year, when I’m in the Christmas position, that’s all I want to do. 

Messiness and Joy

Messiness and Joy

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Today we celebrate the birthday of our aging canine, Copper. He’s over 17 in human years but can still cavort in the yard, terrify the toddlers and pounce for treats. 

He’s also a living, breathing lesson in patience, as he soils the carpet and gets stuck under chairs. But even addled and voiceless (as opposed to the old days, when he barked all the time) Copper is still Copper: loyal, loving and feisty. 

It’s hard to look at him and not see the future that awaits us all, but it’s also hard to look at him and not see the fun he has always brought our family, from his chaotic arrival giving us a merry chase down the street to his victory laps now when he makes it in from outside and celebrates with a run around the house.

When I look at Copper, I see life, with all its messiness and all its joy. 

(Photos: Claire Capehart)