A Walker in the Suburbs

Even the numbers look futuristic, and our new year is nothing if not balanced. Is it my imagination or is there a hopefulness among these digits, a sense of vision clear and untrammeled?

It’s too soon to tell, of course, but I’ll enter the new year like I always try to: with more hope than trepidation. I’ll take some deep breaths before the messiness of daily living intrudes upon this blank slate.

And for today, before the newness wears off, I’ll do my usual Janus thing: look back at the past, craft resolutions for the future … and of course, eat plenty of black-eyed peas.

Tomorrow is the end not just of a year but a decade, so in case this warrants two posts instead of one, I’d better get busy.

First, 2019 wasn’t nearly long enough. It’s a trait this year shares with its recent predecessors and will, I fear, share with its successors, too. On the other hand, the year didn’t drag with direness so I can’t complain.

It’s a year that saw increasing dissension and partisanship, in our country and others, and I worry that 2020 will be worse in that regard.

Then there is the almost 70-degree high predicted for today and all that stands for in terms of climate change and environmental health.

As I look out my window at the bird feeder and the sparrows clustering around it, though, I see a balm for much of what ails us — our dear old Earth, which grows more precious by the hour.

The day was grand, filled with family and food and thoughtful gifts. In its wake there is gratitude and satiety and relief that I’ve no more gifts to buy!

Almost always after Christmas, I long for a cleansing, a de-cluttering, a new broom to sweep away the cobwebs.

At war with this instinct is the urge to relax, to actually do nothing except read, write and watch movies. And right now … that’s what’s winning!

Once again the days have passed, the splendid ones and the trying ones. Once again we’ve come back to this point, which is for me, and for many, the great pause. Christmas Day. Soon to be followed by New Year’s Day and the delicious week in between. Once again I’ll re-run this blog post, one I wrote in 2011. Merry Christmas!

There are fewer cards on the mantel each year, it seems — Facebook and high postage rates at work as well as the lovely ecards that I treasure, too. I still send out a slew of hard-copy photo cards, as I have every year since Suzanne was born. And I still cherish each card that comes in, maybe even more so now.

This year’s crop brings much joyous news of health battles overcome (or at least at stalemate), of new babies here or on the way, of friends moving back to the area.

The mantel is a bit more crowded this year with a new clock, so I’m making room for the cards on the table, where I can pick them up and read them over and over.

They are, as always, a reminder of what matters most, of love and fellowship, of the fact that we are fellow travelers on the way — and that this is a time to rejoice.

I”m just back from a last-minute shopping run, and I’ve decided that one of the less-appreciated but most important presents we can (not) buy is … the gift of restraint.

Yes, I did pick up a few extra items, but there were many, many more that I did not. I avoided the games section, refuge of the lost and frantic. And the jewelry and toiletries, ditto. Doing this not only saves me money, but it saves my loved ones time because they will have fewer gifts to return this year.

This is not to say they won’t find many gifts underneath the tree. They will! But there are some they will not find … and they will thank me for that!

As I prepare to finish my holiday shopping I’m encouraged to learn about an expense I have so far avoided this season. The nine-foot “Starry Night” artificial Christmas tree by Frontgate costs $2,474 — though you can score another tree from this brand for a mere $999.

I learned this from a Washington Post article this morning, which also contains these tidbits: Americans prefer fake trees by two to one. And last year 63 percent of Republicans said they planned to buy an artificial tree compared with 44 percent of Democrats.

In this house the trees are always real … though never say never.

Now the countdown really begins. Even December 18th and 19th have the aura of Christmas about them, and certainly the 20th does. These dates glow with an ancient brightness. They echo down through centuries. When will we hit the darkest day? When will we hit bottom and start to rise again?

Of course, these close-to-Christmas dates also have personal memories, harking back to childhood. They were the days that would never end, full of anticipation and wonder and even a little bit of fear. Had I been good enough? Would there be a bride doll or a bicycle or whatever else I absolutely had to have waiting for me underneath the tree?

Those days are long gone, of course, but memories of them linger and color late December, make it a magical time, even now.