Leaning Tower of Christmas

Leaning Tower of Christmas

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It was, from the start, the tree that couldn’t stand straight. In part, it had no choice. With a curved trunk, it just saw the world a little differently, that’s all. But even when cut and tamed and taken in by a loving family, the tree persisted in its wayward ways.

It took two straightening sessions, the first before it was strung with lights and the second when it was fully decked out with delicate ornaments—and still, it started leaning again.  The new stand may have been the culprit. Or it may just have been the tree itself.

Whatever the cause, I knew by the time I woke up yesterday that the tree was coming down soon, one way or another. I wanted it to be on our terms, not the tree’s. So yesterday we did the sad duty: removed the ornaments, tucked them away in boxes; then the lights; and finally, the tree itself, drug unceremoniously out the back door where it was examined again carefully for castaway ornaments.

I used to put Sousa marches on the stereo, looking ahead to summer, when we did this. Yesterday, it was the jazz station WPFW that provided the accompaniment. I left the cards up, and the cloth wreath in the kitchen, and the little stars that hang from the light fixture and the stockings on the mantel, the nutcrackers on the piano and the little holiday lamp that I loved from the first minute I saw it at the Vale Crafts Fair almost 20 years ago.

Could it have been that long? Yes, it could. And in part for that reason, I don’t get as sad anymore when the tree comes down. The years pass quickly. Next Christmas is right around the corner.

Grateful New Year

Grateful New Year

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As we enter a new year, I’m looking back on the old one, on the trips to Thailand, Nepal, Arkansas, Kentucky, Missouri, Florida, Ireland, Washington and Malawi—more travel than I ever thought I’d experience in 12 months.

I think about the people I’ve met on these wanderings—fellow musicians from my youth orchestra in Lexington, child labor advocates in Lilongwe, women safe tempo drivers in Kathmandu.

I think about my own dear family and how thankful I am for them, for our closeness in good times and tough ones. For the walks in Seattle with Celia, the dog romps in Oak Hill with Claire and the long strolls through Arlington with Suzanne.

Now we have a new month and year, a blank calendar, 365 days to fill. I’m writing my resolutions, cleaning my pantry, plotting my approach. As usual, I’m asking myself to worry less and appreciate more.

I wonder if through the years there’s been a gradual ascent, the steady recognition that living with gratitude is the only way to go. I’d like to think there has been, but progress has been miniscule. I’m thankful today that I have another year in which to try.

Zzzzzz!

Zzzzzz!

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I’ll try to make tomorrow’s post brisk and wide-awake and forward-looking.  But today’s is … a celebration of slumber.

That’s because, though I’ve done a bit of visiting, baking, cleaning, reading and movie-watching these last 10 days, what I’ve done most and best of all is sleep.

This is not an insignificant achievement, since sleep is something that often eludes me in the normal course of events. Faced with a slew of hours to fill, I’m glad I’ve filled many with early bedtimes, late mornings and even a three-hour nap!

I’ve enjoyed waking up to light, not darkness; to knowing there’s no Metro to catch or work to do. As January 2 draws nigh, what I will miss most about these lovely, end-of-year days is the ability to roll over and catch some more winks.

Book Notes

Book Notes

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First I started listing them, now I take notes on them, too.

In the continual struggle to hold onto and make sense of what I read, I have for years now typed up notes on the books I want to remember.

From yesterday’s on Origin Story:

Luca is our “last universal common ancestor”— a hypothetical creature, sort of alive but not fully alive, a porous rock that lived at the edge of alkaline oceanic vents. From Luca (and there were many Lucas) all earthly life flows. But it took three billion years to move from Luca to the multicellular organisms that ultimately gave rise to big life.

Or this: the progress of evolution, much like the life of a soldier, consisted of long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. In this case, though, the terror came from mass extinctions, the greatest of which occurred 248 million years ago when 80 percent of all life vanished from the planet probably as the result of massive volcanic eruptions.

The older I get, the more I wish I’d learned when I was younger. But in the case of this book, I console myself with the knowledge that many of these facts weren’t even discovered when I was younger!

Tale of Tears

Tale of Tears

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Speaking of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” I watched it last night. It was the perfect way to end Boxing Day and our two-day celebration at my sister Ellen’s.


Every time I watch the movie (and I watch it almost every year), I’m glad I did. Not many movies hold up to multiple viewings, and the fact that this one does proves its depth of feeling and detail.

I woke up this morning thinking about George Bailey’s righteous indignation (“this rabble you’re talking about, they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this town”), of the tender scene between George and his mother (played by the actress Beulah Bondi, who was Stewart’s mother on screen five different times) and of Uncle Billy’s animals (the pet crow was actually a pet raven named Jimmy, which Capra used in every film he made starting with “You Can’t Take it With You” in 1938). 

I learned these factoids this morning, and they make me marvel … but it was the beautiful and steady build-up of details last night that left me … as usual when I watch this movie, in tears …
Appreciation

Appreciation

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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 Eve. 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!


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.

Photo: Flow TV

Slow Cooker

Slow Cooker

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Today it will be not turkey, ham or chicken …  but beef. Beef bourguignon, to be exact. An old crock pot recipe, a meal started in the wee hours to be served 10 hours later.
I wish there were a slow cooker setting for life, a way to slice and dice early, set the dial on “low” and let simmer all the thoughts, happenings, talks, tears and laughter of a year. 
Because that’s what I’m wanting now. To digest what has happened. 
Every year is like that,
but this one…
more than others. 
Origin Story

Origin Story

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After reading Sapiens a few months ago, I was looking for another “big” book. I’ve found one in Origin Story by David Christian.

The book is what is called “big history,” that is, not just the history of our country or of the world, but of the universe itself. It’s a story that could only recently have been told, due to discoveries about the universe and its beginnings made within the last few decades.



Origin Story starts with the big bang (threshold 1) and is organized around it and the eight thresholds that follow. Humans don’t even enter the picture till threshold 6, which was 200,000 years ago. Above all, then, this book puts us in our puny little place.

But it is also written with great reverence for human life, and awe at its development. There was never a guarantee that human beings would emerge from this ball of swirling elements, but somehow we did. Here’s one of my favorite passages from the book: 

The spooky thing about life is that, though the inside of each cell looks like pandemonium—a sort of mud-wrestling contest involving a million molecules—whole cells give the impression of acting with purpose. Something inside each cell seems to drive it, as if it were working its way through a to-do list. The to-do list is simple: (1) stay alive despite entropy and unpredictable surroundings; and (2) make copies of myself that can do the same thing. And so on from cell to cell, and generation to generation. Here, in the seeking out of some outcomes and the avoidance of others, are the origins of desire, caring, purpose, ethics, even love. 

Bouncing Back

Bouncing Back

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It was dark 15 minutes ago, at 7:30 a.m. Now, at 7:57, a wan winter light is finally seeping through the window blinds. But this is fine. I’ll take it. Because from here on, we’re getting lighter.

Reaching the Winter Solstice is like touching the bottom of the pool in 10-feet water. Slight scary and other-worldly—but also buoyant. Touch the bottom firmly enough and you will bounce back, all the way to the surface, where life is how it’s supposed to be.

For me, it’s supposed to be summer. This doesn’t mean I want to live in a place of eternal sunshine. But it does mean that normalcy is shorts, t-shirts and long evenings. Strangely enough, we may just have some of this today, as the temperature hits a freakish 65.

It may almost feel like Summer Solstice. But the early darkness will give it away.

Holiday Time

Holiday Time

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By December 20 we are deep into Christmas territory. These are days shaped before I had the knowledge to shape them. Days that lasted years when I was a young girl—and that never seemed long enough when I was a young mother.

Now they vanish quickly like the other days. Another work day, check. Another run to the store, to the mall, to the post office. Check, check, check.

How do we get back to the slow times?

Holidays offer promise. They can be fluid and what we make of them. They aren’t bound by the rules of typical time passage. I am holding out hope for them—as I do every year.