Lantern

Dylan and I gave each other Lucy. She is so soft and gives wonderful hugs. 

Our tree is less shiny this year, but full of our ornaments. 

On the advice of an artist friend, I got some paints and touched up the old lantern that belonged to Granny. 

It was a light, lit up when I was very small. The paint was almost gone on one side, worn away on top and bottom. This is good enough for me, and it's come back to life. 

From earlier years, the wear is visible. Of course I didn't take a good Before this year.

I may touch up the weird baby ornament next. 

A time for renewal. 

 

Culture

 Thankfully I asked about the culture in the new job, in several ways, of various people. And I got olive wood spoons from trader joes and holiday cards. Because my three close colleagues got presents for us as well.  They seemed to be appreciated, not food, not smelly, but pretty and useful. 

These will get the most use. 

The other two gifts were scented, the hand soap in festive theme is actually really nice. The candle will go to a different home, although it is visually pretty. 

Token gifts, not extravagant, thoughtful enough in a professional setting.  I also gave our schedulers cards, with a bit of cash. Seemed important. 

I have my usual Thursday off, Friday off as the official holiday, and of course Saturday and Sunday. Next week will be the same.  Since the hand clinic I'm responsible for is on Fridays, it means two really slack weeks. The last three days I had way too little to do, but had to be there to handle alerts and a few fractures.  So, I had some use, but not enough to fill the whole day.  Sort of guard duty, be available in case.  Getting a reputation for keenness, due to disliking being idle that much. I love a slow day as much as anyone, but this week was too much of too little. 

Grocery shopped this morning, since our only absolute requirement for this holiday is to have enough food. 

I keep thinking tomorrow is the holiday, and it's not. Not that it much matters, really.  Storm coming in, warm and windy. Hoping it will be mountain snow valley rain. MSVR. 

I think they are planning to give us a mouse, don't tell them I guessed. It's a surprize. 

Wisdom

Seeing these two content in each other's company is the best gift of all. Zeppo was sniffing around the bottom of the dishwasher last evening, intently. Eleanor came and looked over his shoulder, with apparent interest. As if to say, "Yup, that's mouse scent. You can get this one, I'll provide an assist." Eleanor is an expert, and Zeppo a fast learner.

The mouse, wisely, did not emerge. We'd've heard the cats thumping about, it's a very particular pattern of thumps. If mouse ever appears, it won't stand a chance.

Feeling slightly better this morning, Dylan is nearly back to normal. He made the most amazing chicken chili last night. We picked up a few leftover trees from the nursery around the block, to decorate the yard, compost later. There is food in the house, we are together, nothing more is required.

Redux

With slightly better light.

No more angels at the top of our tree(s).

But she's still there on the mantle.

Felted

New topper for the tree, a felted moose ornament, found in Ogden today. So, on the train back, I thought, why not put up both trees? I have enough ornaments, gathered over my lifetime and earlier. The small silk one we got while in Boston, ordered online a pair, and gave the other to a friend of Dylan's. Could even do themes. Not like color, but perhaps material?

And as I began, I sorted, not thinking too much, feeling my way to my choices. Until the Shiva tree held only old ornaments, those bequeathed, all from before my time, from elderly neighbor women leaving their decorations to the only family in the street with kids, from aunts, baubles that I have handled since childhood, a few my mother knew from childhood. A century and more, of christmases. With a hindu god on top. As we turn toward a more inclusive celebration, shining twinkly lights into dark corners. The turning, multicolored led in a lamp at the base, like Aunt Alma's silver tree.

The Moose tree, another silk, but found at a yard sale a couple of years ago, holds every ornament since. My lifetime, our christmases, Yules, Solstices. Festivus for the rest of us, but for the christians, too, if they want to join in. (They are welcome, so long as they behave.) This one is full of recent ornaments, our initials, the house, the lump of coal dug up from the back in a tiny decorative sack, gifts from work, a special bought one added each year for ourselves.

We did the crossword together in the train on the way up, challenging, but we got it solved.

Chewing

The morning mood, chewing at my mother's love of all that is sugary, floury and baked, eschewing all fresh and green vegetables, and my obsessing on the nutritionless attractions of her version of "unconditional love." Fairyland food, empty and ultimately sickening, but it looks so nice it takes a long time to see it for what it is. Yeah, that state of mind. There were always chocolate chips, flour, sugar, walnuts*, food coloring, sprinkles in the cupboard, but no matter how much I asked for frozen vegetables - like Aunt Alma made for me, to my mother the only vegetables were canned corn and mashed potatoes. And health food was liver and onions. That my gut was always upset bothered her not enough to change my diet, although she was constantly finding a new diet for herself to slim back down. Oh, she would safely claim she would gladly change places with me when I was sick, but not find the cause and change that. My father's verbal abuse the white elephant in the room, to be ignored.



Yeah, that mood. Snowed madly for a couple of hours this morning, blew through. Roads mostly clear most of the way to work. Nothing scary.

I really haven't indulged in treats this season. Unappealing. I really don't like cake, feel no draw toward anything home-made. Absolutely repulsed by cheap store-bought, although I do have some of the better stuff. Don't think I've had anything more than I usually would on any given day, only in the afternoon, when I'm crashy and don't have anything like an orange or dried fruit.

Remembering being at MGH PACU for day-surgery, and from Thanksgiving to New Year there would be better and better and BETTER! chocolates and treats of increasing, professional, quality that destroyed my resolve to not have any more. I think I went a bit toxic on chocolate at the end.

Funny, home-made is a bit suspicious to me. Cheap store bought unappealing. But the good stuff, yeah, that hits whatever is left of my sweet-tooth. I ate all the desserts as a kid, it seemed like I enjoyed it. Even then, cake was just a delivery system for fudge frosting. A real treat for me was spinach, or rhubarb from the garden, or a slice of lemon sucked after fish&chips at a diner.


I shopped for our Christmas Taco Gathering for Dylan's family this morning. Then headed up to work to cover lunches on a very busy day - and short staffed. Got to say goodbye to a nurse who... I liked as a person, but hated working with. She's retiring, and moving away, gave me a big hug as I left after giving her lunch. So much annoyance, but good hearted in her own way. I hope when she is no longer tied to her Perfect Nurse Identity, she is happier and less prone to anger and micromanaging. I won't miss working with her. I won't miss her crankiness or criticism. Or trying to tell me how to chart, under my own license. Or assuming I don't have enough forks at my next party (I have lots of forks.)

Dr. T gave us another Christmas bonus in Christmas cards, not as much as last year, but I didn't expect anything, so it's all amazingly good. I used it to buy beer and some sake, with enough leftover for the remaining holiday groceries.

Dylan and I have one rule for Christmas, there has to be food. I expect the stories about that are at the labels, if you haven't been told too many times. Our first Christmas together in Ft. Carson, the mess didn't tell the reservists when the holiday meal was, there were no cabs to go out to the Chinese restaurants, no one had cars, busses weren't running, and neither Pizza nor Chinese were delivering on base that day. We skipped the booze, ate some sugary treats from care packages shared, and, starving in the afternoon we scored some oranges and snuck off to eat them alone together, shaking and hungry. We made vows to each other that day, and have kept them since. Enough Food ON Christmas. One of our few Absolute Rules.

We have enough food for the whole weekend. FYI.


LED lights, not using a lot of electricity. Cheerful, though. And that is the stocking Dylan made at work, rather pretty.



We stopped sending cards many years ago. A few people still send us cards, on rare years. This is fine by us, as the good ones get packed away with the Christmas tree and lights, and are permanent features of our decorations. I think the penguin is amazing.





In an odd, but not bad mood. One more half-ish day, not a big deal. Our director of anesthesia tried to get all the cases shifted up to the Main Hospital. No one else objected strenuously. We give him credit for trying for us. It's usually a mellow day, and the patients get extra time to heal that doesn't count against their sick time. A small day, then home, and no driving until... well, Monday if I can stretch it.

Happy Solstice, it's all brighter from here.

Bon Hiver.

Let all mortal flesh keep silence.


Butts on Fire.


*Walnuts trigger awful cankers on my mouth. Probably always have. I always had them over Christmas. Gee. Wonder why.

Choose

Upset with an old friend. Not going to talk about it here. Of course. But let's just say that email is wonderful, but cannot replace the phone completely, much as I hate talking on the phone. And is no substitute at all for being there in person. I'm heartbroken, and doubting myself down to my core. And my core is very dire and dark. I am, at the moment, lacking family of any kind, and so few in-person friends to call it none at all. If D didn't reassure me, I would believe myself utterly bereft of human contact. And unworthy of it.

Much of it is my own choice. I will not be used or misused, and am either hypersensitive to misuse, or have chosen badly the people around me. Both, concurrently or sequentially, no doubt. The two misjudgments walk hand in hand. Grief following grief. Loss collapsing into loss.

At least once, I chose, or probably more accurately was chosen, beyond hopes and aspirations. I have no adequate words for the bottomless gratitude I feel for the wonderful human being who most knows me, and most loves me. Only in very dark mood do I doubt that.

Put up the tree. Made the mistake of putting on the blue lights we'd gotten after the season last year. In such a mood, I only put up the fairly colorless, blue or silver, ornaments. We tried to put the multi-colored lights up around the room, and the adhesive tabs failed utterly. In another mood, I'd have seen the humor. Within an hour, I looked at the "tasteful" tree, and said "That is hideous." Blue Christmas kept playing through my head, and I took all the ornaments off, instead of throwing the whole display in the trash, with D's assistance. After a moment's hesitation, we put on the multi colored lights. This helped quite a lot. I will likely add ornaments tomorrow.

Not easy to be cheerful, this year. Have to put in a lot of effort.

Worried about health issues, for both of us. Much is worrisome. Nothing definite yet. Which is good, really. Limbo.

Got tea bag mulling spices and apple juice. Unbelievably comforting. Got our christmas dinner, as well. Our one requirement, enough food on christmas.

Watching a show. TV et al turned off and on. Moby stepped on the switch. We both laugh.

Ornaments

My history is in my ornaments. The penguin we got for each other one year. The lantern was still a working light when my mother was small. Some came though the elderly neighbors I enjoyed visiting when I was little, after they stopped putting up their trees. They've survived so many moves and upheavals, so fragile it's a wonder they've endured.

My in-laws do genealogy. Part of their religion, partly that they are descendants of a family that has lived and intermittently prospered on this continent. My married last name is all over monuments and graves in Boston, for instance, including an early governor. Part of history, so sort of interesting. More particular information than that, and I honestly don't give a ratsass. Especially following the male line, and going so far back, the name passed on, but did the genes? And even if they did, what's the difference? None to me, certainly. I'm not even going to try to check my genetic family, since I don't even consider myself part of that family now. Mutual disownment leaves one a bit cynical about the value of genes as a source of affection or relevance. I would love to do my DNA/mitochondria mapping, but as a sense of my place in the flow of history, not a connection to any individual.

Long ago I worked at the Burton Historical Collection for history and genealogy, and learned to disdain genealogists. I retrieved and shelved materials. As a group, pretty obnoxious and cranky bunch, with occasional decent exceptions. I often wanted to shout at them "THEY ARE ALL DEAD!" If I didn't look up my ancestors then, with that resource available to me, and grandmothers still alive, I'm not about to start now. I don't even know one grandfather's name. My mother's father was an orphan from Ireland, probably with an acquired name, long estranged from Granny, and was "found in a flophouse" days after he died of drink. I don't much feel like there is anything more to know, really. If I don't like the living ones, why would I give a shit about the dead ones?

And D is right there with me. Looking into history through one particular family is a tool, a method, but not personally important. He wants to find a really juicy embarrassing ancestor to add, if his dad pushes too hard. One of his old professors did a lot of research on prostitutes, so could be a good resource, if necessary.

Careful what you wish for, when you demand others in your family share your interests.

Recycled

It's a Yule Tide, Arthur!

With tree, beer in new glass, and Hogfather, with friends (eventually) on their way. Did get a pair of drinking glasses, recycled glass, but mostly just feel good on the lips, interesting, not heavybottomed, my gift from D. My choice, and I am happy with them.

Enough

We didn't get everything done. But some, enough, and glad to be home. Had a decent Mexican lunch, good hot salsa on.

Driving across town tomorrow to visit D's folks in the morning, got appropriate token gifts. We'd prefer to get nothing, but they do insist, so we have given up the battle.

Walked around a store where I like what they have, would theoretically like to have so much of it, but when it comes to actually imagine using it, bringing it home, finding a place to keep it, I balk. I wouldn't, actually, wear it, keep it, need it. Already have something that works as well or better. What do you give someone who really doesn't need anything, isn't acquisitive, has no space? A nice hug, good conversation, quiet company.

Someone has this figured out.

Pause

Got through the week. Staffing shortages and heavy caseload made it more difficult than it needed to be. Yesterday was a voluntary day, I should have been extra, but wound up covering a sick call. Still, I have a job, and I know enough to be grateful for that blessing these days. Closed tomorrow, and off until Monday, so a real little holiday. One surgeon and his fellow whizzed through twelve surgeries in two rooms yesterday in nine hours. Yes, they did a good job. Not all the good surgeons I've known have been fast, but all the fast ones have been good. They just don't dither and waste time, they go in with a plan and are very efficient. And yesterday's doc was motivated to keep it rolling, since everyone wanted to get away. Smallish procedures, mostly, as well. Carpal tunnel and trigger finger releases usually take about ten to twenty minutes, plus MAFAT*.

So.

Came home irritable and cranky, bad mood spilling out all over. Used all my not-naturally-occurring cheerfulness at work. Then drove through a flurry of snow and icy roads surrounded by SUV drivers who don't understand physics. Growled at D, took offense at unintended comments, felt the wear on my body. We rushed out to have dinner with a friend, hit every light. On the way back I got badly chilled, shivering into my stressed back. Took me all evening to tease out a milligram of ease.

Woke altogether too early this morning, earlier than I have to when I have to be at work. Yet, I feel better. We plan to go out and find each other small frivolous gifts, just because we can. And a few tokens for his family since we are going there tomorrow morning. And do a charity thing (not letting our right hand know what our left hand is doing.†) And just generally enjoy the hell out of being together for four days in a row.

Have to read a bit of Hogfather.

Not precisely christmas spirit, but a pause to gather.



*MAFAT - Mandatory Anesthesia Fuck Around Time.

†But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.

Job

(Crane Beach, November 2004)


We walked down to the Broadway to see a free showing of It's a Wonderful Life. Quite an experience, much more emotional than seeing it on television. I cried through much of it. We got hot chocolate to pay rent - seemed only fair. The place was crowded, and I sat next to a man who did not have access to laundry nor shower, and I could hardly mind. Only this morning did I think, I should have given him my cocoa. But I am a slow thinker, as writers often are.

We walked home in the raw damp, and talked. The emotional power of the movie is still potent. The facts of the plot have proved to be false dreams. Plastic from soybeans, suburban tract houses. That a lively downtown with music clubs is bad, (Ok, the Dime a Dance and Girls,Girls, Girls and casinos is....) But the town is not a disneyfied ideal either, it just happens to be where all of George's friends live.

So we figured out an ending. Potter dies. Of course. And dies intestate - not wanting to give anyone a profit motive for wanting him dead. Turns out, George is is only living kin, a distant cousin. Well, in a town that size Potter'd have to be related to someone. So the Baileys venture off to tramp around Europe for a year, and all the kids become photojournalists for National Geographic, or archeologists, or world renowned architects, always inviting George and Mary to visit them in their exotic locales. And George lives a long, long life, making life better for everyone in Bedford Falls, since he now owns the bank and pretty much everything else. So it becomes in effect a co-op town, as people who live there invest in windmill energy and trolleys and local theater and music, maybe even a small college. Violet will start a ballroom dance studio, and get to dance with lots of young men all her life, flirting with them until she's well into her ninties.

There will be grief and loss, heartache and trials, but no willful stupidity or criminal malice.

And no one descended from the Bailey shop gets involved in the S&L crisis or the corrupt housing loan practices.

Because George is Job, and that's how the story is supposed to go.

Needful

My image of five days idly dithering, not driving, soaking in gallons of tea, seems to be eroding. Probably for the best, in the end. Groceries today, via feet, in the plans. Splurging on nice whiskey, also in the plans, two trips to the State Liquor Store because of their hours - not. Better than missing the closing time.

I'd forgotten about the Christmas Eve Day free showing of It's a Wonderful Life that D so wants to attend. I'd said yes, but I was distracted. We'll go, I'll enjoy, but the thought of going feels so burdensome. This is an anxiety trait of mine. I'll make plans to do, and unless I have paid tickets, I will seriously want to bail out, stay home, hunker down. I nearly talked myself out of going for the Humane Society volunteer orientation last week, but I alerted D to my urge to avoid, and he stopped me from listening to my shy fears. One of those supportive services.

And out to the in-laws tomorrow, unless it snows. I really can't deal with a non-essential drive in winter stormage so soon, but otherwise have no excuse if D wants to see his family on a holiday. They are fine people, but I have to bite my tongue so often in conversation with them. I respect, and like, them too much to challenge or shock them, but the thoughts sluice through my brain anyway. I have never been naturally reverent. I also wish they would not get us presents, we don't give gifts to each other, and I have not liked such one sided exchanges since I was twenty. I unwrap supplies forty hours a week, unwrapping a present holds no appeal for me at all anymore.

But we deal with an essential discord between D and I right now. He has way, way, way too much time alone and in, and I have an excess of time out and crowded. We both get too little time together. This is an unresolvable state, until some smart person figures out they should hire D. So, I have to spend some extra time out, and he has to spend more time in, and we at least get to spend it together.


And Moby, well he's soaking up sun, using the stool leg to shade his eyes.

Detailed

The humming bird's(?) isinglass (?) tail feathers have suffered from years of love and travel and simple age, but this is still one of my favorites. I suspect this was not from the family, but one of the elderly neighbor ladies who passed us, as the only family in the street with children, their decorations as they decided not to put up a tree for themselves anymore.


The Peacock as well has aged, still holding a place of honor on the tree. The bright pink ones are from an aunt who liked stylish trees, had a silver one with blue and white balls, with the color wheel. I loved sitting alone in her front room, bathed in rainbow colors.


The hand-blown purple drop is another that I have spent many a childhood hour gazing into. My brother hated the chubby baby santa, worn of it's color even then. I have a strange affection for the creepy wee thing.


The clot of wires disappears at night, and the lights distract from the utilitarian. I used to see tinsel (Icicles) as indispensable, but with Moby's love of linear comestibles, we gladly take a plainer tree.


Somehow, all together, a sort of magic is created. Fragile but enduring.

Humane

Got the tree up for Solstice, will stay until Epiphany. The one time I believe in wretched excess, in decorating a yule tree. Our small silk faker gets a full load of lights and all the ornaments I have accrued from childhood (and before), until now - that I have hangers for. The effect is encrusted and a little loopy, taste gots nothin' to do with it.

I was accused of being a grinch for admitting to not playing christmas, by my scrub yesterday. I told him, we don't have kids, don't need any stuff, and aren't religious, it has to be low key. He had the grace to giggle.

The volunteer orientation for the local humane society this morning is the beginning of my first reaching out in a long time. One cat demanded my attention with her eyes from across the room. All the dogs were beautiful and questioning. I want to write stories about all of them so that loving people will fall in love with them and make homes for them. I want to photograph them and be creatively useful.

I've become very insular, staying close in, a bit agoraphobic, lazy and shy. I once sang sacred harp every week or so, manned the welcome desk at the library as a volunteer, took belly dance classes and threw pots. Now I go to work, come home, see friends for a few hours a week some weeks, and that is the extent of my physical life. In part I am recuperating from so much change, afraid and in pain. This is too soon for my life to be ebbing so. Touching animals always makes me smile and calm down. So, I do this, giving when I feel I have so little. Perfect emotional sense.


The drive home last night after the hardest Friday yet* in the middle of the snowstorm had me very tense. The car is fine, the anti-lock brakes actually worked well, now that I am used to them this year, most other drivers were leaving plenty of distance and taking it slowly. I tripled my ten minute drive home down the hill - without incident. D had ordered Chinese food, ready for me, which helped. We watched I'm Not There, a very interesting film more or less about Bob Dylan, that needs to be severely edited, but is otherwise rather amazing.

Slept hard.





*We voted, worst Friday that did not have a code. Clocked out at 1836, 6:36PM, scheduled until 5. Flood in one room. One case still going when I left. I'll be at the other OR tomorrow at the main hospital. Rather glad I won't have to deal with the aftermath.

Hohoho

I love the idea of a War on Christmas, as though this holiday were some monolithic creature embodying all that is holy, and is under attack by evil robot atheists. The Puritans and Calvinists would argue that a war should be waged on that pagan winter festival, and they were hard core christian soldiers. Most of what we call tradition is a mishmash of older religions, children's literature, and made-up sales promotions. But if we remember it fondly from childhood, it must've always been so, right? Anyone who doesn't have the same idea is hostile to us, right? More fodder for F**X news hysteria. Yellow journalism at it's finest.

But then, strident evangelicals can assert straight-faced that the bible needs to be taken literally, making me wonder if they can actually read since the book is so utterly contradictory even if different translations aren't taken into account. Where the bible tells them to depict the holy family in plastic or plaster on their front lawns... well I'm not a biblical scholar, maybe it is in Deuteronomy.

The market can make a sales day out of Veteran's Day - so desperate are they to separate people from their money. Of course christmas is a capitalist wet dream, it's been a gift giving holiday since it was Saturnalia. Shopping to sooth anxiety, shopping to feed the 'christmas spirit', shopping to stimulate the economy and be patriotic at the same moment. Buy loads of christmas cards and stamps, even if most people make a pile of them, then throw them out.

But of course the message is muddled because the extremists simply want folks riled, it can mean whatever they want it to mean at any moment. "They" want to take away Jesus! "They" want to take away your right to go to church once a year on Christmas! "They" want to remove your memories of unwrapping presents from Santa! Such evil theys they is. Make "them" make everything go back to when christmas was perfect and we were seven!

Ah the pain of disappointed, fully imagined, unvoiced expectations from everyone.

Figure out what is important, in the darkest hours. Which traditions bring joy, who can be included without demanding obedience of them, enchant children, respect faith, share warmth, - celebrate thusly. So in cold sadness, there is a spark of beauty, the comfort of love, the generous sharing of foods and thoughtful gifts. There is a spirit there, when we all want to come together and await the dawn.

We don't do cards or gifts, usually get a small tree up the week of, make sure to get with friends. We go along, but make no demands, quietly pass on any but the most personal presents to those more in need. Not about to take sides in this battle.

Miracles

Our christmases together have always had a strange kind of joy. Not exactly festive, but deeply, oddly happy.

My last one before was the last one with the ex, a fraught and strained season of fear and trepidation. We exchanged t-shirts with humorous mottos. Wasted, pointless and disposable.

Christmas of 1990 D and I were at Fort Carson, waiting to be sent to Gulf War I. We'd taken leave together the week before, to allow slots for those with children, and close family, to return to Salt Lake for the actual holiday.

The regular Army was not best pleased to be hosting a National Guard unit, and had been making access to their chow halls less easy. That day, they had not offered any meals. We found out there had been a brunch, but only after the hours were finished.

No cabs ran on base that day, none of the usual pizza or chinese food places that delivered were working on Christmas. The perhaps-fifty of us there were eating through the care boxes sent by families, who assumed we were not getting enough sugar or booze. By evening, the hunger, and sugar buzz, was becoming miserable. I knew better than to drink on a sugar coated empty stomach, and D didn't drink at all. Oranges appeared, as though a Christmas miracle, and D and I grabbed several, and ran off to eat them together. We kept each other's spirits up, that day. I still felt this was the best Christmas I'd had in many years, and much better than the one preceding.

Our only unbreakable tradition after was to always have food on Christmas.

One year, we soaked at Lava Hot Springs. Snow falling as we simmered outside in the steaming pools. That night at the hotel, even the staff went home. We know there was one other set of guests, but we never saw them. We stared out at the dark night, cozy and quiet. He played his guitar, and I sang a bit. We ate tunachicken (that chicken spread that comes in a can) and oranges, crackers and nuts, enough food brought in case nothing was open.

The next morning, we woke early, as we do often when we visit there, and decided to head home, to visit his parents for early Christmas afternoon. The light was grey, and the fog thick as we left the tiny town tucked into the volcanic mountains. On the freeway, the light glowed gold, and as we looked through the clouds on the horizon, the sun showed - half bitten through. Oh, yes, we'd read there would be a solar eclipse, partial. And had forgotten. But got to watch it through the scrim of cloud, that peculiar light of rolling, snow covered, southern Idaho.

Miracles all over the place, and ephemeral gifts to carry in our hearts all our lives.