It's that time of year again. It's time to sum up the last year in some sort of sentimental way.
I would fill out one of those Year-In-Review questionnaires, but somehow answering a survey and posting it on the blog seems like a hollow cop-out to me.
The truth is that last year was filled with a lot of difficulties and triumphs. There were moments sublime and moments that filled me with horror.
The passing year reminded me of seeing a fireworks display. There aren't many surprises found for me in the explosive shells lobbed into the night sky. Yet, each time I see a fireworks display something captures me. Some explosion in the sky burns itself into my retina for seconds and I feel so happy to be alive and to experience the short lived beauty of the fire in the sky. Then the show ends, there is nothing left but smoke and some ashes floating down, and I pick up my blanket and head for the car and a traffic jam.
That is what the end of this year is like. This year was nothing special -- just like the rest, but it was filled with heart stopping beauty -- just like the rest. I'm left feeling so thankful to be alive and to experience all that life has graciously handed to me.
P.S. I decided to strikeout everything that was boring, non-specific, or slightly untrue.
Generalities: December 2004 Archives
Monica wrote beautifully about a Christmas tradition involving a wafer called Oplatek.
Reading this essay really moved me. While I enjoy giving and receiving gifts during Christmas, the most rewarding bit of Christmas for me this year was showing my appreciation to a person who is in some ways at the periphery of my life. I stopped this person and told them how much their simple acts of service and kindness meant to me and wished them a great holiday.
Once the two of us had hugged and gone back to our busy day I realized that having that short interaction was the most important thing I had accomplished that day. I only wish I had a tradition like Monica's to wrap around the event.
I think my family is going to adopt this tradition for next year.
Here are some more references to this tradition.
It's Christmas Day. After lunch today the presents had all been opened, the children were running around in their holiday vests and the wrapping paper and boxes had finally all been cleaned up. Usually by that time of day we are rushing to someone's house or having guests. Today we are not entertaining anyone nor are we going somewhere to be entertained.
It was really fun to watch the paroxysms of joy of the kids face when they opened their presents today. As an adult, and a cynical adult at that, it's hard to remember what it felt like to open a gift and have those same emotions coursing through my body.
I did really enjoy my presents, although I didn't feel the kind of joy that makes one wiggle and dance. I don't think that relates to the quality of my presents, but rather my inability to realize the joy that exists in my life.
In my mind, I sometimes reflect at the end of a day and realize how everything and everyone in my daily life is a gift to me. For some reason, it's hard to think that way during the day, when everyone and everything is in motion around me. A little gratitude would do wonders for me no doubt, but I don't know if it will put the wiggle and dance back into my life.
So, by the way, since I am bringing up the idea of gratitude, thanks for reading. The fact that people actually keep reading, and occasionally commenting, makes this whole thing worthwhile.
Happy Solstice
It's the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. In Minnesota, where I live, the sun won't rise until 7:49 A.M. and will set at 4:33. Its cloudy today, on top of it being an already short day. I miss the sun. I miss the feeling of the sun on my bare skin, the nauseating brilliance of the glare when you've been sailing all day and the cool you feel when the sun goes behind a cloud. I should celebrate the Solstice, perhaps I already do.
When I first came to Minnesota there was a woman in my apartment building who died of cancer one winter. Her husband threw out her things the next week. He practically filled an entire trash can with her unpublished, feminist sci-fi space operas. I grabbed a few and tried to read them. The manuscripts were neither awful nor wonderful. The rejection letters which were left in the manuscripts were kind and a few were obviously not form letters. My memory of Karen, who withered away from breast cancer, is colored by how her life's creative output ended up in the trash heap. Her work should have been buried with her and accorded a little respect. From my perspective, her manuscripts were as much part of her body as her bones; at least her bones were awarded a measure of dignity even in death.
I mention this as last month was "National Novel Writing Month". I spent my month doing things other than writing, so I have nothing to brag about.
One of my co-workers did finish the requisite 50,000 words in November. I was so impressed when I heard about this. While I have always talked about writing something substantial, I've never yet had the internal motivation sufficient to actually do more than write opening scenes and notes about what to include later.
So what stops me really digging in and writing something longer than an email or blog posting? I'm not sure; perhaps it's the image of Karen's husband unceremoniously throwing the type written manuscripts into the trash without so much as a curse or a prayer.
In all probability it's nothing complex or poetic or heroic that prevents me from writing. I am putting the energy and passion of my life into other more mundane pursuits like finding the perfect cup of coffee. Writing mustn't be that important to me if I'm not willing to give up something else in order to write.
