I have a couple of friends that recently divulged that while they still enjoy thanksgiving, they have gotten to the point that they really don’t like Christmas very much.  My first reaction was disappointment; hearing someone actually say the words aloud.  But, then I realized that I have become at least melancholy with the holiday.  Simply stated, the burden has come to out-weigh the enjoyment.  There is a pressure to meet some unspoken holiday performance standard.  And, it grows bigger and more grandiose each year.  But I am not going to carry on about this lament of Christmas.  I wager that just about everybody has had these thoughts or heard them spoken.

What I miss is the old magical feeling that used to grow in me every December since I was old enough to hunt for hidden presents in the house.  There was always this deep warmth that had several sources: great home cooked meals, trays and bowls of sweets, tangerines, warm beds, decorations, anticipation, caroling, family.  But in the last few years the magic seems to have weakened.

This year, however, I have seen some of the twinkle return.  I was walking through our little mall and noticed the tree that was on display in the central hall.  It had dozens of white cards hanging from its branches.  Each card had the name and wish list of a local child who is in the children services program; children who will probably not have a decent meal on Christmas day let alone gifts to unwrap.  So, I picked two off of the tree.  They were for little boys, 3 and 6 years old.  The next day I was in Walmart to buy some utilitarian stuff and wandered into the toy section.  I started planning my gift list for my newly acquired charges: that cool looking scooter says that it is for ages 3-5, of course he’ll need a helmet, wow look at all of this cool Lego stuff, every kid could use some warm snow pants and gloves…you get the picture.

I didn’t buy anything yet, I’m saving that for Friday.  But the vision of those little boys ripping through the wrappings, grinning ear to ear and feeling like they matter has brought back some of the anticipation that I’ve almost lost for this magical time of the year.

Winter is about to set upon us in Ohio.  She is in the teasing mode right now;  presenting lots of moisture and dipping the temperature just low enough to threaten snow but pulling back at the last moment.  I can visualize the icy, threatening grin as she flashes glimpses of things to come.

Well, one of the advantages of accumulating a few years is that you gain the perspective, “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all”.  We have gotten through past winters and we will get through the coming one.

Speaking of age and winter, I have entered into one of the primary seasons of life – I have retired my formal working career.  This phase is often referred to as life’s winter season, but I feel more like I am in an extended fall.  Maybe this is what wintering in Key West is like.  I am only 58 years old so by most accounts, too young to retire.  Some of those years however provided some accelerated wear and tear.  My oncologist suggested that considering the cancer, chemo and stem cell transplant, I should consider getting out from under the burden and stress of the “daily grind”.  The damage to various body systems has turned out to be progressive; the sum of which is to render me less and less able to cope with the rigors of working a stressful job.  One of the realizations that I have experienced is the connection between the body, mind, and emotions.  The stress to my body has taken a toll on the stability of my emotions and nerves.  The emotional connection became very apparent a few years ago when I did so much blogging.  I wrote prose and poetry; both spewing forth almost without “my” control.  I sort of watched as an observer.

I don’t feel physically bad all of the time as long as I can rest on demand and don’t have to deal with much responsibility.   I still feel active and have thoughts for a number of projects that I would like to tackle so, I don’t really feel much like the chilled, muffled tones of winter are setting in.  But, fall is definitely maturing, the leaves are all fallen, and it is a good idea to have a sweater handy.

I had been working in the yard and came into the house for some water.  I saw that my grandson (7y.o.) had his nice cloths on.

Me – “you and mommy going somewhere?”

GS- “yep”

Me- “I’d give you a hug, but I’m all sweaty”

GS- “I don’t mind”

Never underestimate a 5 year old: 

Background Info:  Mommy works at a veterinary office.  Grandson occasionally hangs around the office, watching the various goings on.

We did the cash-for-clunkers thing over the weekend and ended up with a new car.  In the process of transition I had all of the crap from the old car glove box laying out on the kitchen counter for a day.  That night Wife told me that she had to soak the tire gage in alcohol and hoped that it still worked.  ?????  “Grandson told me that he had to check Ky’s (mommy’s dog) butt-hole temperature”.

(not to worry – grandson knows what will pull grandma’s chain.  There’s no way he even got close to Ky’s…er…posterior with the thermometer/tire gage.  Ky is an alaskan huskie, weighs as much as grandson and can’t stand to have his tail touched let alone have a 5 year old play doctor with a tire gage.)

Hrrmmmm…*tap*…*tap*…”testing”…
Just seeing if the blog is still functioning. 

Hi y’all.  I am indeed still around.  I haven’t had any original or interesting thoughts in a year or so, therefore, no blogs.  I still don’t have much to write about except I had to share this grandson moment (turned 5 last Saturday…time flies):
During the bedtime cuddle time Wife says, “You’re a good boy, Grandson”.  To which Grandson replied, “You’re a good woman, Grandma”

Ok, so maybe you have to be a grandparent and maybe you had to be there, but I couldn’t stop laughing when I heard that retold.

my page is all screwed up.  Granted I haven’t used it much but, heh, it’s mine!

There is nothing more pure than a spontaneous hug from a three-year-old.  And, given enough of these, I think that I could survive on this alone.

I looked
at the calendar and realized that if I’m going to keep up my semi-annual blog
rate, I’d better get busy and get it done. 
It is Sunday morning and I am sitting at work trying to figure out how
to reduce overhead costs.  This blog is a
tell-tale sign of the progress that I am making.

It is a
grey autumn morning.  The trees in our
area are beautiful this weekend.  My mind
keeps drifting back to yesterday, which was one of those perfect autumn days
that we get to enjoy from time to time.  I
saw this excerpt in one of LMF’s recent blogs and it really struck home: 

-O world,
I cannot hold thee close enough!-  E. St.
Vincent Millay

Late in
the afternoon, my wife and I drove to a nearby town to pick up a piece of
furniture that we had bought.  I told her
that I really hated to see this day come to a close because it was such a
perfect, rare autumn day.  I felt like I
couldn’t breath in enough of the sweet, sharp air and that I was compelled to
look at every tree.  I suppose that if
days like these were more common, we might appreciate them less, but as it is,
I will wait impatiently for this time next year.

“PaPaw, mon”
“Where we goin’”
“pin”
“You want to open the garage”
“Uh-huh, gawg”
“Do you want to push the button?”
“Uh-huh, but..tin”
“PaPaw, mow”
“Talk softly”
“PaPaw, mow”
“That’s better”
“We can’t ride the tractor, ’cause its raining”
“Mow!”
“Not now.  We can hammer nails”
“Uh-huh, naoes”

Grandson is learning to talk at an exponential rate now.  It’s just amazing.
He can also drive an 1-1/4 roofing nail in under 10 whacks!

I had a bit of an eye opener this week.  This is something that everybody is aware of unless you just flew in from Mars;  things that one writes and posts on the web really are open to total public scrutiny.  If you don’t want everyone or anyone under any circustance, either present or future, to read what you’ve written, then you better not post it on the web.  I was half listening to a story on the radio this week; I don’t remember exactly what the story was about but, it had something to do with a soldier who I think died in Iraq.  In the story the soldier’s widow was quoted on some things she wrote on a blog or bulletin board.  It may not have been an issue for her, the fact that this was now being broadcast over the radio waves.  This wasn’t clear from what I heard of the story, but the content sounded to me as if it was something that was written for a small, select audience of confidants.  One part was something to the effect of, “…wait ’till he get’s home with that sweet ass of his and we’ll make more babies…”.  It struck me like a ton of bricks;  The reporter who created this story was probably able, via some simple search techniques, to come up with some obscure postings by this “everyday” person and felt ethically sanctified and journalistically obliged to include them as part of her radio story.  I think what happened with me on hearing this was that it got me over the hump of thinking that all of the warnings coming from various sources were derived from a rampant big-brother paranoia.

The internet is an amazing and wonderful tool on one hand.  But, on the other hand is a media the likes of which we have never known.  It will take time before social, moral, ethical and legal norms evolve that allow us embed this tool as part of our lives while minimizing its capability to control and even catastrophically change our lives.  For those of us who are a little slow on the up-take, a little bit of paranoia my be a good thing.