Christmas Calm

 This is my Christmas tree. Today is January 4. The tree has been up since the day after Thanksgiving. As usual.

As you can see, there are gifts waiting, for my sisters and mostly for my grandkids. 

I like looking at these gifts, ready and waiting for the children.

There are no spectacular gifts this year; at least I don't think so. They had no burning desires for anything special, except Warren wanted a real robot. I left that to Santa.

These are gifts that say "I love you." and maybe even "the silliest things make me think of you." Special for no other reason than that.

I had an opportunity to take their gifts to them on Christmas Eve, but they weren't wrapped. And they would be on Christmas break from their schools. Surely we'd somehow get together in that time.

But it did not happen. 

Life got in the way, with all its complications and contradictions. Illness, wellness, work, cars, the current pandemic. (Current for nearly two years now. That's a long time for a "right now" event, don't you think?) All sorts of stuff; the 'stuff' of daily living. 

Life got in the way.

Once upon a time, this would have infuriated me, or insulted me, or any of many intense negative emotional reactions. 

But I'm not mad.

They'll get them sometime.

When life allows.

In the meantime, I can look at the gifts and be pleased that I have gifts for them. There have been times -- many, many times -- when that couldn't didn't happen. 

I can wait for the giving. 

I can wait for the children.

I can wait for life to return to normal, or something approaching that.

Life will never be normal again.

Too much has changed.

But love doesn't.

The joy of giving doesn't.

That is the normal I can wait for.

Strange New World

 I think everyone can agree, at least here in the US, that this year has changed the world. Changed the norms. "They" keep talking about the "New Normal" -- which is a long way from normal, and isn't even all the new. It's just never affected so much population at the same time, largely because there has never been so much population at the same time before. 

The big thing for us all -- the world -- has been the pandemic; the covid; the coronavirus; the new plague; the new SARS. Whatever you want to call it. 

But it wasn't the only thing. The year started off wrong before then. Schools were already closing because people were getting sick, but this sickness in these great numbers has absolutely noithing to do with the one that came along later.

Australia was on fire. 

There have been eclipses and earthquakes. There have been floods and even more fires. (Last I knew, Colorado was still burning.) There have been killer hornets and hurricanes. There have been Supermoons and Micromoons and blue moons. Wearing -- or not wearing -- a face mask became a civil right, while people are still being denied housing or help or work and being waited on. 

I'm forgetting a lot. 

No doubt come the end of the year, everyone will have lists and stories and who-knows-what. 

The scary thing is there's still seven weeks for even more fun to be had. 

This week alone we've had elections and reactions and Boston was shaken.  Who knows what the future still has for us?

Many people have died.

Some have been born, yes. 

Births and Deaths, the most universal of human experiences were, for a while, legislated to be done alone, with no family near; with no loved ones attending. 

Imagine having ONLY strangers to share your most intimate, most human moments with no one of your own. You may not even know their names, and because of masks, you definitely don't know their faces.

Too many of these deaths were NOT caused by Covid. 

Too many of these had nothing to do with the Great Illness.

They were dying of normla things. Flu, and emphysema, and liver failure, and kidney failure. Aneurysms and strokes and hemorrhages murders and suicides. 

Accidents and terminal diseases. 

My oldest daughter died of a cancer of unknown origin. 

In approximately six weeks, she went from having achy legs to be dead. 

And I couldn't be there for her, in person. In myself. 

I couldn't talk with her -- she lost her voice. 

I couldn't hold her hand.

I couldn't say good-bye, let alone sit with her as she left us all forever.

This is unforgettable.

This is unforgiveable.