Trip to get the tree

I went through the camera and downloaded December's pictures. Most are from our trip to get a tree a couple weeks ago. I just did a little rough editing.

As you can see, other than this nice one of Robyn (see sly smile), I didn't really get any pictures of the actual excursion.





It was cold and the sky was amazing, very dark, with crystals floating around as the sun went down. I snapped all the sky pictures from a moving car while Robyn drove. The consensus was that I am a dork.










Might be something to that. There's no substitute for pressing the shutter button, though. You never know what's going to work.











Who says Winter is depressing? Okay, maybe a little.













I'm going to get a call from the developer on this one. She's concerned that I'm just plain ignorant. These next are all twisty and out of focus in places. I like 'em that way.

























I'm hoping that you enjoy looking around you as much as I do. It's possible I value it more after the trials of this year. My trials were not the worst to befall a person this year. A sore back is a badge of honor.

If you're reading this, I'm glad for you. I was going to write a noble exhortation but then the dog gagged.

'Nuff said.

Intrepid

Walker, Robyn and I went out to see Mom and bring her a warm blanket and soft comforter for Christmas Day. Generally I go see Mom alone. Robyn comes pretty often, the kids seldom. Walker was not sure Mom knew who he was. She wasn't letting on. I am reluctant to take mom out these days. She doesn't walk well and the chaos of gatherings confuses her. I tell myself I'll try to take her out for a drive first. She liked her gifts but I don't think she really connected them to Christmas. Walker said she had tears in her eyes. Why do I always cry when you come? We drove to Papa's for his gift exchange.

My technique these days is to find a good spot on the big sofa (one of the recliner sections), smile, and watch. I'm also on a "no verbal negativity" diet. If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything. Midwestern wisdom at it's best. You don't hate modern art. It's different, is all. I was pretty quiet. My kids came to sit with me, which is never bad. I got a couple hugs from Papa [one forward, one sideways] and a good, very aerodynamic new bicycle helmet.

My sister in law is a sort of holiday equestrian. She comes to these events and rides her kids. "Brent! Get in here and eat some rolls!" "Brent! Does your mother know you're doing that! [Playing with his Nintendo DS.]" "Did you eat?" "Go back and eat some more!" No one will say these kids did anything for lack of supervision. These folks mean well; perhaps that's what's so disturbing.

Papa is glad to have us all around, but dammit he's in his 80's and if he wants to read the incidental cautionary statements on the outside of the box the DVD player came in out loud to all of us, he's certainly earned that right. Back when there were lots of kids of a certain age, nobody could build the suspense like Papa, reading the label on the little bag of silica that came with your transistor radio. I'm not here because I expect a great gift (got one!). I'm here because he built half my last house, and came to problem solve every practical disaster I encountered in the first 15 years I knew him. Papa has his own way of working things out and if you're not along for the ride, you'd best go some place and gnaw on your hand.

Caitlin went off Highway 30 on the way. She got herself unstuck and drove the rest of the way to Papa's very slowly. She did this unsupervised. Probably could have used some oversight. After a while I drove Caitlin home. "Why do these things always make me so grumpy?" she asked.

"Breathe," I said.

Robyn and Walker came home about an hour later. We watched "Up."

At six, it seemed very late, and we each went to our own corner. The falling rain and ice turned to snow. I noticed the garage door was still open and turned off the porch light and the Christmas tree.

I'm trying to remember how I felt last year at this time. It seems decades ago. I bet I wasn't this glad to be here.

Yule

Cam Waters took his own life, presumably sometime last Saturday, leaving himself for his wife to find. This is a public enough place that more detail should probably not go here and I don't know much detail. Will's on his way to Sue's family Christmas in Ames and we're going over for a family gathering tonight. I want to know what became of Cam, but I'm not in a hurry to mix it with this holiday.

I was picking my way through the usual Alzheimer's Christmas conundrum. Mom qualifies for Hospice now, so I did an intake with them first thing Tuesday morning and then went shopping. This was a triumph of logistical planning on my part.

This season I'm pleased to be here and relatively intact. I spent much of the Summer wondering how I'd end up, and after weeks of PT I'm here to say things are working better than I ever dared hope they would. I had decided to be grateful and try to be in the various moments offered by family ritual(s) present in that gratitude. Really.

Cam's death, particularly at his own hands, presents another challenge to my spirit of gratitude. I don't know what he was thinking. I'm trying to be less judgmental. He pisses me off, though. I know folks who'd have killed to have his talent and intellect. I was planning on him being around.

Over and over I learn that I don't get to control these things. You'd think I'd get better at this. It's Christmas Eve.

Hold close those you love and tell them why. Peace.

Sunday morning

I stopped in to see Mom this morning, armed with some dwarf daffodils and a variegated poinsettia. Mom was awake and admired the flowers. I took them to her room and we sat a while and talked about nothing. I looked over and there was a tear in the corner of her eye.

"I don't know why I always cry when you come," she said.

"I don't know, Mom." We sat for a little. I held her hand.

"I should go to bed," she said. I offered to help her get there and she said "oh, no, I can do it." We sat a little longer.

"I have to get back to work," Mom said.

I gave her a kiss goodbye. Whatever it was she thought we were doing was over. I could have said "I know why you're crying, Mom." That would have been more honest. I know that she saw me for a moment and realized that we were here in this place, acting out our parts in the dread scene she never wanted to play. The idea was gone fast as it came.

Leaving only a tear in the corner of an eye.

I'm taking a minute for reflection before I go to work. I spent some time under the hands of my physical therapist today and he did a masterful job on my poor overworked neck. I played basketball yesterday and really wrung myself out and this morning I was in a permanent shrug, with strong Yertle the Turtle style neck thrusting. All my tendons contracted and refused to budge. Nate took care of that. Good man!

He won't tell me not to play basketball either. I think he figures the lack of mobility the next day is its own consequence. I'm so happy to be able to expend strenuous energy again, I'm probably overdoing it. Okay, I AM overdoing it. I had grown very fond of doing something very physical and then feeling the warm, achy glow of having done so. My endorphins battled my darker parts as well as anything can. I'm willing to ache for this. Besides, today's ache is nothing. I haven't taken my opioid in days, and today I haven't even had a Tylenol yet. Just me and my old creaky body! Just like old times.

Almost.