ON FINDING THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT


Driving in to work the other evening I purposely turned the radio off. Seems these days my girl Amy Goodman only reports on the failure of the Democratic party to win and what's going on with the Green and Liberatarian Party's miserable recount effort in Ohio.

So, driving in I get to hearing my own mind and the thoughts that are important to me -- a treat I rarely have -- and I started to think about how much better I'm doing this winter. Usually by this time, I'm on the brink of winter depression with full force coming right about February. Winters here in the Northeast/Mid-Atlantic are bland and colorless for the most part. It's dark when you wake and dark right around 4:30 or 5:00 p.m. It's cold and it takes a whole lot of effort to go anywhere. My body feels laden--two layer Columbia jacket (which is very warm and I know I shouldn't complain but it is indeed heavy), scarf, gloves, layered clothing. And I miss, terribly miss, the color -- oranges, blues, violets -- the color of spring and summer. It takes the strength of Job for me to pull myself out of bed in the winter. Sunlight is priceless for me and on the days that the sky is milky gray, I have, in the past, been a miserable mess.

But this year, I decided that I'm going to do my very best to get control over my seasonal depression. I decided I was going to celebrate both the Harvest and the Winter Solstice. Cultivating this sense of awareness has taught me to seek out the beauty of this season and to appreciate it for what it is. In the late afternoon I stop to watch the sunset--naked, arthritic branches in the foreground, striations of pink and deep blue in the back. I go outdoors to breathe and notice how good the crisp, fresh air really feels inside my nose. Soon I discover that I do not really miss the humidity of summer, the typical East Coast air that is so thick it feels like you are breathing through a straw. I check out the morning sky and watch more ducks overhead in their V-shape formation, heading south, reminding me of the timeliness of all things: there's a time to lead and a time to fall back and follow; let someone else take the reigns. I held onto my pumpkins despite the fact that harvest time is gone. They are lined up on the back deck, still a bright orange, brightening my mood with color. And then there are the animals, so intelligent. Squirrels not even fretting, knowing full well that they have done the best they could to plan. I see one or two with acorns between their paws, happy as can be.

But another thing has put it in perspective for me. That night, when I reached work, my co-worker gave me an update on another co-worker's health. Our colleague, M (not a real initial), went out recently on health leave. She had been feeling weak and her speech was slurred. She suffered a stroke shortly thereafter and has been hospitalized for weeks. She is in her early fifties. The diagnostics reveal that she has several inoperable brain tumors. Word is that they are neuroblastomas, the type that grow like a web across the brain, rather than a nodule tumor type. There are three. She has had a second opinion and chemo/radiation would make her violently ill for only a bare minimal success rate. She can no longer feed herself and when asked questions like, "Are you still hungry?," she answers, "Green."

She is the kind of nurse that I would want to take care of me. She believes in giving back rubs and holding hands. She feeds patients and talks to them and asks, "Now, will you have enough money to buy your prescriptions when you leave?" She puts in requests for the social worker to come and aide these people as best she can.

She asked for one thing: to have a party with all her friends and family. She has opted against any heroics ... no chemo, no radiation, no anything. Just to go home with her family to live out, what she believes, are her last days.

When asked what I want for Christmas this year, I repeatedly tell Spouse that I want nothing. There is absolutely nothing that I can bring myself to ask for. I have more books than I can read, more CDs than I can listen to. In my heart, I ask God to cure "M" or, to take away any suffering she might feel. I pray that her soul will rest in a good place and that it will find peace. And if I had anything to ask for, for myself, it would be to turn my own clock back and erase all my years of worrying, doubting, obsessing over little things.

I wonder if M will spend these next days watching the sky, breathing in the crisp cold air, admiring the squirrels. Will she meet the late afternoon sunset with joy and an appreciation for winter's colors? I'm sure she will.

Yesterday morning I felt a nudge pulling me out of my bed and into the morning darkness. I rose with ease. I went to my writing desk and pumped out five new pages of Evelyn, talking in her own words. (A chapter I've been struggling to revise). I cooked breakfast for the children when they woke. We listened to Lizz Wright on the player and I sung like I thought I had talent. Later I strung Christmas lights outside with Spouse and the kids, in the cold. Back inside, the children pulled out there Kwanzaa books and their zawadi from last year and laid it on the altar. We made plans for baking brownies but didn't quite get to it. The children and I went to Fridays for dinner and afterwards I stopped by the winery and bought a bottle of Spiced Wassail and Jazzberry (two delightful wines). After tucking them in, rather than rushing to write again, I cracked open the Jazzberry, laid across the couch with my Mexican blanket spread across me and sipped. After a while I turned on Bamboozled, a movie I've had from Netflix for over a month. I laid back and enjoyed the feeling of being alive.

Thank you God, that I'm alive and well.

Peace to you this holiday and always.

ANGEL