Twelfth Night … and more about dogs and magical creatures

 

Jacob on Twelfth Night
too many years ago

We celebrated Twelfth Night, the liturgical end of the Christmas season, with our family tradition of each burning a small branch of evergreen and making a secret wish. I spent the morning making a large batch of potato salad and a marinated green bean salad while Christian fixed barbecued meatballs, so it was sort of anticlimactic that two of our guests cancelled because of illness and two others had not shown up by the time I came back out to the cottage.

My twig always misses, but I
don't think that's an omen

But we had a lovely ceremony at the front porch fire pit on this night of the full moon. I love that Jacob has been doing this every year his whole life and hung around with the old folks to make his own wish—then he was off to find his friends. Jean was with us, and Amye Cole, and Jordan burned a secret wish, written and sealed in an envelope, from a friend who was not able to join us.

The news about Sophie continues to be good—this morning, her fever was gone, her kidneys were improving, and she was eating canned chicken. We will go visit her tomorrow morning, and I am hoping we can bring her home Monday. June Bug, who had us as worried on Christmas Day, continues her sudden miraculous recovery. Christian found some pad for dogs’ feet to keep them from slipping, so now Junie is confident in walking—and wanders constantly all over the house.

Since my mind is on animals tonight, I have two things to share. First is a story I stole from Gabe Fleisher’s “Wake Up to Politics” column this morning. (If you don’t read this online bipartisan column of news from D.C., I urge you to look it up—now a college junior in D.C., Fleisher started it some ten years ago as a young boy. It is reliable, accurate, informative, and—as I said—bipartisan, to the point that I sometimes wish he’d lean a bit more left.) Fleisher likes, when possible, to end his daily column with a human interest or humorous story. This was this morning’s:

The Los Angeles County Department of Animal Care and Control recently received an unusual request. “I would like your approval if I can have a unicorn in my backyard,” Madeline, age six, wrote straightforwardly.

Luckily for her, the bureaucracy relented and cut through the red tape. Director Marcia Mayeda wrote back, granting Madeline a unicorn license, so long as she complied with the county’s “conditions,” including that the animal be given “regular access to sunlight, moonbeams, and rainbows.” So nice to know that bureaucracy has a sense of the magical.

Responding to my news about Sophie, a friend sent me this lovely quote from President Joe Biden: “Dogs’ lives are short, too short, but you know that going in. You know the pain is coming, you’re going to lose a dog, and there’s going to be great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with him. You can’t support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion. There’s such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always being aware it comes with an unbearable price. Maybe loving dogs is a way we do penance for all the mistakes we make in life.” Thanks to Jaimie Smith for sharing this—it has been a greatly comforting thought to me.

Make a wish for the coming year, if not on an evergreen branch thrown in the fire, how about on that full moon? And sweet dreams as we had full steam ahead into 2023.

 

 

 

 

Another day of infamy

 

This morning I remarked to a friend that we have had three days of infamy in my lifetime—December 7, September 11, and now January 6. She reminded me I had made an awful omission—November 22, the day of the Kennedy assassination. Still, it’s remarkable to me that my lifetime has seen such catastrophic events in our history. A slight qualifier: I was one year old when Pearl Harbor was hit and have no memory of the event. Still make me old!

If you’re on social media or the internet news at all, there is not much new to be said about yesterday’s attempted coup. But there are questions, a big one being why the Capitol police were not more prepared. Increasingly, talk on the net attributes that to the underlying racism in our society. Law enforcement simply did not expect violence from a bunch of white guys, though they were armed to the teeth and in riot gear for a BLM rally in recent months. My question though is why, since Capitol police basically handled the rioters with kid gloves until the day got away from them, why did they shoot one woman? Granted, she probably knew the risk, and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it still puzzles me that she was the only apparent victim. Three others are said to have died of medical emergencies.

Today I am in reluctant praise of Vice-president Mike Pence and Leader of the House Mitch McConnell. After sanctioning trump’s antics for four years with their silent complicity, each stood up yesterday and did what they had to do. They probably did more than anything else to defuse the situation. On the other hand, I think Cruz, Hawley and their co-conspirators should not be allowed to help govern our country. The thought of Steve Scalise moaning about violence turns my stomach.

 We’ll be chewing on yesterday’s events for a long time, and we may get some answers. But there are, to me, some good signs—for instance, the Democratic victory in Georgia over two trump supporters. And I bet some trump supporters saw the folly of what they’ve been supporting—too little too late but better than nothing.

Yesterday was sort of a bad day at Black Rock for me even without the national turmoil, though I admit I was glued to the TV all day. I woke in the morning feeling slightly sick to my stomach, a feeling that has bothered me in recent weeks. Never could pinpoint anything I ate and even wondered if it was due to the holidays, covid, and/or the turmoil in our country. Yesterday I contacted my doctor, and he said we would treat it as dyspepsia. The very word conjured up a vision of the gluttonous Samuel Johnson in the eighteenth century. But I got a prescription—something not available to Johnson—and expect to feel better from now on.

Then, yesterday, in the midst of the turmoil in Washington, my computer quit. Cold. A black, blank screen. If you know me at all, you know the computer is where I spend my days. I write, I read, I follow some social media, I send and get lots of emails. Without the computer I was at loose ends—seriously considered going back to bed. The plugs and connections for the computer are where my walker and I cannot get to them, so I had to wait for Jordan to finish an extraordinarily long business call. But when she came out to the cottage, she found the problem right away—the monitor had come unplugged. I was back in business.

We had take-out food from our favorite Japanese restaurant last night and then followed our twelfth-night ritual, which we’d almost forgotten in the hectic atmosphere of the day. Jacob was the one who reminded us when he asked at supper, “Isn’t tonight Twelfth night?” Since my childhood, it’s been a family custom for each person to burn a twig from the Christmas tree on Twelfth Night and make a wish for the coming year. Of course, you cannot tell anyone else your wish. So mine was—oh, never mind! Some years we share this custom with neighbors, but this year, because of quarantine, it was just the four of us. At the end of that awful day, I found this custom and a short prayer for Epiphany comforting. It was as a sign that all will be well in the world.

Still, I was grateful last night to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.

Twelfth Night, neighbors, and an ongoing tradition

My family has along tradition of celebrating Twelfth Night, or Epiphany, with a roaring fire in the fireplace. Each person, in turn, throws a small sprig of evergreen into the fire and makes a wish for the coming year. If you tell your wish, it will not come true. A Chicago neighbor, who was like an aunt, started that when I was very young. I have no idea if she made it up or where she got the idea. I’ve heard of other Epiphany traditions—King’s Cake, for instance—but never heard of anyone else burning branches.  What it could have to do with the arrival of the three kings at the stable in Bethlehem is beyond me, but I like traditions.

I kept it going with my children when they were young, and we’ve done it with Jacob every year, I think. In recent years, Jordan, Christian, and I have included a few neighbors, as we did last night. Jordan had a lengthy list of friends, but several declined for various reasons, so there we were ten of us. The evening was pleasant, only a little chilly, and the Burtons have a new (to them) outdoor firepit, so we burned our branches on the front porch.

Every Christmas Jordan longs for the chocolate chip bars I always made for my annual tree trimming party. It’s been at least four years since I’ve given that party, so it’s been four years she’s been talking about it. So for last night, nothing would do but I had to make those bars. It was always a project, but more so in my tiny kitchen. The dough is like chocolate chip cookie dough only much stiffer—to make bars instead of cookies. I took it as far as I could but had to call Jordan for the final stirring.  My arms have lost strength, and I mostly cook from my Rollator which makes an awkward  angle for heavy-duty stirring. By the time Jordan came to help me, I was covered with flour and had a good smear of chocolate across my chest. Not only that but I had dropped a whole egg on the floor—it literally jumped out of my hand.

            The chocolate chip bars were a hit, the firm warm and cheering, the wishes silent – I’ll never tell! Even Sophie got to be part of the festivities though neighbor Greg, who ended up with her, said it was apparent she doesn’t spend much time on a leash. After the ceremonial burning, we sat in the living room and caught up with each other’s news.

Chalk the evening up as another nice memory.

Reflective moments

My dinner companions

Dinner last night with two old and dear friends—both, like me, former doctors’ wives, one divorced, as I am, and one widowed. We talked of ex-husbands and good times and people we knew and now wonder about and those halcyon days when we thought we had the world on a strong. It’s been a long fifty years since we met, and our paths have diverged, but I am so grateful that we can still remember and laugh and mourn together—and toast our good fortune. The talk got me reflecting back on my life and marriage—when my husband left, I was devastated, afraid I could not raise four children on my own. But he gave me the greatest gift, besides giving me the four children. I found out I could do it and with some degree of success—they are all happy with good careers and families of their own, and I am so proud of them and so sorry he never shared in the joy of watching them mature and never was part of the “family” we became. And I am grateful that he freed me to pursue a career of my own, instead of focusing my life on being a doctor’s wife. I may not have hit the bestseller list or overseen publication of a work that shook the halls of academia, but it’s been a good and rewarding career.

Another reflective moment: Jacob was an acolyte at church today, probably his last stint in

that role. He’s aged out. Generally, children do it in fifth or sixth grade or through their twelfth year, which means he could do it until spring. But I think he’s done, so it was a bittersweet moment—and a different experience since the church was set up for the Boar’s Head Festival and he had to improvise a bit on the candle lighting and snuffing. In honor of the occasion, lots of pictures, including one with the senior minister. But I like the one with his grandmother best.

And tonight, a small gathering of people I care about for Twelfth Night. When I was a kid, my neighbor/adopted aunt always had a Twelfth Night ceremony whereby you threw a branch of the tree into the fire and made a wish. The kids and I have continued the tradition for years. With Jordan, it’s grown beyond family to something we share with others. She did her usual magic job of entertaining tonight, with a happy hour spread and plentiful wine. The night was slightly chilly but we all gathered around the fire pit to throw our greens and make our wishes and enjoy the warmth of the fire. Christian had gotten some pinion to burn with the firewood, and it smelled wonderful, even if smoke did get into our eyes and hair. One of those moments when I felt so blessed. And no, I’m not telling what my

wish was—that would ruin the whole thing.

Now I’m inside, hearing voice from Jordan, Christian, and a friend who lingered and seeing the flames. Next year we need Graham crackers and Hershey bars and marshmallows.

Epiphany--the Christmas season is done

We celebrated Epiphany tonight, the night that legend tells us the Wise Men arrived at the manger, having followed the Star. It's a wonderful tale--you can see them in your mind, bowing down before the babe, awestruck by his holiness. My church does an annual Boar's Head Festival celebrating both the birth of Christ and the medieval banishment of evil. The arrival of the Wise Men is always one of the most dramatic moments.
In my family, we have a tradition that began who knows where? Probably in the imagination of a neighbor/aunt when I was a child. But I've carried it on with my own children and now with at least one grandchild. Each individual throws a small evergreen branch into the fire and makes a wish. It's done by age, though we couldn't remember if the eldest went first or the youngest. Clearly, there's no question about which is which--I am the eldest, and Jacob is the youngest. I went first, threw my branch too far back, and it didn't light. I was given another twig and it burned, but I really think that's cheating. Of course, you can't tell anyone what your wish was. But I think mine will come true anyway. Of course I'm very curious what Jacob wished but I'll never ask.
We had vegetable soup--easiest group dinner I've ever fixed--but still by the time I set the table, cleaned up from last night, did a laundry, emptied the garbage, made a delicious smoked salmon spread, made the soup, etc., I was exhausted. I woke up tired today and never got over it. Looking forward to an early bedtime tonight. Since this is the tail end of the holiday season, I got out my plaid china (it's red and green) and used green place mats. All festive looking. I'll get my groove back on tomorrow.
Once again, my wish for you is everything you want 2015 to be. I feel in my bones it's going to be a good year--but then I wonder how much damage the Republican Congress can do!

The end of family time

I had a bit more family time than I expected--even after we returned from our week in Santa Fe. Jacob was with me all week, from Monday until this afternoon, while his parents were out of town. I thought we had a good time until I asked him today and he said no, but I hope he was joking. One thing I realized this week was that I'm not a helicopter grandmom--I don't have time to hover over him, which means he spends far more time on the iPad and iPhone than he should. It used to be TV but he rarely watches that now. We often exist at separate ends of the house and are both content.
Last night, thought, he built an elaborate "house" by my desk and insisted he was spending the night there. I suggested the floor was hard but he could not be dissuaded. So I brought extra blankets, and the oversize doll pillow from the playroom, tucked him in and said goodnight.
About six a.m. I felt this pat on my shoulder--really a nudge. He wanted me to move over so he could get in my bed, where he promptly slept until ten in the morning. He told me later he hadn't all night. I suggested he probably had but was restless and it didn't seem like it. Anyway, above is where he started out and to the right is where he ended up.
We did other things, though he isn't thrilled by the grocery store or errands. We had fondue for New Year's Eve and company he likes for New Years dinner with black-eyed peas and ham. He had two long and good play dates with a kind family who took him to the Main Event (whatever that is). We read, though that's not his favorite activity and it's slow going. I think he's a classic example of too much digital entertainment. We laughed at silly things and worried over what he wanted for lunch, until he said, "Pretend  you're making me an after-school snack." I did it and it worked--nothing trumps Honey Crisp apple slices with hazelnut peanut butter on them.
Sophie delighted in having him, dogged his every step, sat on the bed next to him while he did Minecraft. When he came to crawl into my bed, she settled herself on the dog bed beside me, though she rarely graces me with her presence at night, preferring the chair in my office. Today I caught her growling out the window at a squirrel who was taunting her deliberately. I always think with her shaggy coat she looks a bit like a gorilla when she does this--or some less kind of monkey.
It's Friday night, and Sophie and I both find the house a bit empty. Sure it was more work to have him and I had to build my schedule around him, but I loved every minute of it. I loved staring at him in the morning when he was peacefully sleeping and looked three or four instead of a grown-up seven. I loved laughing at his antics and groaning over his jokes. I loved listening to him read to me, often punctuated by "How do you say this?" and he'd spell a word.
Vacation isn't quite over. I'm giving myself till Monday. Then I'll start my routine--what yoga I can do with my foot in that boot, regular writing, and dealing with my so-called career. But then Monday is Twelfth Night, and we usually have the neighbors for supper and a traditional burning of the greens.
Life is really really good.