Porter, content in my closet
Subie and Phil came for happy
hour tonight, bringing Porter, his seeing-eye dog. Porter usually goes out in
the backyard and ignores us, a behavior that puzzles Sophie who laps up company
attention all she can. Today, however, the yard guys, with noisy lawnmowers and
blowers, arrived about the same time the Greens did. The difference in dog
reactions was remarkable. Sophie, as she always does, turned tail for the house
and once safely inside, barked ferociously. Porter, on the other hand, was not
going to let some guys with stupid equipment force him out of the yard, and
Subie had to go out and almost literally shove hm into the cottage. Then he
wandered down the hall to my closet and spent the entire time there. I was glad
Subie got him inside, because some of the crew seem to be afraid of dogs, and I
thought a dog his size would really keep them out of the yard.
Meanwhile, Sophie is barking
in fits and stops but especially when they come close to the cottage with their
blowers. So Phil decides he has to leave because of the barking. It took three
of us to convince him it wouldn’t last long, and, no, he couldn’t get down the
driveway right now, because they had blown the leaves into big piles—an obstacle
course. Our oak trees are shedding heavily and yet still have an abundance of
leaves. The pecan by the patio is through, but now the oak leaves migrate to
the patio, so Sophie brings them in. I sweep every day. Phil stayed, Sophie
quieted, and we had a jolly visit. Except for Porter, who remained in the closet.
In a strange way, a week
before the holiday, I seem to get over the sociability part of the holiday.
Tonight was not a holiday celebration—no gift exchange, no fancy appetizers nor
special holiday drinks. I had warned them: leftover appetizers, which turned
out to be ends of this cheese and that. Jordan cut them up and made a nice display.
Just good friends getting together in a relaxed visit. At least for me.
This is the edgy time, when I’ve
pretty much done all I can for the holidays, and I think, “Now, what?” Some
wrapping and cooking details require Jordan’s attention, but for her it’s the
busy time. She is, however, a dedicated list maker and has long lists of
groceries from various stores. And truth to tell, she has a lot more responsibilities
than I do. I remember those days. In fact, I remember when we celebrated
Hannukah and Christmas—with four children. I had spread sheets of who got what
on what day.
I have been beset by enough “business”
problems to distract me from the holiday planning. Not the business of being a
writer, but that of daily living. It’s the time of year for quarterly taxes and
property taxes, and I need to have the trees trimmed by a real arborist (I’m
already signed on for that). Now I need to wait for the plumber to fix the
kitchen sink and pray that he doesn’t have to wait for a part—that suspicion
lingers in my mind, but then I am given to worrying. I need to make a couple of
doctor appointments, not for anything urgent but for check-ups. I figure a
woman my age who spends as much time at the computer as I do ought to have her
eyes checked regularly. And then, for a blue-eyed blonde, there are always skin
checks. But those are the things you put off until “after the holidays” so that
now they just hover in my mind. I must pursue that free offer I signed up for
which suddenly committed me to a year-long, expensive contract, but I did find
out today the reason the nephrologist didn’t get my check is that it never
cleared the bank. So I had to stop payment and issue a new check. It’s all
little stuff, details, but a pain. It’s perhaps like weaving with many strands
and constantly feeling you’ve lost one or two.
With family gathering looming,
I don’t feel I can dig into the Irene manuscript I’m working on nor the food of
the fifties book that is turning out to be a tribute to my mom. So far, each
day has kept me busy with those little details, but I figure the closer we get
to Christmas the edgier I’ll get, and I am giving myself stern lectures about
anticipation anxiety and all that kind of gobbledy-gook.
The plain truth of it is that
I love Christmas, love the lights and the music and the fellowship and the
food, but I get all keyed up waiting for it. This year, I resolve to stay calm
and live in each moment, enjoying it for what it is. And then, there will come
that blessed moment when all my family is together. And we can watch the
midnight candlelight service and welcome the hope that the idea of the holy
baby brings, whether you believe in him
or not. He brings hope for all of us.
