Generations

A solitary Christmas Day seems like a the most difficult thing to endure when you are newly divorced. This is my ninth Christmas since the divorce. I have not been alone every year, as there were a couple times my ex was off in some place like Armenia or Kosovo on Christmas. Still, I have come to enjoy this day of peace in my house, if not on earth. I've been going full tilt ever since my classes ended, so the lull is very welcome.

Growing up I often had the feeling that my backyard (so basically The Earth) was resting under a thick blanket of snow in winter. Winter doesn't ever seem like a time of death, but as a call to slow down, wrap up, and take time to rest. Last night after the gifts I fell asleep in front of the fireplace wrapped in a heavy blanket with the voices and laughter of my sons in the background. After all the Christmasses being sure to have the right batteries on hand for the new toys, it was very precious to recharge my own batteries that way.

For ten years my Christmas season has officially begun when my friend unwraps the peanut nativity scene her son made in preschool. I have my own markers of the season, but it is always reassuring to know the peanut Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus have survived another year. Today we archived the peanut nativity scene against the unthinkable. The shoebox is getting pretty fragile. Peanuts aren't forever. Neither are digital technology or human memory, but the meaning of Christmas is timeless. We just want the peanuts to stick around for a long time with the memories of our children as preschoolers.


When we went walking Thursday we found a credit card on the ground. Since I couldn't find the name in the phone book, I mailed the card back to Shell in Houston. Today we were surprised to find two drivers licenses for the same person on our walk. It really hit me that this man was born in 1923 like my dad. I hope he is okay. Why are the contents of a wallet lying in the leaves and snow? Was he robbed? Is he deceased? There he is looking at me in the more recent license photo. He lives, or lived in another town. I've written him a letter and sent him the licenses. He haunts the edges of my holiday.