The power went out around 7ish, and boy do I feel sorry for all the linemen and women working tonight- and for the past couple days, as it’s been windy all up in here!
So there I was, hanging out with my little cat, Sarah Jane, listening to really wonderful choirs singing Christmas music- which Sarah Jane seemed to enjoy- when a momentary flicker occurred...and I held my breath. Then nada. Just pure darkness. I carefully felt with my toes for the the fairly dangerous steps down from the loft (my ‘winter office’), and found my flashlight, candles, lighter, wandered around bringing light to the darkness. I so often think of the various Ingalls-Wilder books as I live up here in relative isolation, in my relatively rustic life. How lucky I am! I could have been listening to any music ever recorded and not just what I alone could produce from an instrument (or, Gods save us all, my own voice!)! I was not compelled to bake or create every treat- or meal, nor milk a cow, draw water from a freezing-cold well. My cat didn’t have to hunt for her supper. Also, my wood stove supplies about 90% of my heat, I have a propane stove, I’m used to using kerosene lamps and candles. I’m Super-Glued to neither my phone nor any social media… When the power goes out, I’m good. But I do like my YouTube.
I had toasted some walnuts earlier- and made a kick-ass ‘jumble’ bean soup, so I settled down w/ the snack- then, later, a bowl of soup and a slice of nice country-ish bread and played round after round of solitaire by candle-light, humming the Christmas songs I’d just been listening to.
This is the only day I listen to Christmas music. Truth be told, I really hate popular ‘carols’ and much prefer the songs I remember from church when I was little. Big choirs, French horns and timpani. A choir director who knew his/her stuff. Even then they’d hit that emotional button and make me tear up, a lump in my throat. I never knew why, but I also didn’t question it. Now I just listen knowing what my eventual response will be: a smile, a physical movement keeping rhythm, that familiar lump--and then a flood of tears… as I remember those days- before Christmas was for ever soured by a terrible and unfortunate event. Before becoming somewhat jaded by life. Before becoming aware of the abject commercialism- and built-in classism and capitalistic bent of the holidays- all of them, but most horribly at Christmastime. Ah, those innocent times. Obliviously innocent.
It hardly matters when or where you were brought up. the ‘happy golden days of yore’ were when we were young enough not to really know or understand what was going on around us. When nothing had been ruined yet. No dark tragedies had befallen us personally. No pain nor poverty, no war, no death… For some this comes later on, after we’ve become adults- some even much, much later as we become aged and increasingly infirm and isolated. But for some- like me, this comes early, and there’s nothing- absolutely nothing that can remove the sad taint of the day. The season. Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t. I’m not missing out on anything- though many would like me to think so.
Some years are better than others. Some years I can forget for a moment, be distracted by the semi-contagious effect of others’ mirth. Some years are worse as I spiral into the very-hard-to-escape maelstrom of depression. But then there are others- like this one. It’s odd to admit it, but I’m sure other introverts, self-isolated recluses, and assorted odd-balls know exactly what I’m talking about. The world is experiencing now what we already knew and were comfortable with- maybe even enjoyed. So this year was a sort of 50/50 year. Neither bad nor good. I thought I’d go out and find a little tree in my woods, bring it in and give it some love (having just killed it and all...). But I didn’t. All ‘my’ trees are intact, and I look forward to their new growth come spring.
One of my favorites- in my front ‘yard’
For me, even with the whole world writhing with anxiety and pain and angst, this has been a decent mid-winter. I know a bunch of people who are a lot sadder than I, the plague having taken away so much—at very least their choice to be with family and/or friends. I too hate the restrictions the plague has placed on us all, on me- because to me, freedom equals choice. Whether or not I choose to take advantage of my freedom to choose or not, that choice is the most important. It’s the thing that keeps us truly free. It’d be much, much worse if I didn’t have food and/or shelter. I am indeed very, very lucky. I’d hate to think that Janis was right (or Kris) and that ‘Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to loose’.
I’m not a religious person. And although I was raised in a pretty fancy Episcopal church, I haven’t attended in decades- and only then on Christmas Eve (not since one unfortunate rural Virginia Christmas Eve sermon equating the Virgin Mary to any homeless, single, pregnant girl, and how she should of course keep her baby- (because the child might and up being the next Messiah???...I walked out mid-sermon so angry I could spit). Outside the nice blue cities, there’s a lot of poverty, drug addiction, abuse and a distinct lack of decent education. But lots and lots of religion.
Still, there’s something about a choir. All those voices. At least for this one day.
It’s kind of funny how we humans sometimes provoke things that make is sad- or give us pain. Like prodding a sore spot in the mouth or seeking out the songs that make us cry- for whatever reason. I guess the latter is what it was all about yesterday.. nostalgia- and the accompanying sadness. There’s a lot to be said for really great music- whatever you choose. And there’s also something to be said about the moments that bring out the best in us, cause us to smile at strangers, hum a hopeful tune, offer a treat to an animal, wild or domesticated (or wildly domesticated LOL). It would be nice if we all simply offered unwarranted and random acts of kindness all the time, but I’m a cynic, and I don’t expect much anymore.
I bid you all peace. And I offer you a couple choir performances and recommendations. First, King’s College does a wonderful Christmas program which one can pick and choose from depending on your taste. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir does justice to The Carol of the Bells- one of my favorites. Also, the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. I learned the alto part in school chorus as a kid, and still can sing along today. I like the music better if I close my eyes. And turned up!
I’ll even offer up a ‘prayer’ of sorts- one I usually ‘think out loud’ as I walk. Take it as you will.
I hope you walk with grace upon this tender and good earth. I hope you can see ‘heaven’ when it’s staring you in the face. If you will see it.
*[Once again, I am humbled to see that the Rescue Rangers have deemed my diary worthy of saving. Sincere thanks.]
And there this:
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