Journal of a Sabbatical

December 24, 2000

waiting for Santa or someone like him
don't crush that elf, hand me the pliers

Today's Reading: The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain translated by Red Pine (Nancy gave it to me for Christmas - I insisted on seeing it in the bus station, never mind waiting for tomorrow.)

It's supposed to snow tonight and the clouds are already rolling in. Here's hoping it clears up for the partial solar eclipse tomorrow.

Stories of Christmases long, long ago (OK, not so long ago, but it sounds cool.):

1997 - deck the halls and bleach the litter boxes

1998 - not a creature was stirring, not even the catnip fishies

1999 - in which I drive a lot, discuss the weather in Bosnia, and retell the traditional story of the football and Saint Joseph's head

Weirdly, or not so weirdly given the most recent ineffectual Middle East peace talks, I've got this running through my head. Over and over again my friend ... And I guess I thought at least Dubya would deliver us from this insane missile defense star wars thing that Clinton's been pushing but he was so quick to "reassure" us that he supports it too. Why this is bugging me on Christmas Eve I don't know. Yes, I do. The tradition in my family, dating back well before the sixties has been to reply "world peace" whenever anybody asks you want you want for Christmas. Please Santa, bring us world peace for Christmas.

The clouds must have put me in a gloomy mood.

3:13 PM The sky is now completely overcast as far as I can see from my window. The clouds have finished rolling in and are fixing to commence with the flurries. The Busy Body is out there hacking away at the ice in the Russian Parking Space Blockers' space. Angrily. Really angrily. Egad, now she's at the end of my back walk chopping the ice near my parking spot. Angrily. Really angrily. I am seriously afraid that if I so much as appear at my back door she'll attack me with the shovel. I sincerely hope she leaves before I have to pick Nancy up at the bus station.

3:35 PM The coast is clear. I slink stealthily to my car and hightail it out of the parking lot as quickly as possible. By the time I get back from La Madre's house, the Busy Body will be in bed and unless she has an alarm set to wake her when I come home, I'm in the clear for the rest of the night.

We went to La Madre's, decorated the tree, watched Thomas move the ornaments around, ate tiny pizzas made of bagels and spaghetti sauce, listened to my Mahalia Jackson CD on my boombox - thoughtfully provided to save us all from the warped tape that sounds like Julie Andrews singing in Croatian - and hung generations of family photos by the fireplace with care.

La Madre had to make an emergency run to Stop & Shop for those little fried onions to put on the green bean casserole for tomorrow's dinner, but she successfully obtained them. Then as we were leaving she realized she didn't have any cream of mushroom soup for the green bean casserole. Tim claims he and Thomas have some or can get some because things in Boston are open no matter the holiday - not like the suburbs... Here's hoping.

Donald and Michael stayed later to help La Madre wrap the presents. I demanded to be allowed to see my presents but they wouldn't let me.

Donald with the traditional Christmas paper bag. And Michael wrapping something I can't see in red and green tissue paper with great concentration. But I gotta get home and finish wrapping presents myself. Especially the ones I'm hand decorating with pictures of conifers... so nice to have a holiday that features conifers, it really is.

Back home not a creature is stirring, especially not the Busy Body.

It never did start snowing.