Sunday, December 31, 2017

Best Christmas EVER!


2017 will go down for me as one of the best Christmases ever. There are many components to this personal fact. The first was the success of our Saint Nicholas Day gift-giving, a tradition we began a very long time ago and now have extended to cover all the younger people in our immiediate circle of life, like they say, think globally and work locally. Diane made silly hats for thirty-one people this year, a hand-made treasure to wear or not, and enjoy. Reports came back that everyone was delighted; she chose specific hats for each child (and a few adults) and each matched up perfectly. It is a great feeling to give from oneself, and although all I did was photograph the finished products, box up and mail the ones needing mailing, and help distribute the ones destined for the folks closer by, I feel that same satisfaction knowing Diane's good and painstaking work was and will be appreciated. You spend your life doing what you think is best and hope you're right. You rarely get to know for sure. Doubt, fed by anxiety (at least in my case), leaves you breathlessly aware that you could fall short with every step you take. But now and then you get affirmed. The best affirmation is to be told—in action, in words, by jesture or by gift—that you are loved. I should mention before I go on that my favorite character in all of literature and television, in case you didn;t know, is Doctor Who in all his and now her incarnations. The highlight of Christmas Day is the Doctor Who special aired on BBC Christmas evening. You might want to keep that in mind as we proceed. My eldest child is now 40 years old. He teaches. He lives a long distance from us. He never seemed to need to be physically close; just knowing we are here is enough while he lives his life. He likes being alone and we respect that. It does not mean that we failed him in any way or that he is somehow missing out. He is who he is and seems happy enough with his choices. He has thanked us for not pressuring him to be more familial. When we were in crisis, he was there to support us in ways I could not imagine, with words I still can hear inside my head. In his way he loves us deeply. He just prefers to be in his own space, like a hermit who shies away from contact with people but still uses a phone. He doesn't celebrate Christmas as such. He prefers to acknowledge the Winter Solstice, a thing I fully understand, knowing that the timing of Christmas was designed to co-opt both the Roman celebration of Saturnalia and other cultural celebrations of the Longest Night. No one actually knows what day Jesus was born so the Church picked one smack in the middle of all that festivity. A few days before Christmas, he called to let us know two packages were coming, one for his brother and his family, and another for Diane and me. On December 23, the FedEx driver pulled up outside our house and I went to greet him. I watched with some delight—having de;livered my share of Christmas packages over the years as a mailman—as he struggled to bring a small parcel and a huge, flat box that could have held the Mona Lisa. In fact, as I watched him approach, I wondered just what in the hell was in there, and how big was it? The smaller box contained the gift for Nik and his family. It also contained a short letter for us explaining the gift in the big box: “Diane and Roy, “Merry Christmas. I probably need to explain the gift a bit. A couple of years ago a friend introduced me to Circular Gallifreyan, the language of the Time Lords for Doctor Who. In essence, it is a cypher that uses circles and arcs in variuous combinations to create word- forms. It is typically written in concentric circles, starting at the one-o'clock position and winding counter-clockwise. I have begun modifying the format a bit in order to develop my own style, but the core is still the same. “I wanted to give you something a bit more personal this year, so I decided to hand- calligraph one of Roy's poems. Although there were a few different good candidates, I know this particular poem means a lot to him. I hope you guys like it. “Aaron.” We opened the box on Christmas Eve to find a black background poster of remarkable size. My poem, “Banned in Boston,” took center stage with the translation in Gallifreyan surrounding it—a real piece of art. We now are trying to decide exactly where to put it on our walls. We have so much brilliant artwork done by family and friends that our museum's wall space is full. This piece needs a prominent spot. One of the others may have to find a slightly lesser position, and that's okay—changing things up is good. Stores do it all the time to make their customers stay longer wondering, “Where'd they move that?” I have been incredibly lucky in my life. People have gone to great lengths to give either Di or me or both of us wonderfully thoughtful gifts. Just a few weeks ago, my brother and sister-in-law used a good portion of their sky miles to buy tickets for us back to Holland; we leave in mid-January. On Christmas Eve, both Nik and Holli had to work late, so we watched the grands until they came to collect them after ten p.m. Along the way, Xander decided he was going to pretend to be Santa Claus just to fool his sister. On the spur, he made a beard and moustache out of white paper, borrowed my own Santa hat, and ho ho'd CharleeRose onto his lap. She totally played along with utter delight. It was yet another wondrous gift for Diane and me, to see them so completely in tune and happy. Then when their parental units—as Aaron used to call us—arrived, we had a gift exchange that seemed to delight every one of us to the point of sentimental tears on several faces. It is better to give than to receive, they say, but sometimes it is really good to get. I stare at the poster with delight and sentiment. To think Aaron combined my love for Doctor Who with one of my favorite and most successful poems, on top of all my blessings, tells me I am loved. I needed to hear that.

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