Noise in the Attic

I’m sitting here with sunlight streaming in, dressed in shorts and a tee shirt and sweating like a pulpwood worker.  I will not, I absolutely unconditionally refuse to turn on a ceiling fan on December For-God’s-Sake 23!

Where did Winter go?  Did I sleep through it?  Oh, that’s right, ir stopped off in Colorado to spend a couple of days on the slopes.

An so we come to another turning of the year — a brief moment of light in the gathering dark.  Brief, yet promising renewal, promising sunshine to come, promising hope for the future.

I celebrate my personal New Year at the Winter Solstice for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Clinical Depression is bad enough without all these complications.  If you know someone who is depressed, give them a hug for me and tell them it’s from someone who understands.

The year just past was one of moutaintops and deep gorges, an adventurous ride through life on a three-wheeled roller coaster without tracks.  Along the way, I lost my mother and found my dream job, laughed a lot, cried a lot, slept a lot better, dreamed a lot worse.  All in all, a typical year in the life: unpredictable, full of surprises.

Some reflections and projections for the coming year:

My battle with depression continues apace.  Overall, I lost a little ground this year.  I operated at the level of melancholy most of the time, with slides down into the dark.  I continue the fight.  This monster will not win.  I will hold my head up out of the muck and keep moving, even if it’s only an inch at a time.  I might not win this war, but goddamnit I will not lose!

My mother;s death had and still has a lot of effect on that.  The last 6 years of her life were a nightmare for her and everyone else, and we all felt some small relief when she finally slipped away.  Yet…I miss her.  There’s a huge Mama-shaped wound in my life that may never be healed.  Christmas Eve will never be a happy time for me, I fear.

On this front, recovery remains the main action item on the agenda.  Efforts to understand and counteract causes and effects will continue and possibly intensify.  The fight against depression is truly life and death.  I have a lot I want to say about suicide, but I’ll wait until after every has had their holidays.

Also on the medical side is the continuing fight against diabetes.  I’m losing this one.  My blood sugar refuses to come down and so does my weight.  I’m maxxed out on oral meds, and exercise has no apparent effect.  I see insulin dependence in my future.  Developments on that front give me hope that I won’t be depedent on the needle, at least for long.  Inhalers are coming soon.  This fight continues as well.  In the long run, I can’t win.  I know that, but I don’t have to accept it.  I can and will maintain my illusions and fight all the way to Appamatox.
Writing?  Hell, who has time with all this other stuff going on?  All joking aside, I did have a good writing year.  Still no publications and still no novel, but I feel really good about the progress I have made.  I feel much more confident in my skills now and look foward to a vastly more productive year to come.  My short stories are getting good rejections (I just LOVE that phrase!).  Ideas abound, as do ideas for novels.  Washed in the Blood remains a sinkhole for me.  I think it’s time to put it on the back burner for a while and fiddle with it as I have time.  There’s just too much else to write.

What else?  The garden was less than successful this year due to some unfortunate lack of rain.  I hope that will clear up soon and this year will be more productive.  The winter garden is coming along fine.  The recent spate of warm weather has helped it.  We’ll have fresh collards for New Year’s Day dinner.

Light amonst the darkness, Galadriel’s vial never fades.  “Faith, hope, and love, these three abide.”  I don’t agree with Paul’s philosophy or theology, but the man certainly had a way with words.  Faith, hope, and love, don’t really die.  Sometimes we just lose sight of them.  As long as we keep a spark alive, life continues.

I hope everyone has a happy holiday season, however and whatever you celebrate.  May we get what we want and not what we deserve.

The high school in Needham, MA has decided not to publish their Honor Roll in the newspaper any longer.  Why?  Because it causes stress in the students who don’t make it.  Plus, adds the principal, it puts an “unhealthy emphasis on grades”.

Wait a minute.  Aren’t grades kind of the whole point of school?  Isn’t encouraging students to learn and to excel a major point of having a public education system?  How did this idiot get to be a high school principal?  Jesus, people, get a grip!!

Competition is a fact of life in the world.  Our students have to be exposed to this fact and learn that it takes effort to succeed.  A lot of effort.  The world is not made of vanilla pudding.  With fuckwits like this in charge of our educational system, I weep for the future of our country.  Educators, take off your blinders, get your thumbs out of your butts, start teaching these kids something useful, and QUIT RUINING MY LIFE!!

Y’all have a good day.

—–

3 days until the Solstice.  Looks like I’m going to make it.

I caught a performance of Celtic Woman: a New Journey on PBS Sunday night.  Wow.

These women are amazing.  Crystal clear voices that meld perfectly.  They are each terrific as soloists, but it’s when they sing together that the real magic happens.  Ethereal, yet powerful; fun and inspiring.  They sing a variety of music, not just traditional and modern Celtic songs, but there is never any doubt about their pride in their ancestry or their ability to carry on a centuries-old tradition of music.

Not only is the singing spectacular, the group also features an insane fiddler (Mairead).  I mean “insane” only in a positive way, of course.  Mairead is not so much a fiddler as a wind elemental, whirling, jumping, kicking, and fiddling like a demon.  All the while, her long blond hair flies around.  I dreaded seeing it caught in her bow and snatched out by the roots, but it never happened.  I guess that’s part of her magic.

The show is visually spectacular, set against the backdrop of Slane Castle.  Beautiful gowns, great staging, and wonderfully arranged orchestral acompanyment (sic?) complete the show.  Over 36 hours later, I am still grasping for words that can capture the grandeur and beauty and failing miserably.

If you haven’t heard these women sing, you are missing a real experience.  I ran right out and bought their Christmas CD and the CD from their first show in 1995.  The best money I’ve spent all year.  This Christmas is now not so dark.  Like I said: Wow.

An oak tree, now fallen
A feast for beetles, ants, and grubs.
Black heart exposed, rotted, empty.
Roots hang useless, their Judas work done.

A boulder sits silent, watching
Ancient grey head with furry green hair
It feels rain, sun, wind, fire, 
perturbed by none save Time

Earth’s bone, once dust
Fired, quenched, tempered
Fired, quenched, tempered
Fired, quenched, tempered.