You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Winter of the Mind’ category.
I don’t have them this year. I’ve completely detached from Christmas. I usually go away for the holidays because I’m one of those people who have a really hard time with them. As a kid, Christmas was always a combination of excitement and dread.
Christmas Eve was fun and exciting—my parents would get one of their friends to dress up as Santa and wake us kids up in the middle of the night. I remember being so full of joy when that happened. Christmas Eve was always the best part of Christmas.
Christmas Day was fun for a little while. Opening presents was fun until the parents had had a few too many eggnogs and I’d get yelled at for not opening something in the correct order. That’s how it started.
First, it was improper unwrapping procedure. From there, Christmas spirit quickly disintegrated into the parents arguing, which led to all out fighting. And, it was always loud. Scary. Back then, Christmas joy didn’t last long. Christmas morning was good for a few hours and then it was all over. Life as usual. Alcohol, yelling, fighting, and what felt like hate.
Now, I’m functionally an orphan—I haven’t seen nor spoken to my family for 20+ years. Now I try to go away for the holidays. I’ve been to places like Antarctica, Chile, Peru, and Cuba for Christmas. It’s always such a huge relief to get away from all the media pictures of the perfect family—the loving, smiling faces as they receive yet more family members at the front door. Big front door. Warm, comfortable, cinnamon-y smelling (I’m sure), home. Cold, snowy outside. Lots of snow, lots of smiles and hugs. Lots of what I don’t have.
This year there isn’t money to travel. I feel like a grounded pilot. Because the economy is so bad, Christmas began early on TV this year. That made it much easier to detach from it. I’m just continuing those feelings…that it couldn’t be Christmas because it wasn’t even yet Halloween. Now, it’s December and it still isn’t Christmas. Yay.
Christmas in Cuba
Damn, it’s dark in here! And, it’s only 4:15! The dying light says to me, “You should’ve gotten up earlier.” “You should’ve gone to bed sooner.” “You’re wasting your days/life/light.” Winter seems to bring out my own darkness. My black hole of night.
I was raised in Hawaii a million years ago, in bright, yellow, continuous, daily, sunshine. I’ve been away from Hawaii for aeons and from California for 15 years and I STILL haven’t gotten used to the dark of winter. Or, the darkness in my own head. Will I ever?
(First Alone/Chainsaw Post.)
I did, indeed, find a man with a chainsaw. My friend Melanie’s step-dad came over and made extremely quick work of the tree. And, he didn’t get wet and he didn’t get cold and he didn’t get stuck in my unplowed driveway. Yay!
Most traces of the tree are gone and there now lies a single stack of cut logs of only a medium diameter. The tree seemed a lot bigger when it was across my driveway! I am soooo grateful to Paul for coming over and cleaning everything up for me.
It’s always such a big relief when something like this gets taken care of, after I’ve stewed and worried and wondered what to do—my usual M.O. It was actually fun being outside and throwing wood around and jawing about how great Paul’s old, used-to-be-my, truck is. I always make him laugh when I look her over and peek inside, just for old time’s sake. I miss that truck.
Short story is, the tree was no big deal. I got my laundry soap. The other side of me, the dark winter side, says, “For now. THIS time.” I’m a worrier, a fretter. Somewhere, out on a roadway, on one of those cheapo, plastic, roadside signs, I read: “Worrying is a waste of creativity.” I didn’t think I had any creative juices left so this came as a surprise!
When I think of it, when things do go wrong, they are always fixed, one way or the other. Money or no money. Always. Maybe it’s the “alone” part I don’t like. Maybe worrying about things that can go wrong is camouflage for something more basic. After living most of my life alone, maybe it’s beginning to get old.
One of winter’s darknesses for me is that winter reminds me I am alone. I live out in the country and handling the homeowner aspects of winter events by myself can be daunting.
We are in the midst of this year’s first big snowstorm and one of the trees alongside my driveway is so heavy with snow that it’s uprooted and leaning far enough across the driveway that it will soon render it impassable. When I arrived home this evening, before there was too much snow, I was able to pass through but I know Richard won’t plow if he thinks his truck might be scratched.
I am stewing and stewing. I’m stewing over how I’m going to get rid of that tree, how I will be able to get out of my own driveway. I need laundry soap! I hate cutting trees down but, in this case, I don’t seem to have a choice. The real issue is finding a willing someone–a man–with a chainsaw.
Asking for help has always been hard for me. I almost never do it. Maybe the reason is that I’m afraid I’ll be turned down. All my life, I’ve taken great pride in my independence, in my ability to get things done and to look out for myself.
Now I am finding that independence was much easier when I had more money. I didn’t realise it at the time but when I had money, I was arrogant. I knew that whatever went wrong in my life, I had the money to take care of it. It didn’t matter if it was something wrong in the house or I just wanted to live somewhere else. I could pay someone to fix things or I could just move to another province, state, country, city. All I had to do was look in the phone book for the solution to my problem—Plumber? Landscaper? Moving company?? No problem! (Well, I’m exaggerating a little.)
I’m going to have to call one of my friends to see if anyone can help me find a man with a chainsaw. He’ll have to pretty much drop everything, including his own snow related troubles and tasks, come aaaall the way over here, get down and cold and wet in the snow, saw down the tree, cut the wood into usefully sized pieces, help me pile it up somewhere, and probably have to dig himself out of my driveway because it hasn’t been plowed. Why would he agree to do all that for me? Maybe for $20???
Photo: gebauer
Recent Comments