So far I have celebrated Solstice, Sturnella, Mothers’ Night, Festivus, Christmas and just plain Saturday. Tuesday the husband will be eight-one years old so we must celebrate that with cake. Used to be with a party or going out for the evening, but now we just do cake and a funny card. Then comes New Years’ Eve that once began about seven with either hosting or visiting for drinks and pre-party snacks, followed by dinner then a dance until about one in the morning. Maybe breakfast at an all-night diner before dragging ourselves home to collapse in bed and beginning the new year with just a bit of a hangover. This year will probably include a pizza, some television and early bedtime. My how things change with time.

As a great-grandmother December is based on the joy of three of the sweetest children ever. The two-year-old likes to boss me around and I follow orders rather well. Try as I might to settle down with some egg nogg he takes my hand and tells me to come play, which I immediately do. He has no idea how rare a power he possesses. I don’t obey anyone else, not ever. The three-year-old is over the moon excited with the presents and wants to dive into playing with each and every one right now. The six-year-old, a typical first born, is only slightly less frantic in her eagerness to rip into the packages and exclaim how cool each is. My granddaughter is such a great mother. I dare say she is better than I was, much more patient and calm. These babies are going to grow up to be good people.

I always spend time each year putting up my tree that has a fifty-year collection of ornaments from many sources. Some hand-made by special family members, some souvenirs from trips we made and many gifts from friends and co-workers. As I hang each one on the tree its origin plays back in my mind. Special people I haven’t thought of for a while visit my imagination and I see my grandchildren and my children carefully molding and painting decorations to become gifts to their grandparents, teachers, and friends, oh yeah, and me. There was one special delicate red glass globe with pale blue and green stripes that belonged to my grandmother. I always placed it in as near the middle of the top part of the tree each year. Alas, this year with my trigger finger acting up and my general clumsiness it slipped from the tree and shattered on the floor into dozens of tiny shards. Damn. But the memories that it held are firmly planted in my mind, so it’s okay.

The winter holidays in the home where I grew up are among the best of my happy memories. My mom loved a party and lots of people in the house doing fun things, so she made as many days as possible an occasion to entertain. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners always included days of preparation, special table settings, the house sparkling clean and as many guests as the house could hold. Candy making became a “tafffy pull” with some of my friends helping out. Cookies had to be cut-outs with several of us around the table making art on them with sugar, frosting, sprinkles and even food color paint. The tree was an event in itself. Always involved my dad and brothers venturing into the woods, or sometimes a tree lot, and then it had to be cut off at the bottom to fit and a stand built in the shop to keep it standing straight. That candy and cookies we had made were put on the table with the punch bowl for a tree trimming party. This included all the family, friends and neighbors stringing popcorn with cranberries (yes the real ones) with a big needle and strong thread. We all hung colored globes, paper angels, tin foil stars, paper garland and those awful strings of tinsel. Somebody, I will never tell who, spiked the punch and we all were merry indeed.

Of course, all those happy memories were with some very special people who are not here anymore. My husband and I are at an age that our parents have been gone a long time. He is the last of his family, having lost both his brothers a few years ago. Of course, all my aunts and uncles and some of the cousins I was close to are also gone as well as our daughter. I find that the “wish you were here” feelings are inevitable but also fleeting. The pleasure I get from reliving the good times in my mind is greater than the sadness. I can’t really explain how I got to this point. I am just grateful that life is more good than bad.

Can’t get away from politics these days. First thing in the morning I have a cup of coffee and check my e-mail, my Facebook, Bluesky and a few newsletters I subscribe to. Most of what I find is all about Trump and Musk and the snaffu of the day. The only time there is news coverage of anything else is when there is a natural disaster or a mass murder. That can hold headlines for a day or two and then it’s right back to MAGA world and so many lies.

People, I am so tired. My family are all anxious and tense. Friends just shake their heads in disgust at what has happened to our government. Never before have I made so many calls to my congressman and senators to express my disdain about one issue or another. Of course, all I get from that is a snarky reply, most likely from a staffer most of the time. They all are republicans and more loyal to Trump than anything else.

When I make the effort to find news from sources out of this country what I see is that the whole world is fearful because of the leadership we now have here. How embarrassing. So many of us seem to have given up and are just hunkering down and hoping to survive.

What bothers me most is that I struggle to hold on to my usual positive attitude and willingness to stand up for the rights we should have as citizens. Much of the time I want to hide out somewhere and just read novels and drink wine until it either gets better or it all burns down. But what I will do is keep making calls, sending e-mails and encouraging everyone I know to do the same or to protest in whatever way they can.

I find it difficult to write anything these days. Try as I might to stay focused on my own life the world intrudes all the time. It’s hard to concentrate when the world is so messed up that better days ahead do not seem likely. I live in a place where most people I come in contact with are okay with the horror that is now our government. Even now, right this minute in the early morning I cannot put together a thought worth sharing. Damn these power hungry fools for taking away not only the rights supposed to be guaranteed by our constitution but also destroying our peace of mind. My usual ability to find something positive to focus on is lacking. Sigh. Going to make more coffee and try again to make a better day.

It’s nine o’clock on the last night of 2024 and the house is quiet. Just the husband, the dog and me here, all of us getting ready to go to bed after a great week of fun with our family. Our son and his sons and wife arrived Christmas Eve and were joined by our granddaughter with her husband and three happy children on Christmas day. Such fun. Then our grandson arrived to spend a few days with us and we all had such a good time together. Even had our daughter-in-law’s brothers over to watch a football game and we got to see our other granddaughter with her husband and baby for a little while. This was my kind of holiday.

New Years Eve is very different at 78 years old with an 80-year-old husband. Our times of dancing past midnight and bribing the band to play just a little longer are in the past. No fancy dress and hair do now. Didn’t spend an hour on make-up or make an extra trip to the liquor store.

My husband and I had our first date January 31, 1964. It was a house party where everyone was laughing, dancing, and having a drink or two. For many years after that we always had a party or a dance to go to with friends. Everyone got dressed up for the occasion and put on their happiest faces. I enjoy those happy time memories. So many of those folks are gone now. Some have died and others moved away or just lost touch. Those who are still in the neighborhood are in their beds now, just like us. In the sixty years since that first party a lot has changed, but we are still celebrating, just a little earlier in the evening and with no hangover for the first day of the new year. I like our quiet time and I liked the wilder times too. To everything there is a season.

Christmas 1959. It all begins right after Thanksgiving with the party to trim the tree. There are nine of us living in the house. Mom and Dad, my brother and sister, our two foster brothers and two cousins. Each of us kids have invited a friend; great aunt Louise is always included in our festivities, and Mom and Dad have included some friends. Dad and the boys have found a nice Cedar tree about six feet tall and thick with branches. Dad has put on the strings of lights, managed to replace most of the burnt-out bulbs and secured the tree stand well enough we probably won’t knock the whole thing over. There are a few boxes of old ornaments to be reused every year, new garland of tinsel and a bowl of popcorn to be strung with a needle and heavy thread. This chore goes to me mostly and I drafted my best friend to help.

Before anything goes on the tree we have punch or egg nog and cookies. There’s fruit cake and lots of fudge too. Then, with a bunch of sugar high kids bouncing around and itching to get started we all pick an ornament and place it carefully on a branch, then another and another until the last glass globe is hung and Dad places the foil star at the top. Viola! The season of magic has begun

The old white house on the corner if filled with music, laughter, smells, way too much food, family, friends and neighbors on Christmas day. First thing in the morning is opening all the packages and pretending for the youngest that Santa left the toys that are not wrapped. Breakfast is biscuits and bacon washed down with orange juice and then we all pitch in putting everything away and get dressed in special clothes for the occasion.

About mid-morning the part of the holiday that I love best begins when the aunts and uncles begin to drop in with my cousins. We all have cookies and snacks and brag, or even gloat, about what we got for Christmas. While the adults have coffee in the dining room I get out a game to play in the living room floor. After an hour or so they all leave and we straighten up the place and put out lunch. Mom has outdone herself again with ham, turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes, green beans, baked beans, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes, and hot rolls. Soon our closest family friends show up and we all enjoy the food in the company of chosen family. When everyone is filled up the kids are tasked with cleaning up the kitchen before playing. We really feel like a nap, but while we were doing dishes Aunt Louise has settled at the piano and those not on kitchen duty are singing carols.

Aunt Louise is an accomplished musician and a family friend, Bobby, is also talented at the piano, so they play together. As the afternoon wears on and Aunt Louise and Bobby each have a cocktail the music changes from hymns to boogie woogie and Mom and one of the cousins are dancing. Soon most of us are dancing and singing and the old house rattles a bit. My dad and the older cousins are smoking and playing cards at the dining room table. They have a beer or two and the tales begin. That time two of the cousins got caught sneaking a chew of grandpa’s tobacco and threw up all over the place. That time one of the uncles fell off a mule. Stories they all had heard before but all laughed one more tiime.

Finally the day is done. We have put the house back in order, mostly. After just one more piece of cake I have gone to my room and settled in my bed with a new book. The boys and my sister have gone to bed and Mom and Dad are in the living room with a cup of chocolate to finish the day.

There have been many, many holiday celebrations since then, each special in its own way, but I would be ecstatic to relive one from my youth with all my special people in one place, feeling happy and secure. What I do now though is celebrate the family I made with my husband and make this season as bright and warm as I possibly can. Looking forward to a different kind of joy with the craziness of small children’s excitement and the sweet pleasure of my family all together in my house.

Well, I survived November again this year. It may get easier some day and I hope it does. Now moving into the holiday season with a vengeance. So busy that I haven’t made time to write about my days or events, but I am enjoying myself so much. Thanksgiving was a success with great food (I really can cook) and the company of many of my favorite people. No fussing and fighting and plenty of laughter. I wish everyone could have it so good.

I found some holiday spirit somewhere and now the decorating and shopping and baking have begun. I dragged out all the trees, wreaths, candles and even found a bunch of mistletoe to hang up. My son will be here with his family, my granddaughter with her husband and three kids and my grandson with his girlfriend. That is most of those I love to spend time with. I wish my brother could be here too, but maybe next year.

It’s interesting to me how life changes from stage to stage and how little we know about what comes next and how surprising it is to be content with circumstances that once would have been boring beyond belief. In younger days fun was always an active thing. I loved to do something, to experience it rather than observe. An evening out had to include dancing, or bowling, or roller skating and the company of others doing the same thing. Loved to host parties and meet new people.

Then we added children to the mix and fun included birthday parties, cub scouts and brownies, little league and swim team. When I think back to my young mother self I am amazed at just how much I could do in a day. I loved those times of constant activity and time with my children and their friends. Kids can make one see the world through fresh eyes. They can also challenge your patience and warm your heart, maybe at the same time. When the kids became teenagers they preferred the company of their peers to hanging out with mom, so the letting go process began.

Then suddenly they were grown, got married and started their own families. That’s when the husband and I moved to the empty nest phase. It was great, at first, and we spent time together with friends doing grown up things. We played golf and got into boating. Days moved a bit less frantically and there was more time to enjoy peaceful days.

I am not real sure how to label the next phase. The one that added the responsibility of aging parents at the same time grandchildren were a priority and pleasure. There is less time for social life in this stage and many of the friends we enjoyed were also limited in spare time due to family needs. A typical day would include giving a parent, child or grandchild a ride to work, school or the doctor before going to the office. Then at the end of the day check on a parent, make dinner and baby sit a grandchild so their parent can have a bit of time on their own. This time had as many obligations as being a young mother but not quite as many pleasures.

Retirement made handling it all bit easier and then the parents passed away and there were all the arrangements to handle. The stuff to find something to do with and the estate to manage. And, the empty place they left behind to figure out and adjust to. We all expect to become adult orphans somewhere in middle age, but preparing for it doesn’t really help. As with so much, life after the loss of our parents is not what we expected.

Now I suppose this stage is trying to accept that I am elderly. I don’t feel elderly, but at seventy-eight the label is appropriate. I play with three great grandchildren and manage to keep up with them. I can still do most of what I want except sit in a full lotus and get up from the floor quickly. My world is smaller in many ways. Once there were many, many people to be with and share life with. Now those I grew up with are mostly gone, either dead or far away or just settled down to stay home a lot. It’s like when I was a baby my world was mom and dad and those in our household. As time went by there was extended family added and then school friends and co-workers, and neighbors. Now my world is back to mostly my household and close family. I suspect eventually it will be just my son and grands as my life winds down and finally ends.

The last few weeks have been hard. The next few will probably be better, but the holidays have their own sadness as well as celebrations. My daughter’s birthday was the 14th and the 15th was the anniversary of her death. These days are difficult for me and especially so for her son, daughter, brother, father and husband. We don’t talk a lot about it. Each of us trying to protect the others and really just can’t find the words or get them out past the lump in our throats. This is probably not the best way to manage this grief, but we are doing what we can for now.

My husband had surgery for a rotator cuff a little over three weeks ago and has been unable to do much of anything for himself so has to rely on me for his care. I am glad to do it, but he is an independent sort and is really tired of having to have help with his socks, his icepack, pulling up his bed covers, cutting up his dinner, and especially his shower. Thankfully he is now able to do some of those things and will begin physical therapy in a couple of days. It all balances out as life goes on. He comforts me in my sadness and I make him laugh at his limitations.

All this has me looking back on how death has been a presence in my life, almost from the beginning. I was not yet five when my maternal grandmother, Bammie, died and nine when her husband followed her. My infant sister lived only four days and I vividly recall that funeral. So much sadness and so many people trying to help with food, visits, flowers, letters and just being there. Then in high school both my paternal grandparents passed away leaving another empty place behind. My dad was only fifty-six when he died far too soon and I was in my thirties. That one was so hard, not only because of my overwhelming grief but I had to try to explain to my son and daughter when they were only nine and eleven. I cannot remember talking to them about it even though I know I did.

Since then, my mom, the in-laws, and most of my cousins are gone, some close friends and neighbors, and co-workers. I miss them all as I put ornaments on the Christmas tree and prepare for the Thanksgiving meal. No more do I hear my mom and Aunt Louise fussing over the dressing and cranberry relish. No more my cousins sparing over the wishbone. So much that enriched my life left in the past, just memories that my husband is a bit tired of me yakking about, but he is sweet about it.

These musings make me remember a line from Forrest Gump that I repeat to myself often. Dying is just a part of living, Forrest. We all die someday.

Just a part of living, but only a part. I am not sure how or why, but I always get back to living. Doing and being and thinking and planning and hoping. Living. Even on the hardest of the recent days I made the bed, drank my coffee and went to the gym. I visited with the great grandkids and we laughed and played. Lots of hugs and kisses and sneaking some candy when daddy wasn’t looking. Life is good and I am enjoying most of it. Memories are mostly happy ones, and I indulge in a bit of nostalgia as I go about my days. I am fortunate to have a son who calls me a few times a week and keeps me up to date on his family. He will be here with his boys and wife at Christmas so that what I am most looking forward to now. My first grandson is coming home for Thanksgiving so that day will be a treat.

Right this minute I have a glass of wine at my elbow as I type, and the dear old dog is snoring at my feet. The husband and I had a nice dinner and now he is settled at the television where I will soon be also. Life is good.

What a week it has been. So hopeful on Monday and then devastated Tuesday night. My fear became real. It is still with me, but not as overwhelming as it was initially. It is likely that hard times are coming for many of us, especially those who are just one pay day from homeless and hungry. Can we even hope that those in power have compassion? Now that they don’t need our vote anytime soon do they even know we exist? It would be so easy to sink into despair.

Then Wednesday came and there was a bit of time to process it all. The sun rose as it always has and slipped below the horizon at the end of the day. When the new (slightly used) president takes office we will know very quickly what to expect. That is still several weeks away so wringing our hands in fearful anticipation serves no purpose. So, I met an old friend for a beer at the end of the day and we talked about shared memories and our families and friends. We laughed and enjoyed a good meal.

Thursday I woke up determined to have a good day. So I made a plan. First coffee, hot with sugar and cream and the dog for company. Check. Make the husband a good breakfast, make the bed, finish the laundry and pay some bills. Check. Go to the gym for at least an hour. Check. Long, lazy hot bath and put on soft pajamas. Check. Simple supper and finish reading the novel that has been neglected for several days. Check. Have a glass of good wine and go to bed. Check. Most of the fear of earlier in the week is on the back burner now.

On Friday I made a list of chores that need doing around the house and then tackled about half of them. Managed to hit the gym again and have a nice dinner with the husband, and of course the dog. Still worried about times to come, but not as much.

Now on Saturday night I have knocked out most of the to do list, had phone calls with my favorite people and have settled in with more of the wine and some television — no news allowed.

I am making a conscious decision to move from fear to hope and I think I am on the way. Tomorrow is likely to be much like most of my days and that is pretty good. I hope to get hugs and laughs from my great grandkids and that is likely to happen. I hope that there are more people who want to do good things than bad. I hope for health and know that depends on what I do. I hope the rest of my family are okay and so far, they seem to be. I hope my community is made up of people who are kind to each other and I hope those things I have feared are less likely than they seem.

At the end of a busy day with good music playing I sat down with a novel that I am about half-way through with a glass of wine and a plate of cheese at my side, the dog sleeping at my feet and feeling all cozy in my soft robe and fuzzy slippers. I was still warm from my bath and enjoying the scent of lavender from a candle on the table and from the powder on my body. All my favorite relaxers at once. Oh, yeah, and just a tiny buzz from the gummy I had before the bath. Too much? Maybe, but man did I feel good. Good all over.

Then the husband came to sit beside me and I rested my head on his shoulder. It probably doesn’t get better than this. I could probably do this just about every evening, but would it become ordinary? Does one need the crazy days in order to appreciate the great ones? I think probably so. Human nature seems to require that we always desire more or better. Even my desire to repeat that perfect evening is a wish for more, even if it’s more of the same.

When I am content with the current situation it seems that after a bit of time I wish I could share my happiness with someone who can’t be here or wish to be in a place I visited that I want to return to. A memory of a past time sneaks into my mind and I wish I could do that again. I think maybe this perfect time might be just a bit better with a fireplace or a hot tub to finish it off. Perhaps being content is not my natural state. However, I am looking forward to having another perfect evening soon and I will try to just love it and leave wishing for more alone.