Samain Moon of the Winter Solstice
The end of the day. Sunday. Used to go to sleep on Sunday night with Monday whirring away, chattering and buzzing, cutting a channel through my attempts to sleep. Now I go to sleep on Sunday night. That’s all.
Granddaughter Ruth has the makings of a cook. Maybe. Her recipe for cooking a turkey: put it in the oven at 10 degrees, cook it for half an hour. Put it on a big plate and put green beans and potatoes beside it. Sounds like my first attempts at cooking a turkey.
Speaking of retirement. Didn’t somebody bring that up? I go to sign up for Medicare tomorrow. I have my Medicare card already and now have to choose a plan. Kathryn Giegler will help me as she did Kate. This is a rite of passage, analogous to getting a driver’s license or that first Social Security check.
When I went on a quest tonight to solve a computer problem, I ended up in Best Buy where Christmas music played over the loudspeakers. I found myself cheered by it, rather than annoyed. It felt familiar, comfortable, mine. This surprised me. A Grinch I’m not, but I’ve often found the commercial side of the holiday season a large, unwelcome mosquito that won’t quit buzzing into my awareness no matter how often I try to swat it away.
Instead I found myself thinking of roasting chestnuts, singing carols, making a roaring fire and having hot chocolate. Geez.
