Melancholy

I debated about even using the word “melancholy.” It’s a good word, but it might exaggerate my actual emotional state. Still, the word is mostly accurate for me on this cold bright Winter Solstice.* Ever since my parents died decades ago, I have had a complicated relationship with Christmas (see Humbug, Maybe from December 2012). I remain agnostic about many things in this life. However, I still love holiday festivities with my family and my friends. Through the holiday season, I continue to listen hour after hour to Christmas music (the carols of The Boston Camerata are some of my particular favorites). I remember being a small child singing carols in my bedroom in Detroit. Even then, I thought about the great promise of the words, “peace on earth, goodwill to men.” I still believe, or hope these words even now, although I would change “men” to “all.”

My three quarters of a century’s worth of years are weighing on me somewhat now. This seems especially true because two work friends died this year and family and friends are facing health issues. Another thing: I dread the coming of the next Trump regime. As one of my loved ones has said, “It’s going to be a sh**storm.” It looks to me like the storm is already here and Inauguration Day is still almost a month away. On January 20, 2025, I plan on remembering the words and actions of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and, weather permitting, joining in the National Day of Service by clearing out invasive plants at Hillside Park. I am a proponent of freedom of speech, diversity, equity, and inclusion–also, and perhaps more fundamentally, of civility and kindness. This does not mean I am always civil and kind: these are my goals. I am downcast by the ugliness and hatred I see and hear announced from so many quarters. Now, sometimes, I find it a little harder to get out of bed in the morning. Sometimes, I feel the tears behind my eyes. Sometimes, I feel as old as I now look. However, my dear ones (my husband, my family, and my friends) and I are of a like mind. We will hope and not despair and work together to save ourselves and our country.

Memories

Now that I have started thinking of winters and Christmases past, the wisps of melancholy around me are disappearing. Disappearing in a mental jumble of snow, sleds, skates, pralines, gingerbread, trees, and light. Below are Just a few  of the memories crowding my mind:

• Christmas at my Grandma Jose’s with all the cousins back when we all lived in Detroit. I loved her little round Christmas tree with all the lights.
• Snow in the winter–every winter–with all the wet gloves, boots, and pants dripping in the tub
• Heading down the Pennsylvania Turnpike during a snowstorm for Dan and Jeanne’s wedding
• Finishing college exams, exhausted, but heading home for rest and comfort
• Back in Page, Arizona, every classroom had a Christmas tree from the Kaibab National Forest
• Making gingerbread people with Laura in Salt Lake City; Laura’s were stylish, mine were barely hominid
• Sewing Christmas clothes and toys for our children (even though I couldn’t sew)
• Making our own holiday traditions with our children: chile verde, spring rolls, or pupusas for Christmas!

So many good memories, I think it will take me days to revisit them all in my head.  That’s one of the good things about having so many years under my belt now.

Marcescence

Last year I learned a new word to describe a natural phenomenon I have noticed throughout my life. The word is marcescence. This phenomenon is when some deciduous trees (such as oaks and beeches) retain some leaves on their branches into the winter and early spring. Note: For more information about this, see “Marcescence and the Legend of the Evergreens” by Alonso Abugattas.

Thinking of winter leaves takes me back to more happy winter scenes: Michigan winters with lots of oak leaves hanging on amid the snow and Theodore Roosevelt Island, my refuge during the pandemic, when we all tried to hang on. I believe the leaves below are from a tiny beech tree on the island that I love (and have photographed several times).

I am trying to be like this marcescent beech. I am holding on for spring and for better times.

Happy Holidays!

---

* Yet again I missed my self-imposed deadline, Now, one day after the Winter Solstice, we are turning toward the light.