New Year

I wish our New Year's celebration involved shortbread cookies. I'm having a little Diwali envy as I sit here wondering if I have to stay awake until midnight. 

Diwali is full of rituals and I like rituals in the same way I like square dancing. There's a part of me that loves being told what to do, then I don't stand there looking awkward trying to be creative.

Diwali is the five day Hindu New Year where the triumph of good over evil, light over dark, wisdom over ignorance is celebrated. It was one of my favorite times in Malaysia where entryways were decorated with intricate designs out of colored powders. Folks spent hours designing flowers and symbols to be swept away in the wind or footsteps. What a fantastic way to remember the fleeting gift of the beautiful present.

And shortbread cookies. Any holiday that involves shortbread is high on my list, unless there is one that includes ginger cookies.

Our family celebrated the transition of time by buying a bunch of books. What kind of nerds plan a vacation around bookstores? (I need you to know that I bought mysteries based in China, Germany, Italy, and lots of religious books).  

We wanted some time filled with books, public transportation, and ethnic food to mark these holy days. Sometimes we seek out uncomfortable situations just so we can gather interesting stories and develop character.

Best food was the Ethiopian restaurant, even though we had to wait over an hour for our food. We got several rounds of Hearts played.

Best entertainment was the retro arcade with Frogger, Ms. Pac Man, and at least a dozen pinball games. I love pinball and Kirt and I got to relive pre-kid days when we would walk to the Village Inn in St. Ignace and play South Park pinball until we ran out of quarters. 

I can't think of a better way to celebrate the new year than giggling and getting to know my family again. And buying books. And eating yummy food. 

I hope everyone has some wonderful rituals to mark the fleeting gift of the beautiful present.

Dumplings and spicy sauces in Seattle

Amtrak where we started the Hearts marathon.

As soon as we get into a city, we seek out the woods

And a stroll that always turns into a death march

We don't have enough climbable trees in Juneau so Sophie has to make up for it when we travel

The mansion we hiked to and then felt too lazy and cheap to pay to go into, but we stood outside taking pictures for people so they didn't have to pull out selfie sticks. Those are just weird.

The Egyptian coffee bar in a double decker bus with the most amazing Egyptian coffee (it's the same as Turkish coffee, except the owner is Egyptian.)

The biggest pita we've ever seen and Hannah feeling disgruntled that her sister wanted to put it on her face.

Powell's bookstore!

Christmas

There are all kinds of arguments in churches about when you decorate for Christmas. I don't care all that much. The only reason I decorate at home is so I can dust once a year (and the people I love enjoy decorations). I'm thinking we need summer solstice decorations so I dust twice a year because it was kind of gross this year.

Church people argue hymns and decorations, but in my mind, decorations go up whenever someone gets the gumption to dig them out of the church attic and put them up. Some years we wait until Christmas Eve and other times they go up as soon as the high schoolers want to put them up.

My bigger quandary is Christmas underwear. 

Can you wear Christmas underwear throughout the entire year? I'm asking for a pathetic friend whose mother and aunt still buy her underwear hoping she'll throw some nappy pairs away. They buy ones that are much more creative than Costco bulk packages. 

Okay, it's me.  It's really sweet (and a little weird) that my mom and aunt take pity on me. There are things I don't think about and underwear is definitely on that list.

Until now that I own Christmas underwear. It's almost as exhausting as the days of the week undies I had as a kid or the right and left labeled shoes. It seems overwhelming to match them to reality.

Nobody sees my underwear except for Kirt and the neighbors, so who cares? 

Yet for some reason, I do care.

I suppose I feel like reality is a slippery beast anyway, and if I defy the conventions of time in my most intimate of places then what chance do I have of maintaining any order? I tend to feel like I'm on the cusp of chaos anyway. Christmas underwear in summer might just be the push into disorder that sends all of life spiraling. 

I know life won't unravel because I have snowmen on my aspirations (see dad, I didn't write "ass") while the sun is shining for 18 hours, but I will probably bury them in my drawer and pull out the unraveling pairs to make it through the summer just in case. 

To everything there is a season (cue The Byrds). Nothing lasts forever. Neither the light nor the dark, the snow nor the sun, the sorrow nor the joy will define us through our whole lives. Some things need taken out and some put away for every season. That's good to remember when we feel trapped or complacent in one time or place. Or when the objects surrounding us keep us from moving into the next stage of life.

Everything has its season and then passes into another. Underwear will be buried until Christmas or neglected laundry makes me dig it out again.

An Argument For Why I Need More Books (and probably more sweaters)

I'm out of books. This makes me very sad.

I need books. 

I've been digging through some of the kids' stuff and recently read Feed by M.T. Anderson and The Crossover by Kwame Alexander. I would recommend both for their non-traditional writing styles and for giving me a wider perspective on the world.

And that's what a good book does. 

Books don't make me escape reality, but they make reality richer and wider (okay, maybe Janet Evanovich is an escape). Reading helps me imagine the intricacies, pain and possibilities of this beautiful world. It also reveals my blind spots. 

I got thinking about this today on my hike while wondering what I would read when I got home.

Here's what I saw today while out hiking:

I stood in one spot and simply turned my head, but the view was radically different.

It may seem trite, but that's what a book does for me. Reading turns my head. 

I believe our dilution of language and adoration of busyness have cost us dearly.  Reading seems like a leisure activity that should be skipped for something more productive or more entertaining. But reading books is not optional in our home.

I need books to keep arrogance and despair at bay. I'd also argue we all need books to foster a bit more compassion, understanding, and creativity. 

I also need sweaters. I always need more sweaters. I'm not sure why other than I love sweaters and how else will I stay warm while I read.

My Dog

My dog will not grow old.

It sucks.

I'd like to ignore this inevitability, but I need to say it for several reasons.

First, there is still a part of my brain that believes in the Fates and if I imagine a future with certainty, they will mess with it for spite. Maybe if I am convinced that Cassie will not grow old, then they will turn her into a crotchety old dog just to prove me wrong. It's weird the superstitions we pull out to try and dodge death.

Second, I need to figure out a way to deal with my dog's cancer that doesn't involve bursting into tears every time I talk about it. She's not dying, which is what makes it kind of awkward. Who knew dogs could get cancer in their toes and that it is a cancer primarily found in black dogs and poodles?

Here's what really sucks. We had the two affected toes amputated, but there's a good chance she'll get it again. There's only so many toes you can cut off before a dog loses some serious quality of life. She won't probably die from the cancer; we will have to choose to euthanize her when we run out of toes. That's messed up.

Third, many people, let alone dogs, live in this challenging place of knowing they have 1-3 years. So what do we do when days are numbered?

I don't know.

But, here's what I've observed about my coping:

Not doing;
There's no talk of bucket lists or making the most out of the days left. I'm not a believer in bucket lists; they seem like another consumer driven agenda to devour experiences until we are gorged and pretend it's living life to its fullest.

Facing mortality isn't about a list of "want to dos" as much as a choice everyday between showing up to life or being numb. I try to show up and be open to what adventures may come. I'd argue there's less regrets that way.

Cassie and I have had tremendous adventures. We've enjoyed our time on the trails and  I'd confess there was more than once we both uttered "Oh shit" in unison. She's a pretty smart dog and we got ourselves into some messes, but they reminded us to stay alive while we're living.

Doing:
We've relaxed a lot of rules. Cassie is welcome to jump on all the furniture she wants, ride in the front seat of the car, and sprawl across the kitchen floor. We give her tons of treats and table scraps. There's no use in sustaining good discipline when you have such a short time. It doesn't mean going completely wild, but reassessing what is important.

We tell her she is loved and rub her belly lots. This is awkward with people, but you get the point. I've never had anyone regret living with too much love (or belly rubs).