Dear Ones,
Does the end of the year bring a glumming? A heightened awareness of temporal fragility? For me, it does; in spades. For one thing, I am always sorry to see a year go by, even if it was a dud of a year; I just do not like feeling that there is less and less of anything, especially time. By time I don't mean time, though; I mean chocolate chip cookies, walks at the beach, floats on the river, cups of coffee in the morning. I mean that I am sad when I think of how few car rides might be left; how few pies are left to make. Moon rises. Knitted sweaters. French films.
Running along parallel to this discomfiting remainder, are the repetitive 'traditions' of the holidays. The sticky sameness of our un-adaptive and drear 'traditions.' I think, and I look forward to your thoughts on this, that our holiday celebrations are closer to a form of mass hypnotic psychosis than an expression of kind togetherness.
Between these two ominous ghosts, Loss and Ennui (not to mention Ennui's twin, Excess), what, in these last weeks, could be salvaged or savored? Let's mull that over with spices and orange rind, while we listen to the song for today.
*Yes, I do think watching children's cartoons like Frosty without any contextualization by a qualified adult could have a lot to do with the way I feel about this 'joyous' season! And, in the spirit of the ghost of Excess, here's another.
