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Thursday, December 19, 2002

So. The tree is decorated, at last. This is always a rather sentimental occasion, however much I may have been grumping beforehand about gorram razzlefrazzle Christmas. Putting the lights on is just a PITA, but once I get them shoved into the depths of the branches and more or less evenly spaced, then I begin pulling out the ornaments, one after another.

The first ones up, always, are the two survivors of the set of ornaments my parents bought around the time I was born, which means they're perhaps 50 years old. They're nothing special in and of themselves, painted glass, very very fragile, but they carry a great weight of memory for me. One of them is slightly broken, smushed in on one side, and I always hang it so its whole side is facing outward.

Then I put up the ornament P. gave me the first Christmas we spent together, a beautifully carved miniature wood violin. I need to find a strong twig for it, because it's heavy.

There's the woven straw ornaments S. and I bought at the Swedish Museum when we were very young and broke and that was all we could afford. They're light, so I can hang them on the flimsy twigs. There's a brass angel S.'s parents gave me, back when I think they were hoping we might get married, with my name and the year (1977) engraved on it. There's a bunch of clear glass stars and balls I bought the year I broke up with S., the first Christmas I spent by myself, when I was trying to be all elegant and tasteful.

There's a gaudy painted wooden nutcracker that was given to me one night at the bar by John, a sweet-natured sentimental not-especially-bright alcoholic with whom I used to chat sometimes. I keep it and hang it every year as a reminder to myself about non-judgmentalism, and the kindness that can be found in odd places.

There's a strange and lovely seedpod, from a tree of unknown species in Fresno, near where my grandparents used to live. I picked it up when I was visiting them back in 1985, when I was trying to get them placed in a nursing home and get their house sold, when they were making me insane with frustration. I hang it every year as a reminder to myself to be patient.

There's a set of little straw-and-balsa Victorian houses, which I bought on a whim one December in the '80s, when the nonprofit I used to work for had just closed on a deal to build a new affordable-housing project. I hang them every year to remind myself that no matter how lunatic and ineffectual that job seems in retrospect, my work helped create some homes in which other families are even now celebrating their Christmases.

There's a wooden heart, painted red, given to me by a volunteer agency where I did counseling back in the early 90's, an experience that persuaded me to go into the graduate program that launched me into an entirely new career. I hang it every year as a reminder to myself to give a bit more of myself to others, and to remain open to the unexpected.

There's an odd clay figurine of an unhappy-looking Mexican peasant woman, carrying a heavy load of straw or something on her back. I can't remember where I got her, but I always hang her near the top of the tree, as a reminder that my own life is easy and blessed, and that my comfort rests in part on the suffering of others.

There are a couple of smug-looking ceramic cats, which I hang as a reminder of the ways that my life has been blessed and afflicted by felines.

And there's one tiny inconsequential beige-colored glass ball, about the size of a cherry tomato. It's the only other survivor of my parents' ornaments, and in the normal course of events would have been lost or smashed decades ago, like all its siblings. I hang it every year as a celebration of the survival and endurance of all that is meek, ordinary, unmemorable, and inconsequential

When all the ornaments are finally hung, I put on my Perotin CD, pour some brandy, turn out all the houselights, and plug in the tree. Then I sit for a while, sipping and listening and letting my mind go back in time. How many of these ornaments, I wonder, will I still have when I die?

Like the song says, preserve your memories. And happy holidays to all.

Posted @ 09:08 PM CST [Link]7 comments

Wednesday, December 18, 2002

The fact that I've been quiet here the past week does not mean it's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon. The inside of my head has been like a monkey cage, in fact, largely because on Friday a friend forwarded me a job opening that's -- well, it's Kat's Ideal Job, or as close as we're likely to get to such in this flawed cosmos. So ever since then I've been in a frenzy of resume-polishing and cover-letter-re-re-editing and stomach-churning dither. Because if by some fluke I were to get this job, it would mean uprooting my entire life and moving it halfway across the country, which is something I've been sort of toying with mentally for a while but hadn't actually come to grips with. And I'm really trying not to let myself get my hopes up because, even though on paper I've got all their essential and desired qualifications more than covered, I've also got the Inner Voice of Anxiety assuring me that at least seventy uber-qualified candidates are also applying, and all of them are younger and smarter than me and have more coherent work histories and better interview suits. And also the Voice of Depression is murmuring quietly, kindly, "You know you don't really deserve this. You know that what you want doesn't matter."

And then there's the whole issue of P., to whom I haven't yet mentioned this, and what it would mean for our relationship if I did get it. And then I start freaking about holy jesus how would I move my poor feeble senile cat across country? And then again with the You're not going to get it anyway, fool, so just shaddup.

So, basically I'm just dithering, and chewing my nails up to the wrist. None of this is aided by the fact that things at work have been highly stressful, due to malign internal-politics crap which isn't landing on me directly but is grinding up one of my most beloved colleagues. At this very minute I'm supposed to be making a kugel to bring to the office holiday potluck, but I really don't even want to go, because there are certain people I'd just as soon not see right now. (Why a kugel? I hear you ask, and it's because the theme for this potluck was "Bring a food item that starts with the same letter as your name." I had a brief evil moment of pondering a kohlrabi-kielbasa casserole, but relented.)

Anyway. I certainly won't hear anything back about the job until after Christmas, and, given the season, probably not until after New Year's, so I need to just settle the fuck down and resume coping with real life. I did buy my tree on Saturday, and got it in the stand, but haven't yet decorated it, so I need to do that tonight before P. comes over. I've ground out a few more paragraphs of story, but I really need to bear down, fix my eyes firmly on the finish line, and rally for the final push. I have a raft of work projects that need focused attention. I need to slap some duct tape over the mouths of both Anxiety and Depression, and get my head out of la-la-land and back in the game.

Posted @ 06:58 AM CST [Link]9 comments