We are halfway between Christmas and New Years, that treacherous stretch that has tended to find one of us in the emergency room for several years running. So far, we've avoided any major catastrophes although the holidays haven't been entirely without incident. But, enough about that: why borrow trouble, eh? 2023 has sucked about as hard as any other year in recent memory so it will be with a sense of--measured--relief that we see it recede in the rearview mirror of 2024. Because, let's face it, 2024 is sure to be fraught with its own set of issues, seeing how two separate, but ongoing, wars will likely continue to dominate global concerns, while here in the U.S., the presidential election promises to be the ugliest--and most consequential--in recent memory. And that's saying something.
While Pope Francis advocated for peace in the Holy Land and extended Church blessings to same-sex couples, Donald Trump's Christmas message was simple, crude, and predictably vile: he hopes that his enemies rot in hell. Catholics, protestants and evangelists alike need to take note. One of these men is a beacon of love and light. The other wants to be your next president. Consider the consequences and vote wisely.
Hoping to relieve some of the annual holiday stress, I got my Christmas shopping done early this year. I even sent out a slew of Christmas cards. Still, with all the snowbirds and seasonal visitors adding to the always-nightmarish snarl on roadways and in stores, a sense of high tension is omnipresent. And when people get tense, they often get mean. A few days ago, I was using disinfectant wipes to clean my shopping cart at Publix. The woman behind me apparently decided I wasn't sanitizing quickly enough and began repeatedly nudging her own cart against my back. Not a vicious slam but a relentless and forceful pushing. Over and over. Of course, I gave her the stank eye and proceeded to cleanse the entire interior of my cart. In slow motion. Whereupon, this individual, with an audible growl, exercised no little violence upon her own cart whilst racing past me and plunging into the teeming, sub-zero confines of the tumultuous supermarket. Publix is not the best place to be during the holidays and, as I have proved time and again, I am not averse to engaging in childish behavior when confronted by the same.
We toyed with the idea of going to Savannah for Christmas--a longstanding tradition that, in recent years, seems to have fallen by the wayside. We also considered an L.A./Vegas jaunt. In the end, we remained right here in South Florida. I may have failed to mention that I had a--not minor--medical procedure performed in late September. As a result, the meds I am now forced to endure have required a period of adjustment. Or not. Actually, I haven't adjusted at all. Getting on a plane or driving for more than 5 hours is not currently in the cards for us.
On Christmas Eve we went to the yearly party thrown by friends for whom no excess is too much. They live in a sprawling condo community that is home to more than 30,000 residents. The spread of veggies, cheeses, crackers, lunch meats, ham, salmon, prime rib, pasta, bread and desserts could have fattened up their entire building (9 floors), if not the community. And then there were the drinks. The office had been set up to function as a bar, and was well-stocked with potent potables, mixes and bottled water. FYI: I have always loathed going to parties--as much as I loved clubbing in my younger days, private parties put me in a panic. I can enjoy 6 or 8 close friends getting together but when you have more than a dozen people--some of them strangers--in a room and expect me to interact, well, then we have a problem. As you may have guessed, I'm not one for small talk. It is agonizing for me, especially since I don't drink alcohol. Oh well. The party went fine. We caught up with friends we hadn't seen in awhile, and others who'd been recently ailing. I even decided that I actually liked a couple of people I'd spent years avoiding. Who'd've thought?
We also planned on attending Midnight Mass in Ft. Lauderdale but, by the time we left the party at a still-early 10 p.m., we wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and watch TV. So we did: specifically, we ended up watching the re-broadcast of Midnight Mass at the Vatican on Channel 13. C, though not a regular churchgoer, is Catholic, while I am more relaxed about religious matters. By which I mean, worship whatever and however you want in your own space (home, church, mosque, synagogue, etc.) but don't try foisting your religious ideology off on others. As history continues to demonstrate, that never works out well. While skeptical of any religion, I have always enjoyed the pomp and ceremony of the Catholic Mass, none more than the mass celebrated on Christmas Eve. The gentle voice of the priest, the incense and music add a mystical quality to the proceedings that enchants and soothes in equal measure.
Christmas Day came and went, and we almost forgot to eat, so preoccupied were we with the gifts we'd gotten each other. Finally, in the early evening, we tossed a pork loin in the oven and ate it with peas, and a homemade mac and cheese that I threw together from pasta, shredded cheddar and butter. I was shocked at how well it all turned out considering it was a shotgun meal demanded by prompt necessity rather than careful planning.
Jacob's Dream (16th Century) by Domenico Feti
So here we are, on the last Thursday of 2023, admiring the steady tranquility of cool, delicious rain falling outside our windows. On Saturday we will be embarking on the most capricious venture of the holiday season yet: we are going to the home of C's cousin outside Tampa. You may recognize this destination from previous posts made on, or around, this same date in past years. For one thing, it is the place where I, famously, broke one of my left ribs clean in two a couple of years ago. There have been other torments suffered at this particular locale but none quite so bad as that. And I intend to keep it that way, thank you very much. This year I will avoid playing football, basketball and every other sport our host's athletically ambitious young son suggests. I will decline the black beans and the yucca and any food with the merest hint of garlic (clove, salt or powder). We will bring sweatshirts along to wear to bed at night because, winter or summer, C's cousin keeps the thermostat set at a crisp 67 degrees, a most disagreeable temperature for C and his upper respiratory system. Strategically, I will also keep an eye on the weather, bearing in mind that it wasn't that long ago when a late-season hurricane poised to strike Ft. Lauderdale, instead, made a sharp turn north towards Tampa--which is, of course, where we'd fled in anticipation of the Broward County strike. Obviously, we managed to survive that, too, but, just so you know, riding out a hurricane is not quite the thrilling adventure many people expect it to be.
So this is it, my last missive from the year 2023. Holiday posts are rarely all that interesting so when (not if) we return from Tampa, I'll try and find something more stimulating to discuss on this blog. You can be sure that books, movies, and art will figure into future discussions, as will snide comments about the most egregious, arguably human, entities on the face of our planet. Until then, have a happy new year and remember, it is never too late to be what you might have been (quote by George Eliot, not me).
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