Member-only story
2020, Here I Come
My hound’s nose is nestled against my left foot. I am shoeless, wearing black, red, and yellow plaid stockings (they’re not as obnoxious as they sound), so she can sniff to her heart’s delight my foot, freed from tight shoes all the day long, which is just about her favorite thing to do in the world. She collects our socks too, of course, pulling them from where they’ve been tucked in shoes or tossed in hampers. We have the biggest missing sock collection ever.
I don’t want to write about my hound tonight though, as adorable as she is. What I want to write about is impermanence, is the fleeting joy of life, is the challenge we, or at least I, face to inject meaning into life as it pours by in the torrent that it is.
My dad died in June, and I didn’t write about it. Thanksgiving happened, and I didn’t write about it. Christmas happened, and… ditto. And New Year’s Eve and Day. And now here we are. Here I am, seated on the gold couch across from the Silvertip christmas tree, loaded the way I like with all manner of ornaments from the ‘30’s (Beth the German hairdresser’s ornaments) to the ’60s (my mother’s time-worn collection of Raggedy Ann and Andy, Snoopy, and Sesame Street ornaments).
The tree is still lit, because I don’t care that Christmas is over. I’m still enjoying the tree, and will keep it a while. It makes the room prettier. It’s dainty and perfect. And…
