Dark days, long nights

An earlier Christmas Eve

I believe I took this picture on Christmas Eve back in 2016, which fell on a Saturday. Although it doesn't specifically say where it was taken, I suspect this was Lake Padden on one of our usual Saturday walks. This year, Christmas Eve is also on a Saturday, and given the forecast for the next week, it might actually look something like this. We have a patch of very cold and snowy weather ahead, but by the time we get to the weekend, and a possible repeat of this scene, it will be much warmer. Snow takes a bit longer to clear from the frosty trails, however.

Going back through my pictures of previous years, I see that there are plenty of them with snow, much of it still hanging around during the high mountain summer hikes we used to take each year. And there's even a few that I took in the wintertime on snowshoe trips, which I haven't attempted in years. I'm beginning to feel like those days might be behind me, but you just never know for sure. There are other Trailblazers still going up there at this time of year. I don't even consider myself to be an active Senior Trailblazer any more. Just Melanie and I, and sometimes a few others, make it onto those old favorite trails together. The pandemic changed my desire to gather in large groups, and I am still feeling a bit vulnerable and unwilling to catch one of the many viruses making people sick these days. I'll continue to mask and keep my distance.

The winter solstice has always been special to me as a barren darkness that gives birth to a verdant future beyond imagination, a time of pain and withdrawal that produces something joyfully inconceivable, like a monarch butterfly masterfully extracting itself from the confines of its cocoon, bursting forth into unexpected glory.—Gary Zukav

And yes, the winter solstice, just a few days away. After we reach that dark night, the light begins to return. This year, the solstice occurs here in my little corner of the world this coming Wednesday at 1:48pm. Today the sun will set at 4:14pm. Even  when it's a sunny day, the temperature never gets too warm, and we have already had much cooler fall days than usual. I'm not sure what the winter will be like, but I will do my best to stay warm when outdoors. I worry a little about the wildlife.

By and large, however, life is pretty good. I have a warm and safe place to live, and unless we lose power, we can stay very comfortable in our little apartment. That's not true for so many people these days. I look at the citizens of Ukraine trying to maintain some semblance of normal life as they are continually being bombed; I see the homeless people all over here in Bellingham. They have mostly stopped sleeping on the streets as the weather changes, but I don't think they will have a safe and comfortable place to live in the long run. When I was young, I never saw such scenes, but then again I wasn't paying much attention. And there were so many fewer people: the worldwide population has more than tripled since then. The world population was 2.3 billion when I was born; now it is more than 8 billion.

It's the season when many of us take the time to recollect earlier days and remember what no longer exists. I lost my parents when they were much younger than I am now, and I lost my two children long, long ago. Friends who are my age are beginning to pass into new stages of life, and sometimes are passing away. I learned yesterday that one of my old hiking buddies has died; he was ill with Alzheimer's Disease, which came on rather suddenly and took him down that awful trajectory of loss quickly. He was 77, but he went from being an active senior to a memory care home in just a few years. He was a gentle and fun person to be around and told jokes that were often really funny and had us all in stitches as we walked. Steve will be missed.

I do have to remind myself that this is the normal path of one's life: a newborn becomes an octogenarian in the blink of an eye. Well, eighty years isn't exactly a blink, but it does seem like it when I look back on my life. Since we don't live all that long, it's important to take stock and appreciate it while we still have the ability to do so. The one constant in life is change, and as I sit in meditation in the morning, watching my breath, I try to remember that each moment is precious and irreplaceable. Sometimes routine and habit get in the way of that remembrance, but just a quick perusal of the news of the world can snap me out of it. 

Snagged from the internet awhile back (click to enlarge)            

I found this cartoon one day many years ago, and it was so profound I decided to save it for a special occasion. Here it is, and here we are, together at the end of 2022, looking ahead to the bright future when the butterfly emerges from its cocoon and we begin another journey around the sun, with flowers and summer and falling leaves and friendship and love everywhere we look.

You, my dear friends, comfort me in myriad ways, just by being there, and for sharing your life with me. I am truly blessed that I was born when the world was beginning to get connected and that the entire world, with all its joy and sorrow, is within my reach. My heart is full, and I will approach this day as if it were the only one I have (because indeed it is) and will love as much as I can, and laugh as much as I can.

My partner still sleeps quietly next to me and gives me comfort just by being there. My tea is long gone and the world beckons to me to rise out of bed and start my brand-new irreplaceable day. I wish all of you, who are so dear to me, the very best of holiday seasons and lots and lots of laughter. Be well until we meet again next week.