Though it is late afternoon a cream of mushroom soup fog still cuddles me as I contemplate the almost end of another year. Earlier today as I was denuding the weathered manzanita branch of the miniature ornaments displayed each year to give a semblance of Christmas spirit (for its still hard to be joyful without my life partner to share the task) I felt a welcome tingle of pleasure fingering the memorabilia. It was a feeling of both surprise and tenderness. A number of the objects had been Lee’s folks. Three of the special ones were White House Christmas replicas given to me by Lee’s great niece Julie and family from Virginia with whom we shared Christmas brunch again this year. Some of the ornaments were favored objects in my therapy office sand tray, thus infused with multiple memories, magical and transformative. Does that mean that time has softened my sharp edges of loss? I surely hope so. A surprise stopped my introspection. In the bottom of the plastic crate in yellowed tissue appeared the spectacles shown above. It eludes me where they came from, but they must be at least a hundred years old. The frames are incredibly fragile; thin wire, rusted in places. The lens are intact but the glass is so amber and shattered it looks like ice on a melting mud puddle. For the photo I placed them on a bible I was given at age 12. It opened randomly to the book of John. The bible is not quite 70, but it was the oldest prop I could find around. The set up rather pleases me. Perhaps I will paint it some day, or maybe I will put the thought on my bucket list. Tee Hee.
Lately a number of my friends have been talking about doing things on their bucket lists. How funny, for they are all younger than I. For instance, Catherine and Mary went to New York to see the Thanksgiving Macy’s Day parade because it was on Catherine’s bucket list. And my friends Sue and Jeanne spent part of the holidays flying to Fairbanks to see the northern lights because it was on Sue’s bucket list. My painting teacher Sandy is going to Guatemala in the spring to paint because its part of her bucket list. I’m afraid I can’t think of a thing I’m aching to do that I haven’t already done. Of course I'm a little jealous of my friend Arlene who saw a bald eagle in her back yard last week, but that's not something one could plan for. In retrospect, I do know my grey garden bucket I use for weeds has a big hole in it. Likewise the bottom of the yellow bucket I use to gather Kodi’s turds is dangerously thin. Perhaps the message is I should concentrate on the precariousness of the here and now rather than the promise of the future.