On the Eve of a New Year and New World

 Amanda Gorman has shared  a poem that challenges US, and everyone else, to, essentially, "do better.” After reading her poem, I found myself wondering how to apply that challenge to our collective future, beginning with tomorrow, New Year’s Day, 2022. I think I found some answers that satisfy me. See what you think.

The Challenge

'New Day's Lyric'

--by Amanda Gorman, Dec 31, 2021

May this be the day

We come together.

Mourning, we come to mend,

Withered, we come to weather,

Torn, we come to tend,

Battered, we come to better.

Tethered by this year of yearning,

We are learning

That though we weren't ready for this,

We have been readied by it.

We steadily vow that no matter

How we are weighed down,

We must always pave a way forward.

*

This hope is our door, our portal.

Even if we never get back to normal,

Someday we can venture beyond it,

To leave the known and take the first steps.

So let us not return to what was normal,

But reach toward what is next.

*

What was cursed, we will cure.

What was plagued, we will prove pure.

Where we tend to argue, we will try to agree,

Those fortunes we forswore, now the future we foresee,

Where we weren't aware, we're now awake;

Those moments we missed

Are now these moments we make,

The moments we meet,

And our hearts, once all together beaten,

Now all together beat.

*

Come, look up with kindness yet,

For even solace can be sourced from sorrow.

We remember, not just for the sake of yesterday,

But to take on tomorrow.

*

We heed this old spirit,

In a new day's lyric,

In our hearts, we hear it:

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

Be bold, sang Time this year,

Be bold, sang Time,

For when you honor yesterday,

Tomorrow ye will find.

Know what we've fought

Need not be forgot nor for none.

It defines us, binds us as one,

Come over, join this day just begun.

For wherever we come together,

We will forever overcome.

***

Its Application

The planetary boundaries concept presents a set of nine planetary boundaries within which humanity can continue to develop and thrive for generations to come

Planetary boundaries
J. Lokrantz/Azote based on Steffen et al. 2015.

A Response

What Does An Ecological Civilization Look Like?

A society based on natural ecology might seem like a far-off utopia—yet communities everywhere are already creating it.

May we all enjoy, create, and thrive this New Year and thereafter!

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Looking ahead to next year

It’s probably the result of having been influenced by the Protestant work ethic for too many years, but it feels funny to be starting a New Year over the weekend. I know it happens every six or seven years, since there are only seven days in a week, but it seems improper to start a whole year on a non-work day. And next year, I mean 2023, will start on a Sunday. At least that’s the normal beginning of a week. Maybe it’s the fact that January 1, 2022, the start of a new year, occurs on the last day of the week, that I find jarring.

artisan sourdough bread baked in January

Photo by J. Harrington

January is usually a good month for baking. Keeping the oven going helps take any chill off the inside of the house. Our furnace thermostat is wall-mounted in an interior hallway. We probably couldn’t afford the heating bills if it was on an exterior wall or near a window. The house was build in the late 70’s, before energy efficiency and really good insulation became popular. When we last checked, the economics of heating supported paying for the natural gas rather than installing retrofitted insulation. Now that the cost of natural gas appears to be increasing significantly, it may be time to take another look.

2019 polar vortex thermostat & outside temp

Photo by J. Harrington

One thing that troubles me about the environmentalists and progressives espousing “keep it in the ground,” is that I’ve yet to see helpful analyses of how different approaches might affect the typical household or family. Installing an air source heat pump might, that’s might, let us get mostly away from natural gas for heating, but would definitely require better insulation and windows to be effective. And what if there were no natural gas for the furnace as a backup when we get visited by a polar vortex?

Too many politicians, pundits and corporations have played fast and loose with the truth for any sane person to blindly accept what’s cited as necessary or good. We need better analyses, policies and transparency to successfully move through the transitions required to maintain and restore a livable planet. Let’s hope those three elements, at a minimum, can be brought forth as part of the 2022 election campaigns. Otherwise, next Thanksgiving may have most of US trying to eat a pig in a poke with turkeys running (or running down) the country.

[UPDATE: Fresh Energy has a policy framework for heat pumps that fails to mention this from their blog posting on heat pumps: – Paired with weatherization programs and backup heat sources in existing buildings, air-source heat pumps are fantastic tools for accelerating the transition to clean electric energy that powers homes, hospitals, and businesses.]

Burning the Old Year

By Naomi Shihab Nye

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   

Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   

transparent scarlet paper,

sizzle like moth wings,

marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,   

lists of vegetables, partial poems.   

Orange swirling flame of days,   

so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,   

an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   

I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   

only the things I didn’t do   

crackle after the blazing dies.

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An inspiration for the year’s start

Most year’s we take down the Christmas decorations and the tree about the time of the feast of the Epiphany, January 6, when the Three Wise Men visited the Christ child. That dedecoration usually leaves a void that I don’t begin thinking about filling much before Valentine’s. This year we’re going to try something different because two years of pandemic, four years of tRUMP, etc. needs a positive response.

As soon as we can after the decorations come down, we’re going to find floral and/or botanical decorations to replace the Christmas greenery, but probably on a reduced scale. Furthermore, we’re going to treat this as an adventure, not a chore. And, although we’ll lean toward natural, native plants, we’ll approach the search with an open mind and a questing spirit. That change right there will be an improvement over most past January days around here.

a fresh start in January

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re open to cut bouquets or potted plants, or both. When the weather warms we’ll cut our own batches of pussy willow catkins and red osier dogwood, and later, cattails, but for now the options seem to require store bought. Although we have long agreed with Joan Walsh Anglund, that Spring is a New Beginning, we also know that a new year is also a new beginning, or can and should be.

Good Bones

Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

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A thinking community? Yes!!!

 Cloudy, dreary, snowing. Bitter cold through New Years weekend. These are indeed the darkest days of the year, both literally and psychologically. And the pundits tell us the new year will bring lots of uncertainty. All of which, plus spending too much time on social media, has me wondering about taking  the shifting baseline syndrome from ecology, applying it to the natural, cultural, social and political worlds (economic fits in there somewhere) and working on restoration sociology or anthropology.

Aldo Leopold refers to a “thinking community” as he writes about a land ethic.

Leopold recognized that his dream of a widely accepted and implemented set of values based on caring – for people, for land, and for all the connections between them – would have to “evolve… in the minds of a thinking community.”

“It evolves in the minds of a thinking community."

Photo by J. Harrington

I believe we need to focus on creating a thinking community as well as "simply caring: about people, about land, and about strengthening the relationships between them.” Much of the behavior we see, read about, and too often exhibit is based very little on either thinking or caring. We have become reactors (other-directed) rather than actors (inner-directed, check The Lonely Crowd).

Slowly, we are learning how to do restoration ecology more effectively. Perhaps that means we can actually (re)create a thinking community that honors a land ethic and will be better prepared to respond to whatever the James Webb Space Telescope will soon begin transmitting.

I think I’ve just added to my New Year’s wish list.

Remember

Joy Harjo - 1951-

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star's stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother's, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

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Slouching toward a New Year

The township plow cleared the snow right down to the ice coating on the road. Snow mixed with  freezing rain or drizzle will do that to a roadway. It also coated the cement path to the dog run. Spring looks far away at the moment but we can hope a January thaw will melt us down to pavements and the rest of winter’s precipitation will fall only as snow.

Blowing snow early this morning involved almost constant readjustment to keep the snow blower and  the operator upwind of the blown snow. The drive got cleared so the Better Half could go watch the  granddaughter. Of course, the township plow didn’t come by until we cleared the drive and it refilled the bottom six feet or so. Later this afternoon we’ll go clean up that mess so we can better deal with tomorrow’s forecast snow storm. Sigh! In fact, we’re getting some snow showers as this is being written. I hope we get enough  cooperation from Mother Nature to have a small bonfire on New Year’s Eve or Day to compensate for the one we didn’t light at Solstice. Stay tuned!

a past year’s Solstice fire

Photo by J. Harrington

Harry the beagle, the Better Half’s recent rescue, has legs that are only about six or eight inches long. Three or four inches of snow for Harry is akin to knee deep for me. I feel for the little guy  and do my best to cut  him some slack during our  walks. Harry’s head doesn’t quite reach my lab cross SiSi’s shoulder so they look a lot like Mutt and Jeff walking along the road’s edge.

Again this year we’re going  to use the time between Christmas and New Year’s to take inventory, set some priorities for next year, and try to get organized. Samuel Beckett has captured the outcomes of many of our previous such efforts.

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

It’s only when we stop trying that we’ve actually failed, right? 

New Year

By Michael Prior

I've resolved last year's resolutions

watching this bonfire fail to flame.

I've ignored December's iterations,

unsolved my consolations:

a card, a call, a paper crane's blame-

less fractions of the same.

I can't solve for time's absolutions

watching these embers fail to flame.

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The day after Christmas

T’was the day after Christmas
And all through the house
Few creatures wer stirring
'Cept maybe a mouse

The stockings were ravaged
The tree nearly bare
The kids were all tired
Of toys they could share

Guests are now packed
For their drive home
The kitchen's been sacked
Like it was ancient Rome

by himself,
with thanks to Clement Moore

all bare under the tree

Photo by J. Harrington

We’ve made it through another one and are very grateful for the happy feelings, good times, and healthy and tasty food, all shared with family extraordinaire. Yesterday’s snow was manageable although it fell while the Better Half was driving our son back to his group home while I returned to our home to tend dogs. We met back at the Daughter Person / Son-In-Law’s just as the snow was ending. What’s forecast for tonight may or may not be as readily traversable come morning. And there’s another wave coming Tuesday? It’s starting to feel like an old fashioned North Country winter, but only if we avvoid freezing rain and drizzle.

One of the presents in my stocking was a copy of All Creation Waits, The Advent Mystery of New Beginnings. I do not intent to put it aside until next year, it looks too interesting: reflections “on how wild animals adapt when darkness and cold descend.” Perhaps I’ll learn something to help get us to April. Next year, come December, I hope to share it with out granddaughter, who by then will be two years+. Christmas with children is far, far superior to one without. Is it time to start a national campaign to bring back extended families?

Christmas Night

By Conrad Hilberry

Let midnight gather up the wind   

and the cry of tires on bitter snow.   

Let midnight call the cold dogs home,   

sleet in their fur—last one can blow   

the streetlights out.   If children sleep   

after the day’s unfoldings, the wheel   

of gifts and griefs, may their breathing   

ease the strange hollowness we feel.   

Let midnight draw whoever’s left   

to the grate where a burnt-out log unrolls   

low mutterings of smoke until   

a small fire wakes in its crib of coals.

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Merry Christmas to all!

Today is a hectic day so we’ll make this post short and sweet. We hope the season and the New Year brings not just tidings of, but real, comfort and joy to all who believe in love, kindness and kinship.

Santa believes in share and share alike. He didn’t eat all the cookies we left for him. He left these behind last night but did drink all his milk.

cookies Santa left to share with us

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re off to celebrate Christmas and our real Son’s birthday with the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law and Granddaughter. Until tomorrow, enjoy, as best you can, all of today and these

Christmas Cookies by C. F. Kelly

The mixer in the kitchen purrs; it twists and tosses as it stirs the cookie batter Mom will bake and then let me help decorate. The silver cutters wait in lines to shape their own unique designs when rolling pin has done its job and flattened out the doughy blob. She wipes her brow, adjusts her sleeves, and starts to cut out holly leaves, then picks the joyful rocking horse and stars and bells and birds, of course. The trees and Santas wait their turn, while angels, next to snow men, yearn to don their robes and join the crowd— I’m sure they want to sing out loud. The powdered sugar frosting spreads with ease and forms the sticky beds on which the colored sprinkles rest, where red-hot buttons look their best. And I would like to make it clear that these creations disappear because in spite of looking neat, they’re really baked for us to eat.

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May your Christmas Eve be calm and bright

The insurance version of a Christmas amaryllis I bought a few weeks back is opening right on time. The blossoms are white instead of the typical red. Sometimes change is, or can be, good. May all that changes next year be for the good!

"She gave birth to her firstborn child, a son,
wrapped him snugly,
and laid him in a manger,..."

Photo by J. Harrington

Tomorrow our family celebrates Christmas in the morning and our oldest child’s birthday in the afternoon. We’re very grateful we can all get together and pray that no one is a carrier. Although this past year hasn’t been a disaster for us, it won’t take a heck of a lot for next year to be a big improvement. In fact our Christmas wish is that next year the Earth and her inhabitants have the food, water, shelter, and health they need plus family and friends with whom to share it. All except COVID-19 and its ilk. If I were the Grinch, I doubt I could make my heart big enough to be kind, or even accepting, of a pandemic-causing virus.

Christmas Trees

By Robert Frost

(A Christmas Circular Letter)

The city had withdrawn into itself

And left at last the country to the country;

When between whirls of snow not come to lie

And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove

A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,

Yet did in country fashion in that there

He sat and waited till he drew us out

A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.

He proved to be the city come again

To look for something it had left behind

And could not do without and keep its Christmas.

He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;

My woods—the young fir balsams like a place

Where houses all are churches and have spires.

I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.

I doubt if I was tempted for a moment

To sell them off their feet to go in cars

And leave the slope behind the house all bare,

Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.

I’d hate to have them know it if I was.

Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except

As others hold theirs or refuse for them,

Beyond the time of profitable growth,

The trial by market everything must come to.

I dallied so much with the thought of selling.

Then whether from mistaken courtesy

And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether

From hope of hearing good of what was mine, I said,

“There aren’t enough to be worth while.”

“I could soon tell how many they would cut,

You let me look them over.”

                                                     “You could look.

But don’t expect I’m going to let you have them.”

Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close

That lop each other of boughs, but not a few

Quite solitary and having equal boughs

All round and round. The latter he nodded “Yes” to,

Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,

With a buyer’s moderation, “That would do.”

I thought so too, but wasn’t there to say so.

We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,

And came down on the north. He said, “A thousand.”

“A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?”

He felt some need of softening that to me:

“A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.”

Then I was certain I had never meant

To let him have them. Never show surprise!

But thirty dollars seemed so small beside

The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents

(For that was all they figured out apiece),

Three cents so small beside the dollar friends

I should be writing to within the hour

Would pay in cities for good trees like those,

Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools

Could hang enough on to pick off enough.

A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had!

Worth three cents more to give away than sell,

As may be shown by a simple calculation.

Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter.

I can’t help wishing I could send you one,

In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

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On Christmas Eve’s Eve

In our part of the North Country the mid-afternoon temperature is 37℉. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. An early Christmas present has been delivered by Mother Nature. Perhaps it’s time we reciprocate. We can do so without  the blessing of congress if we want to.

Many folks, mostly but not entirely Democrats, have been fussing and fuming about the refusal of a certain senator from West Virginia to support the proposed Build Back Better legislation [H.R.5376]. So far, I’ve seen little in the way of what can be accomplished by individuals, organizations, and local, state and federal governments using existing tools and additional creativity. That’s unfortunate, since failure to enable our society to proceed to accomplish much of what’s in the legislation without its enactment gives away much of the negotiating power that well-meaning progressives, be they Democrats or Independents, can exercise. In fact, such an approach might even attract a few Republicans, since they’re the ones that claim to want smaller government. Couldn’t society call their bluff?

doesn’t a star shine brightest on a dark night?

Photo by J. Harrington

One of the major reasons a cooperative, collaborative approach is needed is that too many in congress are more interested in representing the 1% rather than the rest of us. Let’s show what we can accomplish without the assistance of those relying heavily on corporate funds and/or dark money.

[UPDATE: for example, according to Bill McKibben, “New York City joined about 50 California jurisdictions earlier today, in banning gas connections for new construction. This matters—among other things, it will be a school for construction workers about how to use these new technologies. And it will be popular” 

I suggest that any who read this posting give themselves a Christmas present, belated if necessary. Get and read a copy of Rebecca Solnit’s Hope in the Dark. The excerpt below is a sampling. I think we’ll all need it to get through next year. Merry Christmas [almost!].

“Hope is not a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. It is an axe you break down doors with in an emergency. Hope should shove you out the door, because it will take everything you have to steer the future away from endless war, from the annihilation of the earth's treasures and the grinding down of the poor and marginal... To hope is to give yourself to the future - and that commitment to the future is what makes the present inhabitable.” 
― Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark

Christmas Mail

By Ted Kooser

Cards in each mailbox,

angel, manger, star and lamb,

as the rural carrier,

driving the snowy roads,

hears from her bundles

the plaintive bleating of sheep,

the shuffle of sandals,

the clopping of camels.

At stop after stop,

she opens the little tin door

and places deep in the shadows

the shepherds and wise men,

the donkeys lank and weary,

the cow who chews and muses.

And from her Styrofoam cup,

white as a star and perched

on the dashboard, leading her

ever into the distance,

there is a hint of hazelnut,

and then a touch of myrrh.

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Post solstice solace of space and time

Yesterday was winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. According to my copy of the Minnesota Weatherguide Engagement Calendar, the sun rose at 7:48 am and set at 4:34 pm. Today the sun rose at the same time as yesterday but sets at 4:35 pm. That doesn’t mean we gained a whole minute. It’s actually as little two seconds if on Tuesday 4:34 was actually 4:34:59 and today’s 4:35 was actually 4:35:01. But that’s not what I’m trying to figure out. Does the extra time come at the beginning, the middle, or the end of the day, or all three? It probably doesn’t make much, if any, difference, but I’ve become curious about whether we’re measuring time or daylight or both and how it works. The twenty-four hours in a day is reported to be comprised of “23 hours, 56 minutes and 4 seconds to complete one rotation and that we round up to 24-hour days. But that additional 3 minutes, 56 seconds takes actually into account Earth’s movement around the sun.” And remember, every four years we add a whole day at the end of February.

where in time-space are the tree lights?

Photo by J. Harrington

So, it appears that our time-keeping is somewhat arbitrary, but not necessarily capricious. Does this have anything to do with Einstein’s time-space continuum? Possibly, according to this description from What is the Space-Time Continuum for Dummies?:

But in a relativistic universe, time cannot be separated from the three dimensions of space. This is because the observed rate at which time passes depends on the velocity of an object relative to the observer. Also, any gravitational field strength slows down the passage of time.

I’m not enough of a physicist or philosopher to actually think I understand all this but the phrase "the observed rate at which time passes depends on the velocity of an object relative to the observer” makes me wonder if there may not be some significance to where in the day the extra light gets added. If you have thoughts about this, feel free to share them in the comments.

I spent part of the morning today helping the Daughter Person assemble some flatpak children’s furniture. I think that trying to follow the instructions may have caused my mind to slip into a different dimension. Plus, more cloudiness and cold is affecting my brain. I believe I need a dose of Alfred and the Chipmunks to get me back on the seasonal straight and narrow.

The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late)

Alright you Chipmunks, Ready to sing your song?
I'd say we are
Yeah, Lets sing it now!
Okay, Simon?
OK
Okay, Theodore?
OK
Okay Alvin?...Alvin?...ALVIN!!!
OKAY!!

Christmas, Christmas time is near
Time for toys and time for cheer
We've been good, but we can't last
Hurry Christmas, hurry fast

Want a plane that loops the loop
Me, I want a Hula-Hoop
We can hardly stand the wait
Please Christmas don't be late

Ok Fellas, Get ready
That was very good, Simon
Naturally!
Very Good Theodore
He He He He
Uh Alvin, You were a little flat
Watch it, Alvin... Alvin?...ALVIN!!!
OKAY!!

Want a plane that loops the loop
I still want a Hula-Hoop
We can hardly stand the wait
Please Christmas don't be late
We can hardly stand the wait
Please Christmas don't be late

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Happy Solstice!

We hope that today, and all the days that follow, will find you healthy, happy and hopeful. Although Solstice brings the longest night of the year, it also brings the assurance of days that grow longer and a new season that will arrive in 89 days, on March  20, 2022. For now we must keep hope warm on our hearths and in our hearts. I know, easier said than done, but this morning I found a quotation that helped ease my doom and gloom.

“Watching the morning break, I realize again that darkness doesn't kill the light—it defines it.” 
― Richard Wagamese, Embers: One Ojibway's Meditations

Winter Solstice: 9:59 am 12/21/21

Photo by J. Harrington

It’s been too long since I last read Embers. It’s now in the stack of books to begin reading next year, along with whatever may end up under the tree or in my stocking, plus Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac. That’s where Leopold writes about his concept of a Land Ethic.

Ethics direct all members of a community to treat one another with respect for the mutual benefit of all. A land ethic expands the definition of “community” to include not only humans, but all of the other parts of the Earth, as well: soils, waters, plants, and animals, or what Leopold called “the land.”

It’s the emphasis on community that I believe all of US need to be more attentive too. We have forgotten just how interdependent we are. Perhaps this winter, compounded by COVID-19 and its never-ending variants, plus the consequences of climate breakdown and loss of biodiversity, and supply chain disruptions, and related matters, will help US remember how much we need each other. If we do so, and act accordingly, perhaps spring will bring about a renewal of life that exceeds our current expectations. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful, if belated, Christmas present?

    The Shortest Day

    by Susan Cooper

    And so the Shortest Day came and the year died

    And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world

    Came people singing, dancing,

    To drive the dark away.

    They lighted candles in the winter trees;

    They hung their homes with evergreen;

    They burned beseeching fires all night long

    To keep the year alive.

    And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake

    They shouted, reveling.

    Through all the frosty ages you can hear them

    Echoing behind us—listen!

    All the long echoes, sing the same delight,

    This Shortest Day,

    As promise wakens in the sleeping land:

    They carol, feast, give thanks,

    And dearly love their friends,

    And hope for peace.

    And now so do we, here, now,

    This year and every year.

    Welcome, Yule!

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On Solstice’ Eve

Tomorrow real winter arrives with the solstice at 9:59 am hereabouts. Meteorological winter, the one for record keepers, began on December 1. Our local weather forecast, appropriately enough, includes snow and cold. The odds of a white Christmas are now looking excellent, with the prospect of more snow on Christmas Eve. December’s full moon was two days ago so the waning moon still will be bright on the solstice. We’ll see if it’s cloud-covered or not.

dawn: a new season; soon a new year; then new era?

Photo by J. Harrington

Even allowing for the vagaries of weather these days, I’m finding that natural events, and their progression, make much more sense and are more reliable than the social, cultural, and, especially, political events these days. Once again, Rebecca Solnit has helped provide a frame that offers a somewhat reassuring context for current events: Why are US rightwingers so angry? Because they know social change is coming. She notes the path of change during recent decades [all within my lifetime] as an example of progress:

The Civil Rights Act passed in 1964; in 1965, with Griswold v Connecticut, the supreme court overruled state laws criminalizing birth control and laid the groundwork for Roe v Wade six years later; only in 2015, Obergefell v Hodges established marriage equality for same-sex couples (while equality of rights between different-sex couples had also gradually been established as marriage became a less authoritarian institution). The right is trying to push the water back behind the dam. With deregulation and social service and tax cuts, they have succeeded in reestablishing an economy of extreme inequality, but not a society fully committed to that inequality.

While poking about the internet this morning, I once again came across the source of a Gary Snyder epigram I’ve been trying to practice for some years. He wrote: “Find your place on the planet. Dig in, and take responsibility from there.” According to the Bioneers' audio transcript of a recording of Snyder’s Four Changes, that essay is the source of the quote. It’s definitely worth a read because much of it is prescient. With a little optimism, I can find that it reinforces Solnit’s theme, allowing for the inevitable lags in social and behavioral changes.

This is Christmas week, in which many of us celebrate a birth that occurred more than 2000 years ago, while others celebrate pre-Christian holidays that occur at this time of year. It’s a time for joy, taking inventory and preparing for a new and, we hope, better year next year. Setbacks occur. Rise to the occasion like the morning sun.

Bleak Weather

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Dear love, where the red lillies blossomed and grew,

The white snows are falling;

And all through the wood, where I wandered with you,

The loud winds are calling;

And the robin that piped to us tune upon tune,

Neath the elm—you remember,

Over tree-top and mountain has followed the June,

And left us—December.

Has left, like a friend that is true in the sun,

And false in the shadows.

He has found new delights, in the land where he's gone,

Greener woodlands and meadows.

What care we? let him go! let the snow shroud the lea,

Let it drift on the heather!

We can sing through it all; I have you—you have me,

And we’ll laugh at the weather.

The old year may die, and a new one be born

That is bleaker and colder;

But it cannot dismay us; we dare it—we scorn,

For love makes us bolder.

Ah Robin! sing loud on the far-distant lea,

Thou friend in fair weather;

But here is a song sung, that’s fuller of glee,

By two warm hearts together.

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Going to the dogs

Today’s title is a phrase that I’ve concluded is misused or overused or both. Take a look at SiSi and Harry in the picture. They look like the antithesis of the standard meaning of "gone to the dogs."

do these dogs look deteriorated or awry?

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve spent too much time this morning reading political assessments on Twitter. No Build Back Better; No Voting Rights. It’s soured my Christmas spirit. Another cloudy day isn’t helping much either. So, I think it best to share an old joke I remember from long, long ago. It’s a lead-up to a resolution I’m seriously considering for next year. No, not giving up entirely on politics, although that has some appeal. I want, and need, to figure out how to simplify life. There are too many recurrent crises, most of which  seem to result in a request for donations arriving in my inbox. I’m going to see if I can figure out how to broadly apply the theme in the joke below to most of my life. Else, much like COVID variants, political, ecological, economic, public health and related crises will dominate daily life without ever getting resolved.

May your Christmas week be filled with tidings of joy!

Why Worry?

There are only two things to worry about;

Either you are sick or you are well;

If you are well, there is nothing to worry about;

If you are sick, there are only two things to worry about;

Either you live, or you die;

If you live, there is nothing to worry about;

If you die, there are only two things to worry about;

Either you go to heaven or hell;

If you go to heaven, there is nothing to worry about;

If you go to hell…

You’ll be so busy shaking hands with friends,

You won’t have time to worry;

So why worry?

Mary Oliver raises a similar theme in today’s poem. Perhaps there’s something to “don’t worry, be happy!” There’s no doubt Santa will fit down the chimney. Of course, there’s also “easier said than done."

I Worried

Mary Oliver

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,

can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows

can do it and I am, well,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

am I going to get rheumatism,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

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At the start of Christmas week

It’s neither silent nor night, but all is calm and all is bright, at least for the moment. The sun is actually shining in a blue sky. Christmas shopping is basically done. Packages to be mailed have been sent off. The Better Half and I just put several bags of presents under the tree of the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law and Granddaughter. We’ll spend much of Christmas at their home together with our Son, who’ll be coming up from “The Cities” to visit and celebrate his own birthday.

On the way back to our home today, we noticed a small flock of swans feeding in a harvested corn field. The battery on my better camera, the one that lives in the Jeep, had died, so the photo below is the best I could do with my smartphone. I’m pretty sure these are part of the flocks that overwinter on the St. Croix River. Being reminded of how wonderful is the area where we live could be a daily present if we paid more attention every day. That sounds like the beginning of a (repeat) New Year Resolution. Time to revisit Samuel Beckett’s famous quotation “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

swans in a snowy field

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m hoping there’ll be a book or two under the tree for me and that the end of this year and the beginning of next will remain calm and bright enough to permit me to just relax and enjoy reading them: no blizzards to dig out from, no polar vortex to cope with, no winter tornadoes in the North Country, no COVID infections in the family, etc. In fact, it would be great if next year we could even outdo Mr. Beckett and not fail better but actually succeed in making life better for most of US and restoring some earth systems on which we all depend. The way things seem today, that would rate right up there with the miracle birth we celebrate in a week.

Speakin’ O’ Christmas

Paul Laurence Dunbar - 1872-1906

Breezes blowin’ middlin’ brisk,
Snow-flakes thro’ the air a-whisk,
Fallin’ kind o’ soft an’ light,
Not enough to make things white,
But jest sorter siftin’ down
So ’s to cover up the brown
Of the dark world’s rugged ways
’N’ make things look like holidays.
Not smoothed over, but jest specked,
Sorter strainin’ fur effect,
An’ not quite a-gittin’ through
What it started in to do.
Mercy sakes! it does seem queer
Christmas day is ’most nigh here.
Somehow it don’t seem to me
Christmas like it used to be,—
Christmas with its ice an’ snow,
Christmas of the long ago.
You could feel its stir an’ hum
Weeks an’ weeks before it come;
Somethin’ in the atmosphere
Told you when the day was near,
Did n’t need no almanacs;
That was one o’ Nature’s fac’s.
Every cottage decked out gay—
Cedar wreaths an’ holly spray—
An’ the stores, how they were drest,
Tinsel tell you could n’t rest;
Every winder fixed up pat,
Candy canes, an’ things like that;
Noah’s arks, an’ guns, an’ dolls,
An’ all kinds o’ fol-de-rols.
Then with frosty bells a-chime,
Slidin’ down the hills o’ time,
Right amidst the fun an’ din
Christmas come a-bustlin’ in,
Raised his cheery voice to call
Out a welcome to us all;
Hale and hearty, strong an’ bluff,
That was Christmas, sure enough.
Snow knee-deep an’ coastin’ fine,
Frozen mill-ponds all ashine,
Seemin’ jest to lay in wait,
Beggin’ you to come an’ skate.
An’ you’d git your gal an’ go
Stumpin’ cheerily thro’ the snow,
Feelin’ pleased an’ skeert an’ warm
’Cause she had a-holt yore arm.
Why, when Christmas come in, we
Spent the whole glad day in glee,
Havin’ fun an’ feastin’ high
An’ some courtin’ on the sly.
Burstin’ in some neighbor’s door
An’ then suddenly, before
He could give his voice a lift,
Yellin’ at him, “Christmas gift.”
Now sich things are never heard,
“Merry Christmas” is the word.
But it’s only change o’ name,
An’ means givin’ jest the same.
There’s too many new-styled ways
Now about the holidays.
I’d jest like once more to see
Christmas like it used to be!

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Soon Solstice and Christmas and New Year, oh my!

Five days from today, on December 22, we will gain 2 seconds of daylight. By Christmas we will have gained 17 seconds. Based on our experience, there’s a lag of several weeks between increased day length and increased temperatures. Sometime after mid-January the normal high temperature should increase from 23℉ to 24℉. Normal daytime highs will creep above freezing late in February. That helps put things in perspective for me and gives me a sense of hope. On the other hand, the coldest, darkest days of winter still lie ahead of us. What better times to practice being kind to our fellow humans?

The Better Half just placed beside my chair our copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Letters from Father Christmas. I’ll be reading and sharing some of them for the next week or so, since the children in our family, regardless of age, are fans of Tolkien and the Lord of the Rings and Christmas is a time of magic and fantasy. If we’re good and lucky, we’ll have enough Christmas magic to carry us through February, by which time we can almost see the hints of spring. (I know, no matter how much I live in the present, the promise of future times intrudes. If this seems curious to you, try reading Wallace Stevens Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.)

Christmas Tide

Eliza Cook - 1818-1889

                    
          When the merry spring time weaves
          Its peeping bloom and dewy leaves;
          When the primrose opes its eye,
          And the young moth flutters by;
          When the plaintive turtle dove
          Pours its notes of peace and love;
And the clear sun flings its glory bright and wide—
          Yet, my soul will own
          More joy in winter's frown,
And wake with warmer flush at Christmas tide.

          The summer beams may shine
          On the rich and curling vine,
          And the noon-tide rays light up
          The tulip's dazzling cup:
          But the pearly misletoe
          And the holly-berries' glow
Are not even by the boasted rose outvied;
          For the happy hearts beneath
          The green and coral wreath
Love the garlands that are twined at Christmas tide.

          Let the autumn days produce
          Yellow corn and purple juice,
          And Nature's feast be spread
          In the fruitage ripe and red;
          ’Tis grateful to behold
          Gushing grapes and fields of gold,
When cheeks are brown'd and red lips deeper dyed:
          But give, oh! give to me
          The winter night of glee,
The mirth and plenty seen at Christmas tide.

          The northern gust may howl,
          The rolling storm-cloud scowl,
          King Frost may make a slave
          Of the river's rapid wave,
          The snow-drift choke the path,
          Or the hail-shower spend its wrath;
But the sternest blast right bravely is defied,
          While limbs and spirits bound
          To the merry minstrel sound,
And social wood-fires blaze at Christmas tide.

          The song, the laugh, the shout,
          Shall mock the storm without;
          And sparkling wine-foam rise
          ’Neath still more sparkling eyes;
          The forms that rarely meet
          Then hand to hand shall greet,
And soul pledge soul that leagues too long divide.
          Mirth, friendship, love, and light
          Shall crown the winter night,
And every glad voice welcome Christmas tide.

          But while joy's echo falls 
          In gay and plenteous halls,
          Let the poor and lowly share
          The warmth, the sports, the fare;
          For the one of humble lot
          Must not shiver in his cot,
But claim a bounteous meed from wealth and pride.
          Shed kindly blessings round,
          Till no aching heart be found;
And then all hail to merry Christmas tide!

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In the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come

The winds last night brought down more dead branches but that seems to be the limit of our local damage. We were lucky, more so than many in southern Minnesota. Today’s snow should provide some traction over any icy spots, if we’re careful enough.

The dogs came through December’s thunder and lightning with limited trauma. Harry the beagle was startled by the lightning and SiSi needed lots of reassurance when it thundered. All in all it could have been worse.

All of the above, and other, makes me wonder how much I take for granted instead of being grateful for how lucky I am. We’re not yet living in a war zone. We don’t feel compelled to risk life and limb to become a refugee seeking a better life. Most of the time the house is reasonably warm and the food is above average. The dogs are great company and the Better Half even better. So far, those in the immediate family and those once removed have remained healthy.

Spirit of Christmas Past or Future?

Photo by J. Harrington

All in all my guardian angel must be working overtime and yet all too often I focus on what’s not right rather than feeling gratitude for what’s going well. The good news is that I’m still working on the mindfulness themes of “acceptance, impermanence, non-clinging (“letting go”), compassion or the unity of all things.” The better news is the work seems to be helping me adjust my attitude -- mood -- perspective to one that makes me happier to be me than I’ve felt for a long while. This is looking like one of the better Christmas presence I’ve ever given myself. If I keep at it long enough and well enough, it can become a gift shared with  those closest to me. If this seems interesting, take a look at The Poetry of Presence and bring more joy into your life this holiday season. And, if you’re in a position to do so, share some of what you have with some of those less fortunate, including human and non-human persons. The late Senator Paul Wellstone really got it right when he noted that “We all do better when we all do better.”

In little more than a week it will be Christmas Eve, a night when the miserly Ebenezer Scrooge was visited by three spirits and finally exclaimed to the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come:

"Good Spirit," he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: "Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life."

The kind hand trembled.^[18]

One of the best presents of all this season is the realization that our futures, like Scrooge’s, are ours to create, not something imposed on us from without, despite misfortune, we can help each other overcome it.

Advent

By Mary Jo Salter

Wind whistling, as it does   

in winter, and I think   

nothing of it until

it snaps a shutter off

her bedroom window, spins   

it over the roof and down

to crash on the deck in back,   

like something out of Oz.

We look up, stunned—then glad

to be safe and have a story,   

characters in a fable   

we only half-believe.

Look, in my surprise

I somehow split a wall,   

the last one in the house

we’re making of gingerbread.   

We’ll have to improvise:   

prop the two halves forward

like an open double door   

and with a tube of icing   

cement them to the floor.

Five days until Christmas,

and the house cannot be closed.   

When she peers into the cold

interior we’ve exposed,   

she half-expects to find   

three magi in the manger,

a mother and her child.   

She half-expects to read   

on tablets of gingerbread

a line or two of Scripture,   

as she has every morning   

inside a dated shutter

on her Advent calendar.   

She takes it from the mantel   

and coaxes one fingertip

under the perforation,   

as if her future hinges

on not tearing off the flap

under which a thumbnail picture   

by Raphael or Giorgione,   

Hans Memling or David

of apses, niches, archways,   

cradles a smaller scene   

of a mother and her child,

of the lidded jewel-box   

of Mary’s downcast eyes.   

Flee into Egypt, cries

the angel of the Lord   

to Joseph in a dream,

for Herod will seek the young 

child to destroy him. While   

she works to tile the roof   

with shingled peppermints,

I wash my sugared hands   

and step out to the deck   

to lug the shutter in,

a page torn from a book   

still blank for the two of us,   

a mother and her child.

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