Solstice

Today the sun set one minute later than it did yesterday. This is progress. My favorite day of the year--the winter solstice on December 21--came and went with nary a whimper. The area is still digging itself out of the Great Blizzard of Aught Nine and my back is sore from moving a few tons of snow a few feet to the right or the left. I have been watching--and participating in--the mob scene at the local food store and scored two pounds of sauerkraut, which will make my Christmas meal complete. I saw two women have a heated argument over three little cups of Danon Vanilla Yogurt and one man grow apoplectic as the Muslim lady in front of him at the dely counter bought one each of all non-dairy and non-pork products.

My mailman has been a source of humor in his hip boots, my paper delivery guy less so as he flings my Washington Post into impossible-to-reach areas. But that's OK. I am in better than average good humor, considering the month; my shopping is done, my plans formulated, my season-to-be-jolly reasonable and amusing.

I am worried about a friend in a funk and concerned by unanswered emails. This is a bad time for folks without families, particularly for folks who think that by now they should have families of their own. Everything at Christmas screams gifts! children! joy! booze! food! laughter! letdown! The onslaught is relentless and erosive, a particularly nightmarish high familiar to addicts whose days are too often either manic or depressive. This year things are worse because of cabin fever. We are not used to snow, here in this Southern capital; we react poorly to the white stuff; we drive like fools, run into each other, curse, dent our vehicles, skid as if we're on olive oil, park and/or abandon our automobiles in emergency snow lanes.

But there are good things too. A day or two ago, I heard an insistent thumping coming from my kitchen stoop. I looked outside through a frost-rimmed window and saw nothing. The thumping continued, located, it seemed, in my trash can. A small raccoon was stuck there having practiced the dumpster dive but not the dumpster recovery. I helped him out by lowering a broomstick into the can; he grabbed it and I brought him to the stoop. He was totally unafraid, inquisitive, haughty and hungry. He sniffed my boots, decided against eating them, turned tail and vanished into the night.

Two days later a young buck with a barely nascent rack came into the yard. The snow was as high as its haunches and he seemed to float above it. There were rabbit and fox tracks all over the front lawn.

In my home it was warm and smelled of Earl Gray tea. My cat was happy. I wrapped stuff with candy-cane colored paper. I cleaned, washed, dusted, defragged my hard drive. I am extraordinarily lucky and have just about everything I need.

Happy solstice!