A Christmas Eve Blessing

Making my rounds, delivering odds and ends of Christmas offerings to odds and ends of households, I pulled in to a Dunkin Donuts, as I had been short of breakfast. I placed my order, and the unseen voice on the intercom said. “That will be one fifty one, Sweetheart. “

 

Sweetheart! I am not sure anyone has ever called me Sweetheart. Totally charmed, I way over-tipped! 

 

I continued on my way, stopping here, there, and a few other places. It was a very fine morning, I passed many elderly dogs walking their people, people waiting for busses – maybe even a bus my granddaughter was driving; people running, biking, strolling. The radio was playing Christmas carols, reading lessons, asking us to remember the lonely and the unloved and calling for unity, peace, and goodwill among all. The voice on the radio called us “beloved,” if not sweethearts – they mean the same thing, after all.

 

Joy to the World! Yes! Time out from the news.  I sing in the car with the choristers; no one will hear and discourage my vocal additions. But then again, we sound great together.

 

My last stop was at a temporarily empty house; the resident cat, elderly and lame, was embarking on his final journey to that other shore, to the greater light. As I place my envelope by the door, I worry that I am intruding on grief and sadness. But – the carols continue, and I continue singing, and I know that darkness does indeed give way to light. Sweethearts all.

 

It was the greatest of Christmas Eve blessings – the anonymous voice, totally unexpected: “Sweetheart!” There were, for sure, many sweethearts on the road that Christmas Eve day, driving up for their coffee and donuts, driving off as sweethearts in the world.   

 

 Things you learn when early voting

Virtue signaling!

We had planned to vote on election day, keeping a decades-long tradition of sauntering in to the polling place, signing in with a long-unseen neighbor, marking our ballot, and churning it through the ballot counter.  In the olden days, the kids would come with us, squeeze into the the little desk space with one of us, and watch as checked the boxes, drew the connecting lines, or filled in the dots. During the primaries in September this year, we were numbers one (me) and three Tom (someone got between him and me while he checked his ballot for the fifth time). We worried about mailing our ballots because of all the angst being strewn about reporting on lost or purloined ballots as well as reports of drop boxes being set on fire.  We saw an ad in the daily Gazette that the local senior center was hosting early voting (100 generous hours) and we decided to vote that way. We really wanted to get it over, cast our votes, pick up our stickers, and wear them proudly. So we did.

Medlar

The senior center has a small tree by the parking lot that I had noticed a year before, when we were there for a lecture. It has an odd-shaped fruit, and this year I took a photo and submitted it to iNaturalist, figuring it was too odd  or exotic for it to recognize. But lo and behold - it came up right away with the suggestion that it was a medlar. This was the first thing I learned on my voting morning – this fruit + this tree  =  medlar.

The leathery-looking fruit is actually edible, but not right away; its insides become sweet and appealing only after the fruit is bletted.  Bletted? A new word, and the second thing I learned this morning. Spellcheck doesn't even recognize that word. To blet is to let a fruit ripen after picking. First, the medlar fruit needs a hard frost. Next, it needs to sit around in a cool place to continue ripening, allowing the sugar content to increase, and the acid and tannin content to decrease. "If the fruit is wanted it should be left on the tree until late October and stored until it appears in the first stages of decay; then it is ready for eating . . . The taste of the sticky, mushy substance has been compared to sweet dates and dry applesauce, with a hint of cinnamon." It apparently is an ideal  companion to wine. (ref: Wikipedia)

I read this information to Tom as we drove home, where we were not greeted by the dog.When we leave, he always puts on a convincing display of sorrow and longing. but when we come back, there he is, in classic Niko style, in a restful snooze, barely acknowledging our reentrance.

PS: The third thing I learned just now: There is no official spelling for spellcheck/spell check/spell-check; they are all alike to the grammar police.

Unexpected Chaos

When I woke this morning, my day lay sparsely in front me, much like yesterday was, much like tomorrow will be.  I took Niko on a long walk in the park;  the only scheduled event on the calendar was a Zoom lunch with another retired colleague. She is a physiologist, I am an organic chemist, and we collaborated on issues of women in science and ran science workshops that made science available to traditionally underserved  groups of middle schoolers, girls and kids in the cities.

But I have a friend in a neighboring town with a wonderful garden, and today is her birthday. I calculated that I could visit her at a physical distance of six feet, take some photos of the newest bloomers in her garden beds, wish her happy birthday, and be back home by noon. Alas, I lingered past the appropriate departure time; at the last minute I decided to photograph a unique primrose that had cross-fertilized in her garden, her own private primrose sport. So I texted my colleague and told her I would Zoom up at 12:15. No surprise – she was flexible. I packed up my camera and set off on the twenty-minute drive home.

When the bridge over the Connecticut River drew near, so did the ominous sight of cars sheltering in place. Construction of a roundabout on the other side of the bridge had reached fever pitch, lanes were closed, lights flashed, people in yellow vests sauntered here and there, dump trucks, scrapers, back hoes all lumbered about their tasks, rearranging roadbeds and moving dirt and rocks from one pile to another.

We sat, inched along, merged to one lane, and sat some more. It took forty-five minutes to travel a half mile. For a lovely minute our two, before merger, I traveled alongside a very happy Samoyed who posed elegantly for the entertainment of the rest of us.

I pulled into my garage at 12:51,  just as a text dinged in from a friend who was soon to be passing by the back gate with Niko's best friend. Could they drop by? Both Niko and Sunny are optimally bored and confused by the lack of people and admirers in their lives, and when they visit together, it is the high point of their week.

I went in, Zoomed my colleague, and told her about the visitors that were about to join our call, albeit at a distance.

Niko has bones and other hard things to chew on that Sunny loves. She always goes into the house, takes a tour of every room, comes back down to Niko's stash of stuff, picks out the bone for the day, and skips triumphantly back into the yard. Their game is always a dance. Sunny chews with wild abandon, Niko pretends not to be interested. Sunny looks away, Niko makes his move and dashes off with the prize. Sunny follows, until Niko leaves the bone unguarded, and Sunny takes possession. I could watch them all day in this game.

Somewhere in the middle of this cat and mouse dog game, my brain fried and I Zoomed off; my colleague and I decided we would look for another, quieter time for lunch at a distance. She had actually ended up eating her lunch before we connected, and my lunch was still far in the future.

Sunny's person had work to do, and they left, much to Sunnys distress.

Noon (+ or -) Friday: Friend, traffic, friend, friend, dogs at play. I had declined another noon meeting to learn the ins and outs of a communication sharing board because of the already scheduled lunch..

When my lunch came, it was exceedingly good. Sliced egg sandwich, cream cheese and crackers, peanut butter on Graham crackers, lemon ginger tea, and a chocolate covered toffee I had found hidden away in the bread box,

What a great day!