December 7, 2016

Day of achievement. Ran a mile on the crosstrainer. It took more out of me than what would have been indicated by complete recovery, but I made it, and walked away on my own two feet. Wrote a poem in the Racquet Club café. Painted well, and blazed a new trail off a new trail. Everyone was solicitous of me because of the flood. Bought and set up my Christmas tree, though I haven’t decorated it yet. Last night I wasn’t sure there would be a tree; as I sat contemplating it, I thought two things. The first was a memory of how on some day before Christmas I’d come home from school and the house would be decorated like a wonderland, every surface covered with elves and bowls containing glass balls and little creches and Yuletide what-nots. Embarrassing for an adolescent, I would nevertheless cry out in wonder. I still don’t know where my mother got all that stuff, or where she stored it between Christmases. But I thought, “I will do it for my mother. I will think of her and decorate in my pale imitation of her grandeur.” The other thought was, odd and unbidden: “This will be your last Christmas, so why not?” The idea that it would be my last Christmas was, unexpectedly, comforting. My mood lightened like a bird taking flight. I have no idea what that was about. The sky through my study window is streaked blue and white, like perfect agate.