Red-shouldered hawk

 

December 24, 2020

Red-shouldered hawk perched on the wire opposite the window where I was typing. He looks a little redder than the photos on the Internet which mean to identify him. A bold, decorative animal. The weather was so bad the crows left him alone, and as I watched through the binoculars I saw him shake rainwater off his feathers.

A dismay of the season is how many composers make bank from ruining Christmas music, adding a discord there or a momentarily interesting rhythm there and calling it an arrangement. There are certain situations in which one does not long for novelty.

This is the first Christmas Eve in 33 years when I will not be singing at the Cathedral. It is a loss, though being able to sit on my house looking at the festive lights while sleet storms whirl is a blessing. 

Went to REI to buy a sports watch. While I was there, my mortgage rep phoned with an offer of a reduced rate, etc, and there I stood among the sleeping bags relating intimate financial information. December 24 will be from now the day when my insurance is renewable and the day when that refinancing hell began again. He kept asking me how much money I make. I truly, honesty don’t know without rifling through papers. The last refinancing was less than a year ago. I signed the forms just before I went to Ireland.  While I was at the story a crazy lady came and wanted to shop without a mask (I think that was the issue), and there was terrible conflict at the door. 

I am as happy–or at least as without anxiety– as I have been for many Christmases past. I sheltered in place, and the sheltering was productive. I take an hour each morning after waking and before rising to inject by imagination the tenderness that was lacking in my actual life. It has made a difference. I scarcely dare look at old journals of Christmas, for I was always miserable. I am not miserable tonight.