04 December 2011

It is bright and sunny here this fine December day, and the sky is a pleasant robin’s egg blue. Temperatures are likely to hover in the mid-fifties, and the road beckons, just like it did yesterday. I couldn’t do much about it, though, since there had too much crap piled up in stacks around the unit after more than a week of neglect in Michigan.

I had the top down on the convertible yesterday and the best of intentions of just goofing off, before I realized how many things needed to be done after a couple weeks paying attention to other things. First, there was the adventure of Raven’s fall that complicated everything.

The phone went off while I was typing an article for the Quarterly. It was Diane, calling from The Bluffs. Raven normally dozes in the recliner in the television lounge She wanted me to be aware of what happened since I hold the medical power of attorney for him. They said he had been in the chair one moment, and the next he was prostrate on the deck.

“The only damage,” said Diane with crisp efficiency “are some abrasions on his elbow.”

“It has happened before,” I said. “He broke his collarbone earlier this year when he fell in the apartment and hit the coffee table.”

That was quite an adventure. It required an ambulance trip ($750 bucks, I discovered later, and that only for the one-way trip to the ER. To get him back to Potemkin Village took a desperate plea to some family friends I do not know, brokered on the phone in a long distance triangle between Washington and Sister Annook in Anchorage and the little Village by the Bay.

I dread the sound of the phone now, since if one of these events requires it, I will have get my butt up there to ensure that he is not captured by the insidious health-care system wind up with a drained estate and unable to take care of Big Mama.

If that is not one of the most curious bits of mental calculus to have to do, I don’t know what it might be. It spoiled the mood of simple seasonal joy. Bah, Humbug, I thought.

Then it was the dry-cleaners, and the Class Six over at the base for gas and a bottle of all-purpose vodka and the Commissary and the carwash and a full load cycled through the laundry room down the hall and the sun was setting. Passing by with the hamper I saw that Priscilla across the hall had decorated her door with a small wreath (permitted by Condo Association regulations) and a little embroidered pillow hanging from the knob that said “Let it Snow!”

I am not done with Fall, much less ready for the snow to come here. I sighed and added decorating the unit to the list of things to be accomplished. You have to keep up with the Jones, right? I don’t want to be a grinch, after all, even if my heart isn’t in this season very far.

One time saver: I never took down the holiday lights on the balcony or draping the big plate glass windows in the living room, so getting ready for the season was a breeze. I just had to get out the miniature wreath for the door, the stained glass Christmas tree, and the holiday centerpiece for the dining table. Voila!

Then I picked up the sheaf of letters that came in the Saturday mail delivery, which I think if supposed to stop one of these weeks. There was a depressing assortment of bills for me and for Raven and Big Mama’s maintenance, and only one that did not demand immediate payment: the first Christmas card of the season.

I opened the card, realizing that I would have to think about what to do about snail-mailing Holiday greetings this year. I smiled when I opened the Vistaprint card. I really admire Old Jim and his vivacious wife Mary. She snapped a picture of him with his walking cane this summer, and damn if it is not a fine summation of the season.

Oh, for reference, Jim is the one in the back.

I don’t have to tell you what the caption is, do I?

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra. Photo Courtesy Mary Champagne.
www.vicsocotra.com