Zuzu's Linda's Petals?
December has arrived. Thanks have been given. We are now preparing for the Christmas season. The large table is back on the patio, allowing space inside for a tree now in place and quickly decorated. Jennifer's affection for and attachment to decorating is a joy to witness and modestly infectious. Like so many objects about our home, the tree showcases heirlooms from my childhood, the kids and my past, mine and Jennifer's all the way to this past year, as a couple of new ornaments have made their first of what will hopefully be many more years of annual appearances. Our creative solution to clear the remaining leftovers was to combine the task with a visit to my mom's for lunch. It was a pleasant time, even though we revisited, once again, a handful of recollections of neglect or abuse by my father or her mother. At what point does one unstuck themselves? How many years are lost to resentment and regret? It's sad to reflect on the time Linda and my mom have spent harboring ill will, enough so that it becomes a key aspect of their identity. I would like better for each of them, yet theirs is not my journey. It's only an opportunity for me to learn from. I ended the day completing the 2-part podcast on "It's a Wonderful Life." I want to see it at the Stanford Theater on Christmas Eve this year. I have shy'd away from doing so for many years, mostly because I felt like I was some offense to go when it was something Linda and I did several times together—including with the kids and her sister Barbara once. And then it struck me how I had seen it there before we met, that I had been there constantly through the years with numerous friends and partners. Before then, it was a mandatory viewing on DVD, VHS and back to broadcast TV when it was in the public domain and on heavy rotation across the dial in the latter half of December each year. It was a me thing as much as it was a her thing before it became an us thing. And all of this makes it an even more significant ritual and outing.
