Depression

Kona sunrise on Nov 17, 2008

What churns holiday memories as smooth as hand cracked ice cream and evokes feelings as warm the soles of feet propped on the hearth? Not Christmas carols ground out by knock-off pop artists and regurgitated through cheap speakers filtering the notes through a strip mall as if it were parmesan cheese through a plastic grate.

A low ceiling sprinkled flakes into the artic air to dance over the wings of the 727. Touchdown, Albany. Welcome home. By the time Dad and I stopped at Cracker Barrel for a late lunch, the Subaru’s front license plate disappeared under a coat of flurries that fell from a patch work of fluffy white clouds, dark threaten smears of winter and Hawaii blue sky. In the ditches that follow the Northway to Saratoga Springs, the dead tassels of the reed canary grass bowed under the burden until sharp winds released the stalks. By the time we pulled into the driveway, only a light dusting remained settled beneath the Robin’s maple.

Sunrise Chicago's O'hare Airport November 18, 2008

I bared the cold. Once inside the house I left my sweatshirt on and donned my slipper socks made of reindeer and felt. Dad took a nap and I settled into the living room to watch the day draw darkness from the night's well. It was before 5 PM. Another 45 minutes will be robbed from the day before the winter solstice begins to take the light back. A wave of isolation washed through me and and left depression on my shores.

I’ll recover, if slowly. My blood will thicken like Thanksgiving gravy, slowly. I’ll forget my afternoon swim and bike ride traded for a walk around the block dressed in three or maybe five layers. My eyes will water and I’ll remind myself to keep my mouth shut so my teeth won’t ache when I have a hot drink after I get back inside. I’ll patiently wait until I can buy a ticket to go back.

I spent the afternoon installing ten latches on the kitchen cabinet doors to prevent Phoenix and Diablo from prowling through the cereal boxes and garbage. This eliminates the half a dozen paint sticks wedged between the handles and doors to foil the attempts at swing the doors wide open and feast. I also discovered the hidden stash of dog food in the basement. Diablo had been eating the two year old food, despite the diarrhea.

I am glad to see my cats. Purring Diablo snuggled on my lap as I sit tucked under a blanket. See, it isn't all that bad.