I'm sitting here in Grand Traverse County as "the worst winter storm in a generation" blasts through. The outside air is white and barreling sideways. I remember the Blizzard of '78 when Sue and I were stranded at home for days. We got down to candied watermelon rinds and the beer had given out days before. For me, the latter doubled the crisis. So far, this seems a mere dusting compared to that onslaught when snowdrifts buried houses. We'll see. Fortunately, I lost my beer tether years ago. I'm not dreaming of a white Christmas anymore... I'm dreaming of an exit strategy.
Maybe you've seen the nativity scene on Facebook where Yoda is worshipping inconspicuously among the shepherds. Yoda might be singing, "Oh come, adore him let us." I wonder if Jesus was ever sarcastic? How else could he have amassed such a huge following? Turning water into wine? Come on, man! The New Testament failed to mention that Jesus at his rallies had excellent timing.
I read somewhere that there are cultures in the world that have no grasp of sarcasm. Wow, that sounds like fun! What would they laugh at? Burps and farts? That other cultures might be incapable of mocking the idiots among them? They may be clueless, but at least they're sincere.
American chromosomes are rife with the sarcasm gene. Some of us are famous for dishing it out. Others are famous for being the brunt. Take, for example, our former Fearless Leader. Can a person take the Oath of Office from a prison cell? There would be an awkward moment when the person pledges to defend and protect the Constitution of the United States. Sorry, there I go, being sarcastic again. Then again, maybe not.
For Christmas, Elizabeth wants a publisher for her astonishing poems. Brendan wants a spit valve inserted into his new tuba. Three year-old Oliver wants to drive a massive dump truck.
Sue moved into a memory care home in July. It was time, maybe past time. She shares The Nest, as it's called, with five other female housemates. I've struck up a friendship with 105 year-old Ruth, who doesn't need "memory care", per se, as she remembers just fine. One thing Ruth advised me: "Whatever you do, don't say that I'm amazing." Super longevity IS amazing in itself, but the person harnessed to it requires further interrogation. And now I know all about her. (Spoiler alert: Ruth IS amazing.)
I visited Sue at The Nest the other day. She sits in a semi-circle of recliners surrounding a TV that often has a Hallmark movie showing or reruns of the Dick Van Dyke Show. Hers is a power recliner so she enjoys moving by buttons to the full recline position, up to the contorted expel position, then back down again to full recline. With her constant companion, a stuffed lap dog that Elizabeth gave her, it's an amusement ride that can go on for hours. I unplugged her chair and sat in a recliner next to hers, holding her hand as I customarily do. After about ten minutes she poked my knee with her finger. I turned from my phone and gazed at her. Her eyes met mine and she whispered, "Who are you?"
Sue has not suffered at all since she lost awareness about two years ago that her mind was disappearing. She is comfortable and wonderfully cared for. Her Alzheimer's only afflicts those who love her. If this damn storm relents by Sunday, Sue will join Elizabeth and Andrew, Brendan, Jodi and Oliver for Christmas dinner and presents at my place. In Sue's heart of hearts, well beneath the hazards of mind, I know this is her only Christmas wish.
The wind just blew a screen from a window. Hope I can find it in the spring. And without even a hint of sarcasm, from my family to yours, Merry Christmas.
