I just had hot cider and I recommend the experience.

I'm so glad Emmett could come down to get the xmas tree yesterday. We've been going to the same place since he was literally in his stroller and he would help carry the tree by holding on to the tip of it.

Now, of course, he can lug the whole thing on his shoulder, but it was fun filming him and Matilda carry it home on a dreary day. And the stockings are up, and the lights are on (but not the ornaments).

I did the sink full of dishes, cleaned the burner where the turkey stew boiled over, made myself my favorite omelette (diced onions sauteed in butter, diced ham and feta).

Now I'm listening to Phil Spector's xmas record, while JZ is out shopping and Matilda sleeps in.

Hec, how is Emmett's roommate's girlfriend? Did she end up having Covid? Is she okay, now?

Oh Volans, I'm just picturing that. I agree with you that grief is good. I don't think our culture is all that good at grieving, either.

I was 35, almost 36 when my father died. By then I'd had a lot of death in my life. I remember thinking of the the loss as a hole. The hole never goes away, but you learn where it is and how to navigate around it, but sometimes you fall in, and sometimes you dive in head first. (And by "you," I mean me.)

All of that is okay, by the way, JZ.

After he died, someone bought my dad's car off my mom (unlike your dad's car, it was nothing special, just a late 1980s blue Buick Regal). I saw it around town a couple of times (Dad had a little sticker with the Lion Rampant of Scotland on the back, so I knew it was his), and it choked me up. I still remember seeing it up close, after we'd had dinner at local seafood restaurant on Main St., in the town where I grew up (Turner's in Melrose, for the locals). The parking lot is a shared one behind that block of stores. We came through the alley and there was Dad's car. It made me sad, but being close enough to touch it unsettled me more than I could explain.

Every time we decorated the tree, once the lights we on, my mom would always say, "It's perfect like this. It doesn't need another thing." And now every time, I decorate a tree, I take a little pause when the lights are on, and hear her say it in my heart. Speaking of grief.

What a beautiful memory, Susan.

Hi everyone. Miss you. I’ve been pretty much off the board for the last two weeks and am just now catching up. Hugs and -ma and love to all who need it. In addition to school, I’ve been dealing with my dad’s continuing cognitive issues from 3000 miles away. I would normally just fly out there to help with paperwork and such, but that’s impossible right now. Sigh.

Oh, Sue, what a lovely, tender memory.

{{{{{ }}}}} to everyone experiencing grief and holding their memories.

Aside from the personal loss and grief I haven't really missed all that much of the outside world while locked down, but one ritual I desperately missed was the tree of remembrance at my church--all of November is set aside for remembrance of our beloved dead, the altar is covered with a cloth inscribed with the names of most of the parishioners who've passed, and a bare-limbed tree stands in a corner of the building and people can write the names of the remembered dead on little paper leaves to hang on the tree. Anyone who wants can add a name; you don't have to be Catholic or even a believer in anything, you just have to remember and love someone who's gone and want to put their name out into the world again. So every year until this year I'd write the names of my beloved friends and family, and the beloveds of any Buffista or FB friend who remembered someone. It was sad but it always felt like such an honor and a gift to write down all the names, think of the people who'd asked for those names and what the people behind those names meant to them, and fill the tree with autumn leaves--a ritual made for loss and elegy, canceled for the year that needs it most.

So I don't have any details, but I swear I just saw something that even making up new rituals can be valuable. You might find somewhere to write names this year.

Cindy, thank you for posting that link. Made me cry and feel better. Humans can be pretty awesome.

Timelies all!

Hugs to all who want and/or need them.

We have switched Mr. S to the extended release form of Adderall, in hope to avoid the meltdowns that have been occurring around the time a dose of the regular form starts wearing off.

My puppy is six months old today! We went to the dog park and he got completely covered in mud. and it’s cold enough out I couldn’t hose him down outdoors, so now the bathroom is disgusting—the tub was black with mud, and he of course had to shake it off a few times....yikes.

JZ, I have never had the grief of losing a parent, but I deeply support you. I did love your ritual each year to ask us for people to add to your ritual (and Steph, too, with the boats)

Sue, that is a lovely memory.

I am actually challenged by a work card exchange, where we are writing a Christmas memory To another colleague. And I had nothing. Maria thought it was for you guys, and but I pointed out you might be amused at the funny stories I have. Well, they might be amused at the time I got hopped up on cold medicine and wrapped gifts all night on Christmas Eve and made a gift for last minute Uncle’s girlfriend while watching a weird Steve Martin movie that was based on Silas Marner, but modern day., and the whole time I couldn’t figure out if I was high or it was really based on Silas Marner. And honestly that was one of the last times I took the red Sudafed.

She pointed out our lovely Christmas Eves at the zoo, so now I have something to write about!

I saw your muddy puppy on Facebook, Meara. He was very muddy and very cute.