Time to talk to the moon

I was reared in the Christian tradition; my belief system isn't supported by that faith any longer and so I don't celebrate Christmas. It's much less troubling being alone at Christmas than, say, looking out the window in an area of the country where the temperature should be in the high 50's to see a mixture of rain, sleet, and snow. The Weather Channel says it feels like 17 degrees. That seems a bit high to me, but whatever.

This holiday thing we do, from Hanakkuh to Solstice to Christmas to Kwanzaa to Festivus (?) makes everyone crazy. An email list that I subscribe to that exists as a fan vehicle for a folk singer errupted earlier this week because someone posted a generic "happy holidays" message, wherein the Christian commandos hiding in the holly came out and threw grenades at those heathens who dared not to say "Merry Christmas." So much for good will toward man. We seem to be experiencing a post-election, red state adrenaline rush. Meanwhile I wrote a friend's kid in Iraq tonight. "Happy holidays" seemed more than a little lame for that message.

I do feel a little maudlin tonight, though it's not about being alone. Since my family celebrated Christmas, I am reminded of those who are no longer here, the aunts and uncles, my brother, and especially my grandmother. She had such a good time at the family gatherings--if I am quiet I can see and hear her, laughing, shuttling food back and forth from her sister's kitchen where we all gathered. Sitting around the table after the food has been eaten, smoking with the other adults. Checking in at the mirror periodically, to see how her hair and make-up are holding up. Dising the national politicos running the country, particularly if the Republicans are in power.

I talk to her still. Somehow, being outside (with my dog, who takes his time at the last call before bedtime), it's very easy to look up at the moon and talk to her. When I'm taking my meds, she doesn't talk back--she just listens. I do feel her love for me, though, her only grandchild. Fierce. Tender.

Don't get me wrong--I'm not someone who wants to walk down those old roads again. I'd rather be hit with an iron skillet. It's just that talking to the moon isn't an option tonight--I could pretend to see it, but I'd get an eye full of rain and sleet and snow--an event particularly rude when I need to talk to my grandmother...and to feel her loving me back.

LR