That's the Spirit

I’m going to get off the rag about this self, myself, vanity, in vane, independent, dependent, publishing swill.  It’s Christmastime after all.  This is the point I want to briefly rag on.

 I am actually able to walk fast (four months after a total hip replacement…another rag) with members of my running group who no longer can run because of hip and knee issues. 

We walk faster than most people can think, let alone can run. 

In December, at 7 am. we huff along  the waterfront trail. Moon light winks on waves, seagulls scream, and fast walking ladies and their dogs leave steam puffs in their wake.  My little dog Henry wears an orange, reflective jacket and is not let off leash until there is enough daylight to see his little cat-sized body before it might be swooped upwards into the evergreens by wide-eyed owls.

My fast walking, talking companions muse on family gatherings, kids, grand kids, a banana split of people they will gift, feed and house over the holidays.  Quite honestly I am left out of the conversation.  There is nothing I have to add except, “Being an orphan with no family means I don’t buy, wrap or rapp.”  There is a short pause and their conversation continues.

I listen.  I think.  I listen.  My thinking grows darker as the sun rises.  I think I feel what a recovering alcoholic would feel at a party where everyone else was drinking, laughing and sharing good will, and, I am standing in a corner with an empty glass. It’s not like I can’t imbibe.  It’s just that this holiday spirit stuff seems like swill because my cup leaked empty a long time ago.

Late afternoon I take Henry to the beach down town.  The sun is setting on a picture postcard day- Mount Rainer a warm icy glow beyond the frigid bay, the community Christmas tree blinking, a doctor in a dark brown fedora walks by, his silhouette contrasts the sails of a boat flapping off-shore.  I also see a rag-tag gathering of people with back packs gathering outside a red brick building.  Gritty duct tape holds together a grimy orange parka one woman wears.  She also wears a bright red and white Santa hat.  The people around her point to her head smile and laugh as they wait for the doors of the homeless shelter to open.