Relative Something

The splitting headache is no longer splitting, and her vital signs have returned to normal. Cyndie seems back to reasonably functional. She helped with horse chores and has taken Asher for a couple of walks in addition to a trip to the Post Office as Santa’s little helper. Goodies are in the mail, and the neighbors will find a bag of holiday cheer has been dropped at their doors.

At this stage of holiday preparations, it’s hard to tell that Cyndie was off her game at all.

In support of all her Elf-ish energy, I have been mining the far reaches of our Apple Music offerings to find appropriate holiday sounds. The first few notes of an Andy Williams Christmas album instantly transported me to a big old farmhouse on the border of Edina and Eden Prairie, MN, and the 5-year-old me arose from within my depths with visions of leaded tinsel being draped across branches from outstretched arms of a person standing on a folding ladder above me.

The result of that surge of nostalgia left me feeling lonesome for the clamor and banter of my siblings buzzing around me.

The branches of that family tree have sixty years of growth that have spread us out beyond the conveniences of frequent contact.

That 5-year-old me would only have his father around for 17 more years. I will always remember the time he almost convinced me that he had heard something on the roof in the minutes just before I showed my face one Christmas morning. I was old enough to know better, but I’d never experienced my dad putting on such a believable act before and was gobsmacked by it.

I like to think he was rewarded by the innocent astonishment that must have shown on my face.

Much less astonishment came over me when I stumbled upon news of a school shooting recently in Wisconsin. That innocence is long gone.

Looking at our trees, I was grateful they don’t need to know such things happen. Same with the horses. Then, I realized how attuned trees and horses are to the universe, which means they probably sense each and every atrocity through the connectedness of all things.

They keep calm and carry on their existence, and so should we. I’ll pretend we are almost healthy.

And now I miss the innocence of my 5-year-old self more than ever.

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