On my first official day of vacation from the library, I . . . spent about seven hours at the library. I wanted to complete the audio version of my new book for my publisher, so I booked the sound booth at the library and recorded one poem after another poem after another poem. I started around 10:30 a.m. and finished the whole project around 5 p.m.
By the end, I was hoarse and tired. I was also pretty damn proud of myself for getting it done. Stay tuned for information when A Bigfoot Bestiary and Other Wonders is available on Audible.
Then it was off to my sister-in-law's house on the Dead River for a family Christmas celebration.
Billy Collins writes about love . . .
"I Love You"
by: Billy Collins
Early on, I noticed that you always say it
to each of your children
as you are getting off the phone with them
just as you never fail to say it
to me whenever we arrive at the end of a call.
It’s all new to this only child.
I never heard my parents say it,
at least not on such a regular basis,
nor did it ever occur to me to miss it.
To say I love you pretty much every day
would have seemed strangely obvious,
like saying I’m looking at you
when you are standing there looking at someone.
If my parents had started saying it
a lot, I would have started to worry about them.
Of course, I always like hearing it from you.
That is never a cause for concern.
The problem is I now find myself saying it back
if only because just saying good-bye
then hanging up would make me seem discourteous.
But like Bartleby, I would prefer not to
say it so often, would prefer instead to save it
for special occasions, like shouting it out as I leaped
into the red mouth of a volcano
with you standing helplessly on the smoking rim,
or while we are desperately clasping hands
before our plane plunges into the Gulf of Mexico,
which are only two of the examples I had in mind,
but enough, as it turns out, to make me
want to say it to you right now,
and what better place than in the final couplet
of a poem where, as every student knows, it really counts.
I've never had a problem saying "I love you." When I gave my boss, the director of the library, a Christmas present a day or so ago, she stood up and asked, "Are you a hugger?" "I am," I responded, and we hugged.
This holiday season, as you know, my predominant emotion has been sadness. However, tonight, as I shared a turkey dinner and opened presents with my wife's side of the family, my overwhelming emotion was love. We laughed a lot. Insulted each other (in a completely loving way) a lot. And, when we were getting ready to leave, we embraced and said, "Merry Christmas." It was literally a love fest, if the fest was held with the entire cast of National Lampoon Christmas Vacation, minus the live squirrel in the tree and SWAT team storming the house.
The adults do Secret Santa for Christmas. My niece, Aubri, one of my favorite people in the whole world, was my Santa. She showered me with an embarrassment of gifts and love--a book I wanted, Bigfoot socks, new Moleskine journal, and a tee shirt she designed herself:
In short, she spoiled me silly. And, on the gift tags, she wrote things like, "To Uncle Martin, from Your Favorite Niece." I love this young woman profoundly, and I hope she knows it. She never fails to make me smile and laugh, even on the darkest of days. I'm a pretty lucky uncle.
It also filled my heart so much to see my kids enjoying Christmas with their cousins. Their love and affection for each other was thick as the smell of turkey in the room. I found myself getting a little weepy watching them together. (Or it may have been the two Twisted Teas provided to me by my niece Aubri. Now you see why I love her so much.)
All in all, it was a great way to kick off Christmas. Each and every one of the people I shared dinner with tonight is a true light in my darkness,
And Saint Marty is proud to proclaim, "I love you all."
❤️
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