Santiago thinks about sunset and fish . . .
"He hasn't changed at all," he said. But watching the movement of the water against his hand he noted that it was perceptibly slower."I'll lash the two oars together across the stern and that will slow him in the night," he said. "He's good for the night and so am I."
It would be better to gut the dolphin a little later to save the blood in the meat, he thought. I can do that a little later and lash the oars to make a drag at the same time. I had better keep the fish quiet now and not disturb him too much at sunset. The setting of the sun is a difficult time for all fish.
He let his hand dry in the air then grasped the line with it and eased himself as much as he could and allowed himself to be pulled forward against the wood so that the boat took the strain as much, or more, than he did.
Santiago knows he's in for the fight of his life against the fish, and he's preparing for it. Trying to conserve as much of his strength as he can. Yet, the old man still thinks of the fish with compassion, doesn't want to disturb it as night falls. Because, through experience, he knows that dusk is a "difficult time for all fish."
Yesterday, I put up the Christmas decorations at my parents' house for my sisters. It was difficult at the beginning. I have a sister whose holiday spirit is a dull ember that needs kindling. Every year, I go through the ritual of her refusing to put up decorations and me doing my best Spirit of Christmas Present act.
The Christmas tree and lights always go up. In good years, it's taxing to stage this little production of A Christmas Carol with my sister. This year, with my own brand of sadness, it was absolutely exhausting. I try to maintain a level of compassion and understanding with my sister. I know she has her own struggles, and her Ebenezer Scrooging has little to do with me or Christmas.
As I sit typing this blog post, the Christmas tree is glowing in the corner of my living room. I can see ornaments my son and daughter made in grade school. A delicate pair of china ballet shoes that were a wedding present. A felt ornament of a cardinal that a good friend made for me the year my mother died. There's so much of the history of my family and life sitting in those branches.
Christmas is a difficult time for a lot of people. I understand that. My parents loved Christmas. My dad would sit in his chair on the day I decorated the tree and thank me over and over. When she was alive, my sister, Sally, was the embodiment of Christmas. She loved everything about it--the decorations, Black Friday, gift wrapping, Christmas baking. My sister, Rose, had Down syndrome. She wrote a letter to Santa Claus every year and was thrilled when Santa ate the cookies and left a note for her.
That's why I put up the tree at my parents' house despite my sister's bah humbugginess. And despite my own struggles with darkness this year. We all face difficult sunset times in our lives. A little extra light in the corner of the room is a good reminder that hope and love are still alive.
Saint Marty gives thanks for Christmas decorations today.
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