December 12,13,14: This Relationship, Beginning to Panic, Making Memories

Finally Eddie said quietly, "I can see this relationship is something we're all going to have to work at," and the hatchway opened.

That is the spaceship Heart of Gold's computer, whose feelings have been hurt by Zaphod Beeblebrox.  Eddie's words to Zaphod could have been spoken in any house on Christmas morning, because this time of year has a habit of ratcheting up hurt feelings and dysfunction.

Yes, I am still alive.  Yes, I have been drowning in grading and writing and working.  Yes, we did get another snowstorm on Thursday that dumped an additional six or seven inches of white work on my little corner of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  Yes, I have a deadline looming for my Christmas essay.  And, yes, I am beginning to panic about whether I will be ready for Christmas this year.

None of the items on that list are complaints.  Well, maybe the snow was.  It's just that this time of year seems to turn up the volume on everything.  If you have a disagreement with a family member, that disagreement becomes a Hatfield-McCoy feud.  If you have money problems, those problems become the Great Depression.  If you have marital issues, those issues become Kramer vs. Kramer.  If you feel like a failure, that failure becomes George Bailey ready to jump off the Bedford Falls bridge.  Everything is more intense at Christmas time.  To paraphrase Eddie the computer's words, Christmas is something we're all going to have to work at.

I try not to let unrealistic expectations rule my life at this time of the year.  I don't try to cook the perfect turkey, brined for a week and slow basted over a yule log in my backyard while everyone stands around singing Christmas carols, eating the homemade petit fours, drinking hot chocolate spiked with Saint Brendan's Irish Cream.  As much as I would want to do that, I don't live in a Hallmark movie.  Instead, I try to concentrate on smaller things that can make a difference in the lives of people I care about.

For me, this Christmas is about making memories.  I am trying to give my daughter and son and wife experiences that they can hold on to for a long while.  Not because they're getting new cars or Apple Watches or trips to Walt Disney World.  I want them to remember this Christmas for the laughter and happy tears we share in the morning.  The songs we sing in church on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.  The cookies we sneak while watching the TBS Christmas Story marathon.  And being together, loving each other, in the glow of the tree.

Will there be disagreements?  Probably.  Will my son yell at my daughter?  Probably.  Will everyone, at some point during the day, retreat to their own little corners to read or text friends or nap?  Probably.  Will I receive a major award from Italy marked "fragile"?  Maybe.  That's also a reality of Christmas.  It doesn't erase all the difficulties of the other 364 days of the year.  But, for one day, maybe we can set aside all of those things and simply enjoy who we are with each other.

That's Saint Marty's Christmas wish this year.

November 21-22: This Relationship, Annual Observation, Mutual Friend

Finally Eddie said quietly, "I can see this relationship is something we're all going to have to work at," and the hatchway opened.

A little paragraph about Eddie, the on board computer of the Heart of Gold spaceship, who seems to be taking issue with some of its crew members.  Of course, Eddie is correct.  Relationships do require a LOT of work.

For those of you who are worried that I have withdrawn from public life, I have not.  I am still here, still willing to open up about what's happened these past two days.  I just haven't had the opportunity to sit down and reflect much.  I still don't have much time, because I'm pretty exhausted, and my mind is fading fast at the moment.

So, in brief, I survived the annual colleague observation of my teaching.  Per usual, it wasn't nearly as nerve-wracking as I thought it would be,  In fact, after about ten minutes, I almost forgot that my colleague was in the room, taking notes.  Every once in a while, I would glance over to see him writing in his notebook or watching what was going on intently.  After about an hour of listening to our discussion of the film Brokeback Mountain, he excused himself quietly.  When I got home after teaching, I e-mailed him, thanking him for taking the time to visit my class.  His response, which I received the next morning, was very kind and encouraging.  I don't think I have anything to worry about.

Yesterday evening, I did a whole lot of poetry stuff.  Went to a reading.  (Fantastic.)  Went to an open mic.  (Inspiring.)  I didn't get home until almost 10:45 p.m.  After being stressed out all week long, it was a welcome relief and fed my soul on a deep level, as poetry always does.  I returned to my house last night filled with the desire to write.  Haven't felt that pull for some time.  I think, this weekend, I will get some good work done in my journal.  Maybe a poem.  Maybe an essay.

At the end of a very long week, I sit here, at my kitchen table, thinking about all the people that I love deeply.  Wife.  Son.  Daughter.  Friends.  There are fallow and stormy seasons in relationships sometimes.  Times when the best you can do is say "I love you" and just leave it at that.  My semester of teaching is almost over.  A few more weeks, and it will simply be notations in a virtual grade book.  This week's observation will be a report submitted to the head of the English Department, words in a file.  And tonight will be this blog post, tapped out on a keyboard and then sent into the Internet ether.  Everything draws to a close.

I like to think that there is some kind of permanence in relationships with people you love.  That they will be more than a handful of poems or blog posts.  That their roots go deeper than that.  I hope.  I received a text message from a friend of mine an hour so ago.  It was about a mutual friend who I haven't seen in quite some time.  The message read, "He had no idea who I was.  I am so sad . . . this must be his new normal."

You know, all my stress over being observed in class this week seems pretty silly right now.  All I can think about is our friend--one of kindest, most loving individuals I've ever had the privilege to know.  Every once in a while, he'd call me on the phone with a joke or stop by my office with chocolate or a book he thought I'd like.  When we parted, he pretty much always said the same thing to me, "You take care, my friend, and tell those ladies I love them."  (The ladies were my coworkers from the Surgery Center where I used to be employed.)  This man's roots go deep in a lot of people.

Tonight, Saint Marty wants to say, "Take care, my friend.  Those ladies send you their love."