Two years ago feels like forever, doesn’t it? Two years ago tonight, I was a few days into a complicated-but-worth-it two-week travel odyssey that saw me fly to Idaho for an early Christmas with my daughter and jet on to Chicago to spend Christmas Eve with one set of cousins and Christmas Day with the other. It was the first time in decades I’d shared Christmas with my extended family, the folks with whom I celebrated nearly every childhood Christmas. One of my cousins is no longer with us and I’m not sure when I’ll see the others again, so I’m glad I made the trip when I did.
After a perfect, unseasonably warm Boxing Day spent wandering around the Garfield Park Conservatory and the Chicago Loop — and a rare night in a downtown hotel — I met a friend for breakfast then I boarded the California Zephyr on December 27 to travel across the Plains and Rockies and the Sierra Nevada, on to San Francisco, where I spent New Year’s Eve with my brother and his husband. Jeff and I joined many others in a traditional Golden Gate Bridge walk on January 1, then on January 2, I finally flew home to Seattle. I packed a lot into that trip, and I’m glad I did, for the two Christmases since then have been strange.
I don’t have much to report as dusk falls on this fourth-shortest day of the year. For the second Christmas Eve in a row, I am awaiting the results of a COVID-19 test. Last year at this time, I had no symptoms but I had received an exposure notification, so I hunkered down for what I’m pretty sure was my first-ever solo Christmas before the negative test result finally came in late on December 25. This year, I’ve had cold symptoms since Tuesday and I’m pretty sure that’s all they are, but out of an abundance of caution, I got a PCR test the other day. I’m starting to feel better, but I’ve sadly decided to pass on the only in-person plans I had: volunteering as an usher at my church’s Christmas Eve service tonight and sharing brunch with my stepdaughter and her mom and stepdad tomorrow. I’m spending a second straight Christmas alone, but at least I had plans, unlike the person I found curled up in my building’s doorway this morning.
It’s been a hard year for many of us, to varying degrees, but I am grateful for what I have and what may lie ahead. Ten years ago today, I was sleeping on the living room couch of my house in Boise, recovering from back surgery. Over the next six months, I’d say goodbye to my dad after his long journey with memory loss and I’d move to the West Coast to start a new life. I’ve lived at seven different addresses since Christmas 2011 and I’ll likely add yet another early in the new year, but that’s another story — one I’ll share in my annual “word of the year” another post sometime soon. For now, suffice it to say that this restless soul hopes to find more lasting shelter in both the physical and emotional realms in 2022.
Meanwhile, I wish shelter for all who seek it, and I want to send along my good wishes to those of you who are still here with me. Thank you for reading Surely Joy this year, even as my posts have become less frequent and more fraught. Here’s a song about forgiveness and possibility that resonated strongly with me this time last year and that is ringing even more true in this strange, protracted season of uncertainty for our world. Stay well, and know that the light is coming back.
Update: My test result came in just before 5 p.m., and thankfully (and as I expected), it was negative. Another blessing, another sign of better days, when a head cold is all we need worry about this time of year.