I write this Friday morning. Bad dreams, a headache, a stiff neck, and stuffed ears are making me slow this morning. I am at least alone in the house and can turn up the music so I can hear it, like Leta. I am also finding my emotions are close to the surface this holiday, and I miss Dad Wild and Susie. Elric and Joyce no longer comment on my posts. I miss them. But then I see Leta dressing in a Roman helmet and sword for their Christmas play in Michigan, and the laughter returns. It is a fantastic season.
I slept until 7:30 without an alarm, and with the bright light, the sky showed some clearing and even blue, atypical for December in the Pacific Northwest, waking me. I rose and found my way to the kitchen; it had not moved, but it felt like a trek. There I blessed that I had assembled the coffee correctly, made from Fair Trade coffee from Safeway, and liberal coffee was waiting for me. One sip, and the bitterness reminds you how far we have to go to find Justice, Compassion, and Hope, but even fairly traded coffee can make things just a tiny bit better. Yes, black coffee for me with nothing to diminish the bitterness that we have such a long road, but at least we are on the road, like the words of the song:
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
I look forward to the gleaming future.
Returning to remembering Thursday, I had chores to do, and I focused on punching out the blog and getting ready. I finally finished before 10 and showered and dressed. I checked the mail, and neither the mail had been delivered nor the trash and lawn debris had been picked up. I found the checkbook and my list of Christmas Gifts. I write it every year from an address list I keep. The fruitcakes were already sent. Now to get the cash and gift cards assembled.
I give small pictures of U.S. presidents and Postmasters to the younger relatives. The US Grants ($50) for younger (there are few left in this category) and the rest Ben Franklins ($100). I have gift cards to give out to, I believe, Beaverton’s best food, Golden Valley Brewery.
I dropped my first off and checked on the construction at the church. There, I met Lowell Greathouse — he was stopping by for some business, a former pastor from the 1990s — and I gave him a tour of the construction. He shared that he was a pastor when the exterior work was completed. Blake was there, I introduced them, and he and Lowell worked out that the work outside is called an Exterior Insulation and Finish System (EIFS). Blake had installed some of it in the past. It was interesting to learn more about the previous remodel under Lowell.
Lowell was happy to see the improvements, and we said our goodbyes.
Cory Johnson, a good friend and fellow gamer and role player, passed away days before Susie left us. It was his birthday, and I dropped off a box of Hicory Farms food to remember Cory and his birthday. I miss Cory every time we play and think of him often.
Next, I headed to Happy Panda for lunch and enjoyed Beef Broccoli while I addressed cards for cash and gift cards. I handwrote the addresses for the cards. I ate my lunch between cards. I paid my bill and parked the EV at the post office. I waited in line to get three types of Christmas stamps. I then stamped my addressed letters with little pictures of US Grant or Ben Franklin.
I returned home, and Corwin soon followed after I let him know he had his Christmas gift and some mail was at the house for him. A GVB gift card and a Ben Franklin, along with a hot chocolate Grinch bomb, came with his mail. I then worked out with him how to play my newest game, The Lord of the Rings: Fate of the Fellowship, based on Pandemic. We misplayed here and there (I checked the rules, made corrections, and played again with more corrections). Still, we enjoyed the game and revelled in the reworking of a familiar system to create an immersive experience. It was a blast. Corwin and I could not believe how well the engine that controlled the Dark Lord worked and how real it felt.
Corwin and I agreed to finish the game on Friday afternoon; I had to head out to Theology Pub. I took Air VW the Gray across Beaverton in the dark; we are approaching the shortest day of the year. I had a note from Dondrea that Dan and Janice were already there. I arrived at McMenamins Cedar Hills, and it was busy. I was tired and out of sorts, worried our room reservation had been lost, but the staff and our waiter (whose name I forgot) soon had us settled.
I had a few Old Fashions and a Captain Neon Burger, a favorite (I was giving blood on Friday and thought rare meat was a good idea). The subject was waiting, as many Christmas stories are about waiting. What do you wait for, and what makes the season work for you? Dan Gray reminded us that we often find a process or ritual to be a form of meditation (like baking Christmas Cookies), and we have usually failed to teach it and share it.
I left before the group broke up, which was unusual for me, after paying my bills, Donrea’s, and Z’s. It was a good meeting, and everyone seemed to enjoy our last 2025 meeting.
I returned home and slept poorly. Some days during the holidays are just hard. Nightmare and discomfort ruled the night. Ugh! No horror, but the usual dreams of work and travel, and nothing going right. I could not get anything started or done in the morning.
Laundry will wait, and this blog was finished late.
Alohawild (Michael Wild's) Website 