It's the hap-happiest season of all

Yesterday afternoon, I got a phone call that really pissed me off. It was the student who had been harassed by Dookie the other week. She was calling to let me know that her complaint about Dookie had finally been "resolved", at least to the satisfaction of the university. After meetings with Dookie and his advisor, the university official in charge of this case decreed that Dookie should not interact with the student he verbally assaulted, unless it's in an academic setting. Apparently the university officials forgot the initial cause for complaint occurred in an academic setting. And that there was at least one other student who wanted to file a complaint. What the fuck were they thinking? Holy shit.

I was so mad when I heard about this "resolution". So mad it seemed likely my plans for the evening were going to start crashing down. I had errands to run: stop at my favorite local herb farm before it closed, visit one of the first years to get her key and cat sitting instructions, and possibly, if time and mood permitted, do some holiday light sight seeing. After the call, I was seethingly angry though and started seeing things in that "fuck it" kind of way. You know, the one that gets you into the mode of "Fuck it. The herb farm is probably already closed anyhow." I started getting angrier at the thought of my errands being all messed up, basically I started having an internal tantrum. Rrrrrg. I told myself that if I didn't get out and at least try to get my shit done, then I was letting Dookie do even more damage. "Come on, git!" I told myself, "Get out there and do what you were going to do! No falling apart now. He has no right to this big a chunk of you." It is not always easy or warranted, but being able to kick yourself in the butt is a useful thing now and then.

Running late then, it was nearly dark when my friend A___ and I took off in a rush with 20 minutes til the herb farm closed. I ranted about Dookie nearly all the way, then finally said "Man I have GOT to talk about something else. This is pissing me off way too much."
About a minute later, we pulled into the parking lot. My heart sunk...it looked like the gift barn part of the herb farm was all closed up. Too late. Fuck. Fucking Dookie, I started thinking again. Fucking university. Fuck.

We parked and knocked at the farm house anyhow. A woman opened the door, already putting on her coat to lead us down to the gift barn. As she turned on a few more lights in the barn, two beautiful and extremely friendly orange striped cats dislodged themselves from corners and drifted out to greet us. I have to say, I really do love this herb farm. It's a little run down, but it is one of the few things about this god forsaken state that I loved immediately. When I first moved here in 1998, my ex husband and I owned a house that was a little over a mile from the herb farm. I used to go there often, walk the grounds, look at the gardens, listen to the goats, and pat the various cats (then it was Crow and Patches). It has always been a place of peace, beauty, and healing for me.

The two orange cats are relatively new additions. Their mother, Agate, was a stray who wandered onto the grounds some years back. Obviously pregnant, Agate was so sweet and gorgeous that people were asking to be put on a list to adopt her kittens. A few months later, I came by again and found Agate teaching her group of orange kittens how to hunt. The two orange cats who greeted me yesterday night were from this litter. Miaow and Tigger, a female and male, practically assaulted me and A___ with purring, insistent kitty love. Miaow knocked over the essential oils in her attempt to show me how agile she was. Tigger got A___ to kneel down on the floor for pats, then latched onto the zipper of A___'s coat and would not let go. At one point when I was on the floor patting both cats they got so enthusiastic about the patting that they started nuzzling eachother as well as my hands. Ahhhh...kitty therapy to the rescue!

Miaow and Tigger's mom, Agate

We left. I could still feel the outrage over the Dookie situation, but was much calmer. We called the first year student (call her Sharon for simplicity's sake) to see if she was ready for us to swing by. Sharon is in her 40s and is a strong although somewhat traditionally feminine woman. She left her "real job" and sold her house to come to grad school, an act of immense bravery I think. Sharon was married for many years. After her marriage ended (quite some time ago) she fell in love with someone named Donald. Donald was diagnosed with Huntington's disease...I'm not sure on the timeline for that. I hope that they had some years together without this hanging over them. Sharon had told me how Donald had deteriorated to the point where he recently had to go into an assisted living facility. She's been a little weepy when she's talked about him in the past, understandably so. When I got Sharon on the phone last night, she was sobbing. She told me she just got news Donald is in what sounds like multi-system failure and will quite likely die within the next few days. She wanted to go to him, but had to spend the holidays with her family.

A___ and I stayed for a little while at Sharon's house. She was doing laundry in preparation for her weekend away. We talked about Donald, we talked about Dookie, about christmases past that we didn't celebrate much and why. This year, Sharon has no tree but got a poinsettia so her mom wouldn't think she needed antidepressants, she told me laughing a little. I don't bother with that kind of external, and I start to express this. Then I realize as it's coming out of my mouth that Sharon probably bought the plant to convince herself she didn't need antidepressants. Sometimes I am a complete idiot.

A___ and I left Sharon to her laundry and her grief. A___ told me about his dad who has T cell lymphoma leukemia. A___'s dad is immunocompromised and can't shake a months long respiratory infection. From what A___ has told me, the approach his dad's doctors are taking seems very, oh what's the word? STUPID? Phone conversations between his dad and either to PCP or oncologist go like this: "What you again? I don't know what else you want to do. I mean, it's just an antibiotic resistant respiratory infection. Go home, take some more antibiotics and try not to give this to your wife and grandchildren." I guess they don't want to be bothered to treat anything less than an utterly destroyed immune system. A___ says "So if I'm a little quiet or not here or something, it's probably because I'm thinking about this still." I appreciate the notice. We drove. "You wanna go find some decorations?" A___ asked.
Hell yes.


The first one we came across by accident. We were en route to a house of mythically gaudy christmas decor, but as we drove down a connecting back road, I spied puffy cartoon x-mas splendor hulking on the lawn of a modest ranch house. "Turn around" I said calmy but firmly to A___. He swung the car back without even asking why. "Oh my god!" he said as we cruised the lawn. We pulled in across the street, A___ readying his camera and me pulling off my coat as I walked. "Are you ready? Here I go...."
We snapped two photos then ran back to the car hooting with laughter. On to the next one. We scanned the radio for bad christmas music that we sang along with, tunelessly and loud.

As we pulled up to our destination, we saw cars pulled over on the road near the house. Families were walkingthrough this strange suburban christmasland yard, admiring sights like Huge Panda and Candycane and panoramas with animatronic dolls in victorian garb "singing" christmas carols. We took several pictures here. The hard part was trying to get my t-shirt in the shots without exposing the children and wholesome families to my profane christmas sentiment.


On our way out of town, we found a lovely sleigh I wanted to try to get in....










...but I nearly broke it. We left in a hurry, driving north towards campus.

Before we got to campus, we pulled in for a quick shot at a local baptist church's nativity scene. We called Sharon from campus to invite her over to watch Christmas Vacation and Bad Santa. She declined, but said it was nice to know she had the option.





Why do people say christmas is the "most wonderful time of the year"? The news is as disturbing as ever, possibly more so (e.g., violence at the walmarts (1, 2)). The president is unapologetically spying on US citizens and I am not entirely sure the citizens know or care. I'm not the only one who is agitated and angry - The local police department has announced that it will be targetting aggressive drivers and speeders due to the recent rise in aggressive driving incidents. This week, my brother did crystal again, my friends - torn between "celebration" and grief over sick or dying family and loved ones - are fighting valiantly to stay afloat, and I find myself with spontaneous thoughts of vandalism, mayhem, and asswhuppings I'd love to hand out like fruit cakes.

No, this is not the most wonderful time of the year. Any genuine cheer you find should be cherished, even if it is slightly skewed, warped cheer. Real "christmas magic" isn't getting sales on all your holiday needs, decorating your lawn with huge air filled rippling cartoon christmas icons, or setting up the lights so they flash in perfect time. The joy of the holiday season is not guaranteed by forcing everyone in the family, no matter how much they hate each other, to sit down together for the traditional holiday rituals. The real magic is finding genuine happiness in these darkest hours of the year.