Christmas Card

Hello?

"Hey. Did you leave this?"

Prob'ly. If it's what I think it is, then yeah.

"When? How?"

Last night. I just let it happen.

"Huh?"

I couldn't sleep (part of me still wants to wait up for Santa), went out for a walk, a little buzzed on holiday ale, a bit of sugar highfrom holiday cookies, generally keyed up from the year's-end rush, humming to the tune of bells in my head, hot chocolate to warm my ungloved hand.

It was windy, cold: cold air, cold wind, cold mercury streetlights, clouds, scuttling stray leaves. Cheekbones cold/tight, ears cold, cold denim chilling thighs, shivers under my knotted scarf running down my sides and arms.

I found myself stopped next to a garden of multicolor lights. Held the cup up, blew steam up over my face, took a sip to warm my lips and teeth, took a drink, looked down to see the cup half full.

Felt a cold spark on my nose, looked up to a swirl of flakes as the warmth spread out from my belly, and I let go of my self and was able to make and deliver my gift to you.

"Can I open it now?"

It doesn't matter when.

"Wow, it's beautiful..."

Sending my Holiday Wishes for You

Peace - Love - Bliss - Joy - Wisdom

Munich

Let’s go to Munich... if I can get us there, will you guide me and translate? I’ve got most of the day -- as good as I can anyway -- I’ll do a few general items and try to add the interior life as best I can. As to what we do the rest of our time there..., well I’m sure you had things in mind. It’s a weak trick, but not all of my magic survives the look behind the curtain.

The day starts slowly, as is often the case when the day drops out of a dream. A few blinks to try and sort out whether we’re still asleep and dreaming,... then giving in to it without trying to question it further.
Outside, someone is announcing "halp acht" to no one in particular, and some bird sings an unrecognized song of morning.
The room is frankly cold, and it dares us to leave the warmth beneath the covers. Maybe another hour wrapped up until the room warms up, but neither of us knows how long we’ll be able to be here, and we didn’t come all the way here to risk falling back asleep and reawakening in our usual places.
So, it’s up and at ‘em. ("Are you sure? I can see my breath." No, not sure at all, but I'm going to give it a try. "Good luck, let me know how it goes. I'll be hiding here under this pile of comforters.") When my feet hit the floor, I’m glad I decided to sleep with those wool socks on. A quick cold water dunk just to wash my hair and face. Once to get my hair wet,... WOW! That’s an eye opener. I turn to look, expecting you to laugh, but all I see are the comforters piled up. Maybe, if I don’t shampoo, I won’t have to do that again; but then my hair’ll be standing up all day,... so here goes,... phew! You might just want to put your hair up in something today. Hey sleepyhead, you are getting up aren’t you? ‘Cause I’d just be lost here without you -- though I could probably get someone to show me how to find the ol’ Bahnhoff, I don’t know where I’d go. ("You go on ahead and scout it out, I need a few minutes to get ready." You're not just going back to sleep are you? "Go! five minutes...")
There’s coffee, and a fire going in the common room. That, and a roll, and a quick second coffee (small cups), and I’m ready to set out. Let me just take a little extra time with this second cup, just to hold it in my hands an extra minute to shake that background morning stiffness and ache out of my fingers -- that’s weird, I don’t usually have that in my dreams. Here you are now, ready to go, tossing your coffee back and standing there with hands on hips. (How is it you can manage to look like you belong here in just five minutes? "Confidence mostly, and lots of practice. Did you want beauty tips, or are we going somewhere?") Oh, so now you’re the impatient one? One more swirl of the cup to catch a few lingering sugar crystals, then down the hatch and to the door.
Outside the light is still that hazy prismatic glow that comes from the sun peeking around clouds that are blowing in. For the first moment, I’m both too hot and too cold, between the heat on my back from sitting near the fire and that first gust catching my face as we pass through the doorway. The morning air has a crystalline quality -- there’s nothing falling from the clouds yet, but you can feel the expectancy when you breathe in or move through the air.
A town crier appears and announces acht uhr, and for a moment it seems we’ve traveled in time as well as space. This is clearly not Munich, and the crier in his cape seems jarringly out of place as he approaches. He’s happy to tell you where we are in modern German and some English. Seems I missed Munich by a few dozen kilometers to the north and we stand in an old walled city untouched by either the disasters or the advances of the twentieth century. The stones of the current wall have been adopted from previous walls and buildings. They are, or they know, all this town has been. They share little today, except reflecting the chill of the wind.
I leave it to you to find us a way down to Munich... ("How am I going to do that?" People just seem more willing to communicate with you than with me.)
Munich is a welcome sight as it appears before us. So much of the old sections of the city makes you think of gingerbread and hot cocoa, even with the light dusting of snow. This late into advent, everyone is making an extra effort to be friendly.
I know you’ve got a lot you’re thinking of sharing with me, but I’ve got an idea I hope you’ll indulge. Walk with me along the river won’t you? There’s got to be a RosenBuschStraße around here somewhere. Here's EnglischerGarten, maybe it's near here? No, further down... If we can find that sign, you and Snowman can pose and I’ll take the picture for you. Just lean up against it,... nice smile.
I’m glad we were able to track that down, but tramping around with that wind coming off the river has started to chill us through. Another shiver like that and you might pull my arm right off. Let’s find us a place to step into. I vaguely remember something about a Hofbrauhaus staht’ing in München somewheres. Once we get inside we can thaw out with a hot early lunch. Order for me please, whatever sounds good. Could I get a Schlenkerla Rauchbier with that? I know it’s a big Späten town, but that smokiness tastes warm.
After lunch, I’m relying on you to lead us through your own story. ("Um, my story? Which would that be?" I'm not sure, something snowy though, with old stone architecture. "Yeah, I get you, when did you see that?" I listen...) It’d be the perfect time to take me to your favorite spots and share or re-create some memories. Otherwise, we’ll just have to wander in a fog for a while ‘cause I don’t have enough to fill a whole day. You’ve probably got more than a day for us, and that’s good -- we need to keep moving to stay warm. Maybe next time wait until Mai to drop a suggestion to come back.
Yeah, by midafternoon I’m chilled through too. I think my feet may just be blocks of ice inside my boots. Let’s find something to duck into -- Hansel and Gretel is playing, shall we take in a holiday production? I’ll have to rely on you again to get us tickets: it’s sold out, but somebody’s got to not show at the will-call window. Mid-Balcony? Sounds good to me. The orchestra’s already tuning up, so we’d better try to get to our seats. Is it "entschuldigen Sie, bitte"? I’d like to excuse myself as we step in without insulting anyone. Sure, the northern Virginia accent doesn’t help my pronunciation, but I’m trying. Every child in this row gets a smile from seeing Snowman peeking out from your pocket. Maybe after the show we can get a shot of him sitting in your seat.
The director, or maybe the producer, comes out to make some opening remarks, to thank somebody (I think in the production), to mention (I think mostly to the children) something about not talking, and I’m almost positive the last thing was wishing us a happy holiday. Then, the orchestra jumps into the overture and the curtain rises as the lights go down.
It’s good that the story is familiar to us, ‘cause I’m not getting much of what’s being spoken. I try to translate some parts, but mostly it goes by to quickly, so we decide to just let it wash over us. Warming up, slightly tired, in a dark theater, with the orchestra and show going all starts to zone me out a bit. Give my hand an extra squeeze now and again to keep me awake. I’m going to lean your way a bit to keep from slumping into the stranger on my other side. Go ahead with the elbow into the ribs if you need to -- I don’t want to risk falling asleep fully: no guarantees of waking here again. ("No, not the elbow, maybe I could lean my head on your shoulder though?" Sure, go ahead, but one of us has to be sure to stay awake)
As we leave the theater, flurries have started to fall, blowing in clouds and swirls. The sun must be setting, as the sky keeps turning darker shades of grey. Lights are winking on throughout the city -- especially down in the Platz where the kiosks and stands are set up for Kristkindl Markt. It’s already starting to get crowded as the Saturday evening bells announce the final week of Advent. The offerings are mixed. We find a great stall with ornaments for sale. You pick out a glass Engel. I’m looking at the various Saint Nicholas carvings, passing over the Santa Banana for a more bottom heavy ovoid and jolly one -- Pear Noel (I can’t resist the pun even if it clashes with his German roots). Snowman, of course, gets an ornament that looks just like him. Right next door we pick up a woolen scarf and hat set that we’ll need now that night’s fallen. Hat for you, scarf for me. Now let’s try to find someone selling Wurstchen and Gluhwine. Yeah, it’s a bit dry, so toss a few spoons of Zucker into it. It’s an all-purpose warmer-upper: you can hold the cup in your hands, hold your face over the steam, and as you drink it it gives you a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Hurry up and finish that, and we’ll catch up with the carolers that just went by. A fabulous opportunity for you to laugh at me butchering the Deutsch. Stille Nacht, Heidigger Nacht? I didn’t know that it was an existential treatise in song. I remember a little bit of O Tannenbaum, at least the "Du kannst mir sehr gefallen". I can at least hum along with Rudolf das kleine Renteir. Know what? Maybe I ought to just hum all of ‘em. (Come on now, it sounded okay to me." That's kind, thank you. "Don't be like that, I like it when you sing along.")
The whole group is heading into the park to decorate trees. Brush the snow off first. One more picture of Snowman as he puts up his ornament between the two of ours. Somehow, no matter how careful I intend to be, I end up burning my thumb when I light candles with a lighter. Now, that’s a Christmas tree to truly be admired,... but,... why is it beeping? That’s an odd kind of sound,... it keeps repeating,... almost familiar,... sounds like,...

My alarm? Dag, lost the thread...

Ah, well, off to work.

Catch up with you later, hope you had a good time.

Silence 2 (Ocracoke)

You wake me when it’s time to check in for the ferry -- the woman at the window is insistent in asking, /I.D.? I.D. Sir?/. I’m having a hard time clearing my head, but it starts to sink in... the reservation! my license! I bridge up to fish my wallet out and lean across you to hand my license over to confirm our reservation. She looks at it briefly, then peers down into the car to see it’s really me -- I wave back. She hands the license back down to you, saying, /You’re set for the 10 o’clock. It’ll start boarding in about 10 minutes./ I check my watch and reach to get my license back. You hold it up to look at it in front of me, looking back and forth between it and me, finally raising an index finger at your conclusion and then reaching over to try and smooth my hair down. It’s no use -- you head for plan B, reaching into the back seat for my cap and pulling it onto my head. You hold the license up again, give a thumbs up, and hand it back.
The next two hours find me mostly asleep still. I drag myself up to the cabin of the ferry. You push me in to the inside end of the booth bench against the wall, and slide in alongside to keep me from slouching over. Handing you my notebook, I put my head down on the table to sleep. You’ve finished what’s there of the next couple pieces when I stir, trying to reach up my back. Reaching for, but missing. Trying to reach higher. Switching to try to reach over my shoulder and down instead, but still not getting there. You put the notebook down to put your hand between my shoulder blades and scratch. I shift and squirm under your nails to get you to just the right spot. Mmmm. I thump my foot on the floor and we grin at the joke.
You open the notebook up to a page and circle a passage ("It wasn’t a circle, it was a heart." You like that one, eh? "Yeah, but the beginning doesn’t fit right with it." I know, I should split those two ideas up and use them in separate pieces. "The beginning should wait for a spring piece -- pull that circled..." Hearted. "...right, hearted part to put in something for now." Hmm, yeah, that’s good, as soon as I get some time...). The air horn of the ferry snaps me wide awake for a second, but I start to sink back until you’re snapping your fingers in front of my face. I blink myself awake, wiping some condensation off the outside of my ice water glass to rub on my face. While I rub my eyes, I get an impression of your making a quick move with your fingers into the glass. Turning to reach back into the seat for my cap, there’s a tug at the back of my collar and the sudden rush of ice cubes down my back. I jump up and wiggle, grabbing at my shirt tail to shake the cubes out ("You owed me from skipping the touchdown dance." You can say that, but that won’t help you escape from the payback. "What might that be?" All I can say is, when you least expect it,... expect it. "OOOoo, now I’m so scared."). Now I’m awake, spinning around to face you. You reach your hand out with the keys. I wag a finger at you with eyes narrowed, then snatch them from you, tossing them up slightly and snatching them again out of the air.
Almost arrived now. After disembarking, it’s only a few minutes before we’re pulling up the drive of unit NP32. You fish the envelope out of the glove compartment and drop the keys out. The envelope says Minnow (We may end up castaways. "I’m not the Skipper then." I’m not Gilligan either. "No, maybe the professor..." Maybe we’re the Howells. "Not in this car, I don’t think.") I pop the trunk and open the back door. You grab two bags out, one yours and one mine, hop up the steps and let yourself in. I get to the trunk, shaking my head as I notice you took the two lightest bags ("Whatsa matter? Which ones would you have given me?" Well, the lightest ones. "So are you upset about getting your way?" Yeah, I’m stupid like that sometimes. "Did you need me to make some show of appreciation for your work?" Maybe? "Okay, I’ll put something together for you..."). I get to the top of the steps with the cooler and the big duffel and the backpack. You skip out onto the porch, rapidly clapping your hands together, then clasping them together next to your cheek, batting your eyelashes with an exaggerated my-hero look ("Something like that?" From now on, let’s just agree, you get the little bags and I’ll get the big ones and then you won’t have to ridicule me like that. "Aww, don’t get mad." Yeah, how’d that happen: now I’m mad about getting my way -- I really do need this vacation. "You certainly slept like it." Okay, I know what the next important step is...). Overacting anger as much as you did gratitude, I take your hands from your cheek. Holding your hand still, I take your watch off and march into the kitchen with it to drop in a drawer, followed soon by my own watch. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my cell phone, turn it off and drop it in too. You quick grab yours out of your purse to turn it off and toss it in. Drawer slammed shut.

The silence as we let relaxation settle in leaves room for the sound of gulls.

Most of the afternoon is left. We’d better get busy frittering it away. The porch is already shaded though. We try taking the rockers out onto the grass, but it just doesn’t work; mine sinks in too much. I wave you back up out of yours, place my books et cetera in your hands and start dragging both rockers down into the sand. You’re just shaking your head: no way is that going to work. The pier out to the dock has got like a gazebo in the middle of it though, just big enough for two rockers with a small table in between them. Once I get the furniture all arranged, you plop down and hand me my book and notebook, and toss the pens at me. I leave the pens where they land in my lap and rock back to start reading from where the bookmark keeps my place about halfway through. You do the same. I get about three pages in: something’s not quite right, the story’s taken a slight turn, and the female character seems to have become more prominent, and something else... I turn to you to see you looking at me and holding up,... my book? I check the cover of the one I’m reading: similar cover design, similar main characters, similar plot, similar style, but different book. I trade you what must be your book for mine. Before you open your book you hold my gaze with a mysterious look and hold your book up before me. You slip your thumb and forefinger inside the back cover, wait two beats for the suspense to build, then pull them back out holding... the puzzle from Sunday, which you present to me with a flourish. It’s blank, but the two longest across answers spaces are highlighted. You point to them, then to each of us, then back to them. Okay, I’ll play -- I start on the puzzle while you start reading...

The silence leaves room for the sound of the rockers creaking.

It takes me a while to get the second highlighted answer -- have to work all the way up to it from the bottom. I’ve got both now, but still don’t get it... oh! heh heh, that’s cute. I turn to show you I’ve worked it out, but you’ve fallen asleep.
I go back in the cabin to bring out snowman and two glasses of water. I pose snowman in my rocker like he’s reading from the notebook and take a few pictures -- just one of you sleeping ( "You didn’t. " Uh, no, you’re right, I just made that part up... "You better not have." Would I do that? "Where’s the camera? Have you loaded it on the computer yet?" I don’t know what you’re talking about... "It could be bad for you if I find out you’re hiding it." Okay, sorry, here. "Hey, I look good." Of course.). I give you snowman to cuddle and sit back down with the notebook to work on splitting up those two ideas and building out of the second one.

The silence leaves room for the lapping of the waves against the pier.

I go back inside to start to organize fixing dinner. The creak of the screen door alerts me to your return. You’ve brought the water glasses back in with you. You come to put them in the dishwasher and stand next to me at the counter just in time for my stomach to let out a growl. You step back in mock terror, interrupted by your stomach growling back. You shrug with hands held up, and surrender to helping me work preparing. You get out tomatoes, onions, peppers, chiles, cilantro, and a start chopping. I finish making the marinade and am digging around in the drawers looking for a basting brush. Maybe I’ll have to use a paper towel. I turn from the counter to go check on the grill when I feel a poke in my back. I turn back to catch another light jab from you with the handle of the brush. I touch my lips with the pads of the fingers of my right hand, then move my hand away from my smile, palm upward. You respond by touching your forehead with the index finger of your flat right hand, then bringing it down in a semicircle to touch your chest with your wrist. I leave you to your chopping to go check on the grill.
Hmm, gas grill, I guess it’ll have to do. The tank reads plenty of pressure, the valve opens well enough, the ignition button,... nada. Again,... nothing. Dag, I hate having to light these things with a match. I get the box of safety matches out of the kitchen, looking back to you over my shoulder with Wallace’s uncertain smile. Okay,... turn the valve to Light,... wait for a second or two of flow,... strike the match,... move it closer,... closer,... slowly closer,... ow, damn, burnt my finger, dropped the match in, which lit the grill. I trudge back into the kitchen to get an ice cube out of the freezer. You pretend not to notice, but you’re lightly shaking your head in disbelief and shaking a bit with the laughter you’re holding back. You finally compose yourself and turn toward me, taking my hand to check on my finger. It’s fine, just needs another minute on an ice cube before I put the tuna on. You’ve finished the pico and are slicing pears when I head back out to the grill. I’m working on the tuna over the grill while I hear the clinking of flatware and dishes as you set the table. You come out to check on me when you’re done. A bead of sweat is heading down my forehead, but my hands are both busy turning and basting right now, so you move in to catch it before it can sneak past my eyebrow and I lean my head towards you as you do. The tuna’s still a bit clear, another couple minutes before it’s done.
While the tuna’s cooling, there’s time to fix that big salad. A big bowl out of the cupboard is placed between us on the counter. Each of us has a knife and a selection of vegetables, chopping and adding in. It turns out balanced well between crisps, colors, and flavors. I start to pick at it (I guess sleeping through lunch left me extra hungry. "Yeah, me too, but you don’t see me putting my hands in the food."), but my hand is chased away by snapping salad tongs. Next, the pointing of tongs directs me to the table before they serve salad unto our plates.
Dinner’s light but filling. I might have made too much tuna. I’ll put that in some foil, it’ll be good for picking at in the middle of the night. You’ve got half a bottle of beer left that you lift by the neck and wave towards me. Yeah, I could find some room for that.

After dinner, the silence leaves room for the blowing of the wind in off the sound.

Dishes clatter into the sink. I wash, then hand off to you to dry as we’re serenaded by the whooshing of the espresso maker finishing up, and the hiss of the overflow spilling out of the spout onto the burner. ("You mean you still don’t know how much water to put into that thing?" It’s not science, it’s more of a guesstimate how much water, how much coffee. "Your guesstimate might be what makes it a gamble to drink." Well, I’m not usually in a scientific frame of mind pre-coffee.) You go back out on the porch, and I pour it into two cups for us, and try to get them fixed up right. You take yours with both hands, take a sip then put one hand to your throat to fake a gag. I just roll my eyes and sit to sip my coffee, which tastes just fine to me, not that you’re asking. You sit next to me on the stairs and take a extra long sip, rubbing your tummy to show your appreciation for it. (Was it okay? I think I’m getting better at making it how you like it. "Relax, I’m really not that picky about it.")
The breeze in off the sound is cool and brings the promise of night falling. The sky’s already got some purple to it, might be a good time to take that walk along the beach. I leave my coffee cup on the stairs, stand up, and turn back to offer you a hand. Your cup gets placed beside mine, and you take my hand and stand up. Our steps fall right in together without any need for holding tight, still there’s an extra squeeze for me that makes me grin and return one to you.
Darkness moves in quickly, and it gets chilly, but we’re in no hurry, walking close together and enjoying the quiet understanding we’ve come to appreciate better today. ("I’d play this game again -- maybe without having to get upset with each other first?" Yeah, I’d like it better that way too.) The quarter moon goes down over the horizon as we’re getting back to the cabin. You leave go of my arm, pick up the cups and head inside. I hear the cups clank in the sink as I check to make sure I turned the gas off on the grill. When I get inside, it’s pitch black. I feel my way around the room to the couch and plop down. You’re there already, leaning back, and now, over.

The silence leaves room for the sound of breathing.

Then, words again.
"What was it I was mad about again? I can’t recall."
Something I did.
"And you, what were you mad about?"
I don’t remember, nothing important compared to the rest.
"We okay now?"
Always were.
"Will you tell me a story?"
Of course, of course...