"First of December"

December 1, 2020

 

Now the first of December was covered with snow
And so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
Lord, the Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go

 

I find myself a bit blue today.  The pandemic goes on and on.  Death or the fear of death is ever present.  I told Steve the other day that after 43 years together, we have far less time than more.

 

First of December.  I do not know when I started listening to “Sweet Baby James” every December 1^st.  It’s a long time.  The first time I clearly remember is 1990.  Thirty years ago.  We were living in a hotel because of a house fire.  It was a Saturday, cold, and we were on our way to visit a friend in Vermont.  “First of December, covered with snow…”  It was that year.

 

Since retirement, I’ve been to a slew of places on this date.  Eight years ago seeking sanctuary in a quiet park in Varnassi, India.  Agra and the Taj Majal in 1998.  Guatemala, Berlin, Mexico City more than once on this date.  Critically ill two years ago.  I wonder if I even remembered to listen to the song in 2028?  Nothing else mattered.

 

The funk seems to be emanating from a few sources.  With all those wonderful December 1^st behind me in all those wonderful places, how many more years am I going to be able to that?

 

The turn of a year, whether is be marked by December 1^st, the gathering of the greens in late October, Christmas, birthday are not met with as much enthusiasm as I’ve done in the past.  The body is failing itself in small ways.  I cannot do all the things I could do ten years ago.

 

Perhaps it’s COVID.  Perhaps it’s 71.  Perhaps it’s just the reckoning of years that have gone by so rapidly.

 

Perhaps.