The sun sank well south of Pikes Peak. I sat in my winter coat on the porch swing. My spirits went down with the sun. Christmas fun was over and wouldn’t return for another year.
In spite of the
whole week away from school that still stretched before me, it wasn’t enough to
raise my spirits.
That was nearly
70 years ago. It was the beginning of
the end of Christmas excitement for me. Such
an emotional slump wasn’t comfortable.
As I look back,
it was also an early symptom of a “disease” I have been afflicted with all my
life: “Sundowners”. As the sun sinks, a restless dissatisfaction
on the mild end, fear on the other extreme, sets in. The feeling lasts maybe an hour or less.
I think the term
was invented by some employee in a nursing home who noticed that all hands-on
deck sometimes wasn’t enough to care for cranky old people as dusk nears. Aunt Ruth noticed decades ago that I needed some
kind of chore to divert me at sundown when I was visiting her home.
Bless her!
In this old folks’ home, where the staff
tends to itself, the stratagem still works.
We spend five minutes wrapping up in warm clothes to journey the 40
yards, if you go by the sidewalk, 20 yards if you cross the lawn, to the post box. If it’s not too cold, we wander a ways down
the block to an intersection where we can do a U-turn.
Somehow, the
brief walk in the cold is enough to dispel the depression. Back in the safety and warmth of the house,
we can begin to prepare supper. No time to
dwell on the negative.
I think that eons
ago, our ancestors found it expedient to hibernate during the winter
solstice. Some foolish progressive
thought it would be okay to do some chores or otherwise stay awake in the cave
during winter’s onslaught.
Christmas
probably began as a celebration when the astronomers of prehistoric times proved
that by the third or fourth day after the solstice, the sun was indeed exposing
itself to us a little longer every day. Reason
for a celebration!
Along the way,
some ancient pope decided if you can’t whip ‘em, join ‘em. He declared the day a celebration of Jesus’
birth. Then old Santa Claus intruded. Amazon Prime made off with Santy’s bag of
toys and goodies and there you have it, our modern Christmas.
The
post-Christmas depression of my youth has been replaced by a weary gratitude at
the end of the day that the madness is over for another year.
I have found it
expedient over the years to try to avoid spreading my disease to others. I wonder if wearing a mask would help?
This year, I am doing
pretty well for an Xmas-Phobe. Being in
a barbershop quartet helped. We treated
ourselves and our mates to a rather expensive dinner (even McDonalds is
expensive these days) at an eatery in downtown Greeley before we attended The
Nutcracker at Union Colony.
We signed on to
sing some carols in the lobby before the show and during the intermission. We did that, but we weren’t a big hit. Most of the attendees were relatives of the
dancers or musicians, and they were far more concerned with what was going on
backstage and how things were going to go on stage than they were in hearing
some old guys singing carols. When your audience isn't too enthusiastic, you fall back to enjoying yourself, which we did.
That was
Friday. On Saturday, we found ourselves
in the north part of old Fort Collins at a Christmas party in an old house that
had been revamped nicely. It was a
sad-sweet gathering we came to find out, as the house’s owner was finally
celebrating Christmas after the loss of his spouse two years ago.
We wouldn’t have guessed that from our
reception. We got there by way of a
Rotary silent auction. One of our guys
is a devout Rotarian. He put a
performance by us on the block, and the guy who bought it asked us to provide
some entertainment for his Christmas party. Nobody knows how much we brought at auction.
We sort of wanted to know, but on the other hand, maybe we didn’t want to
know. What if we didn’t get beyond the
minimum bid, whatever it was?
So, there we were
amongst the merry-makers. We were a bit
apprehensive going in because we heard that a bluegrass band was also on the
docket. Quite a lineup for a private
Christmas party in a not-too-large old house with maybe 30 or 40 people there.
We needn’t have
feared. As word spread that we were
there, people gathered from all around, even coming in from the backyard where
there must have been some source of heat, because it was not a warm night. Well, they did have a source of internal heat
from a well-stocked table doing business as a bar.
We put on about
a thirty-minute program standing among the audience, who gladly joined in on
Christmas carols and other old songs that we do. Some of the most enthusiastic singers were
members of the bluegrass band who call themselves Blue Gramma.
The young guy who
told me their name when I asked, pronounced it “grAW-muh”. “Do you have a business card?” I asked. I didn’t quite get the name. Well, yes, but they didn’t bring any cards. He explained that it was a grass native to
Colorado. Then he spelled “Gramma” and I
said, “Oh, Blue Gramma,” and the old guy in the band standing there said to me,
“Yeah, that’s how most of us pronounce it.”
He and I laughed.
We regretted that
the band wasn’t quite ready to strike it up, so we left, finding it expedient
to get home to our ladies on a Saturday night.
Some of them don’t appreciate being “barbershop widows”. It would have been fun to see and hear what
those boys and girls could do.
On Sunday, we
made a late-afternoon trip to DIA to deliver the Goodwife’s sister, who visited
over the weekend, into the hands of TSA.
We took Monday off.
On Tuesday, more
singing at our regular Tuesday-night meeting of the barbershop chorus. The Goodwife had to go with me, as her usual
lady friend who takes her to Bingo on Tuesday nights was under the
weather. I think my bride found two
hours of rehearsing for a January program rather boring. A visit to the local “water hole”, also known
as Applebee’s, was somewhat less tedious for her.
On Wednesday, a
mammogram in Longmont was followed by a visit to the Longmont Museum. For ten bucks, it was a good way to stay warm
and get out of the house for a while. By
the time we got home, the mammogram results were in. All clear!
On Thursday, the
singing kicked in again. The chorus, the
old guys who are retired and don’t have to work, sang carols at five assisted
living places, three in Loveland, and two in Fort Collins.
On Friday, the
quartet did our public service duty by singing outside in the cold in front of
a King Soopers while ringing the bell and collecting for the Salvation Army. We started
at one and ended at three. Enough already.
We did stray from strictly doing carols.
When our relief
showed up at three, he checked the little red kettle and determined that he
needed another bucket. We had pretty
well filled “our” kettle.
Christmas
approaches. I hope I remember to cancel
my trial membership with Amazon Prime.
Santa Claus might not be happy if he finds out.
Merry Christmas!
Call me when it’s
time to wake up!
