Caterwauling

I heard an interview with the wife of a celebrity I’ve followed for a few decades.

Never thought much about her other than that she hit the jackpot. Plain Jane type even in her youth, but having a good guy and wealth definitely suits her.

Heard her voice and thought, yep, just as plain as her look. Lucky her to land this guy.

And I thought about his career. He’s done some pretty epic shit. Wrote some of the world’s most enduring songs about love and heartbreak and struggle in his younger days. Then there was the decade or so of watered-down love songs that were nice but lacked the fire of the early days.

I got to thinking, what if he had picked someone who sparked that passion? What albums would he have written with that twin flame fire lit under him?

I see a lot of that these days. People who could have been great if not for the rope they tied around themselves in the name of safety, financial or otherwise.

No one will ever be able to say that about me. If I was there, it wasn’t because I needed to be.

I’m not knocking the celebrity marriage. They should be celebrated. They’ve done a lot of good for this world with their wealth and kind hearts.

But I won’t lie. I wonder about the artistry that was great but could have been legendary.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have. Maybe what is still unwritten, and may very well always be … wasn’t his story to tell.

Cheers to good enough, amirite?

My bestie (a thousand miles away) sent Christmas breakfast to mom and me from a local establishment. That was a sweet surprise, and the right way to start off Christmas.

I got to talking with her about my last decade or so of Christmases.

I wasn’t at home on Christmas Day for most of them. Spent a few in Vegas. Then spent a bunch in Philadelphia. Those were my favorites. I’d stay with a friend, and we’d day-trip to NYC to have lunch with Uncle Bobby and then night-trip to have dinner with her family at the best Italian restaurant under the sun. We hit the Christmas markets in both cities, and it was the best.

That friendship fell by the wayside and I spent those next Christmases locally, outside the home.

What strikes me most is how I was part of two or three families, but not. And how different my own is. I like everyone in the room. Always did, though. At least here, that will never change.

Our tradition in my home has been to celebrate Christmas after the actual day. So it was strange to be home this time. But pandemic or not, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Just like my family always did a #happydance to see me, I do one because I still have my Mom with me. My good friends down here weren’t so lucky, and we all feel that unimaginable void today.

I don’t know what Christmas future holds, but I do know that it’s time to prepare the now-traditional 12/26 lasagna!

Growing up, we had a full house at all times.

At our peak, we had my great-grandmother Anastasia, grandmother Rose, grandfather Calvin, mom Robin, cousin Carole and Carole’s daughter Robyn. And me, of course.

Always loved that Carole named Robyn after Robin. I have an older cousin Dawn Lorraine. (They always called her by both names.) Although my name came from being born at, wait for it, sunrise.

In any event, the size of said house was… small. A tiny two-bedroom townhouse. An upgrade from the upstairs/downstairs situation in Johnstown with Aunt Lenna and cousin Cora Jean (Carole’s sister) upstairs and my family (pre-me) downstairs. But, full of love either way.

Fast-forward many years that included Carole and Robyn moving out of state, Mom and me moving out and then back in, and losing my beloved Anna Banana and eventually Rosie Girl, we still were short of bedrooms. But as a teen, I finally finally got my own.

I moved out at 18 not because I wanted to leave my family, but because I knew Mom would get my room.

I did return that summer, and we had so much fun. But I determined that I’d never displace her again. And I didn’t.

She and my grandfather moved to a pretty house at the end of 2005. Three bedrooms. And a marvelous downstairs with a fireplace.

I came home that Christmas to a room of my own.

It was the best gift I ever received.

Grampy died a year later, at the hands of cruel “doctors” at the VA. I spent a lot of time in that room. We didn’t have internet and I mostly only stayed weekends — bookended by four-hour drives each way.

But still. Knowing that Mom would always have a place for me still fills my heart with joy to this day.

That bed was horrible; she had a friend help her buy it online. But I never complained.

We never had a dime to spare. So that they went without food and other necessities for me to have a mattress and adorable mint-green and pink sheets and a matching lamp and table from Target was a Big Deal.

By the next Christmas, I’d upgraded my own apartment so Mom could move in with me.

She brought those bedroom items with her, and not much else.

I still have them. Still uncomfortable as shit.

But, it’s the last thing I have from the best family ever.

I will always love that I had them to go back to. That the happy dances happened when I arrived, not when I left.

This Christmas is more comfortable and I am glad for that. Especially during a year that has been hard for just about everyone else who supports democracy and common decency. But nothing will beat 2005.

I finally got to check out a local holiday light display.

Someone went a couple years ago told me they went and it wasn’t impressive.

I realize now that nothing can be enjoyable with a snarling marmot in the passenger side.

I thought it was cute. Even the part when the marmot realized I was in their backyard again.

This number has been following me all day.

Dawned on me at some point that it is a birthday I haven’t celebrated in years.

Looked up the address where I spent a lot of those birthdays. Sure enough, 712.

It’s an angel number. Isn’t everything, though? Be positive and open to receiving knowledge.

Otherwwise, it doesn’t mean anything.

Most things don’t have to mean anything. And they actually don’t mean anything.

Yet we all feel compelled to assign meaning, to justify things that happened or growing pains we endured.

A mutual friend reaches out to me every couple of years to see if I’ve heard from him. No one has. I’m the likeliest one, they seem to believe.

Most of them don’t seem to know the door is only open only wide enough for a foot to get through. On either side.

Happy birthday into the void.