Sometime during that awkward phase in adolescence where I had obtained a learner’s permit, but did not yet have “off campus lunch” at high school, I bought a “Best of Disco” CD compilation at Hastings in Wenatchee, Washington.
When I was about 9 years old, I was given a Casio keyboard for Christmas by my mom. It was your average, maybe slightly above average, amateur level keyboard, something you might buy at a electronics store as opposed to a toy store, but the kind of keyboard that is really only meant for very casual play.
Christmas is an emotionally complex time for most people – a composite of the year’s successes and failures. If things went well for you in 2021, it’s likely that you are thinking warm, toasted thoughts, maybe with a Bailey’s (nice and creamy) or eggnog, maybe watching a TV special that is a perennial reinforcement of previous good itmes, like an ugly sweater or a tree ornament that has to be placed prominently, no matter what your partner says.
Early this Sunday, after astronomical twilight, after civil twilight, after nautical twilight, between civil and nautical dawn, on what is the lightest and the longest of days, in a year of long delays, there is an expectation of resumption to a kind of new normal that somehow feels the same.
Beverly Cleary died this week at – how old? 104 is a long time to be alive, longer than I could ever fathom. She could have lived to 114 or 124 as far as my mind is concerned, for she was always kind of a fixture of time immemorial.