Christmas p.m. post

The full moon was on December 23. I would have thought it was the 24th, as it was so luminescent. As many of my longer term readers know, a year ago on January 6, I lost my English Setter, Lucy. She was almost 14/ Later that July, I lost Greta. I remember with great clarity last December walking Lucy, Greta and Macy (then about 6 mos old) under the light of last December's full moon. I marvelled at our crisp, long shadows we made as we walked down the road. It was cold, and quiet. The dogs made not a sound. I could hear the intake of my breath and every exhale in a lovely synchopation with my steady, rhythmic stride. Lucy was in the lead--her usual place. Greta was closely behind with Macy following. I was in the rear, but all three were keenly aware of my position. Their predominantly white coats reflect the moon's brilliance in that monochromatic nightscape. How precious that memory is to me.

Winter evenings and winter mornings are special times to me. There is something ethereal about being up and outside while the balance of the world slumbers. As we stare at the ancient light passing through the galaxy and bouncing off our retinas, it connects us with our ancestors. The rich tapestry of myths were woven by those ancient star gazers. Their aim surely was modest. They were merely trying to make sense of it all. The space between observation and understanding was filled by imagination--and imagine is the foundation of all myth. More importantly, imagination is what gives life it's magic and inspiration. Imagination is the root of all innovation.

I imagine the winter skies were the most watched. Surely the summer months were spent toiling in the fields. When the stars made their debut, bodies and minds were numb from hard work. In contrast, in winter, the fields were barren. Hunger was likely a constant, nagging companion. Gazing at the stars fulfilled our human propensity for seeking patterns and then explaining. The simplicity of a twinkling star was transformed into story when imaginatively group with other stars. In those patterns the basic archetypes of our humanity were born.

Orion is one of my favorite constellations largely because I can recognize it easily by the signature three-star configuration of the belt. Is it any wonder that Orion would be the hunter traveling across the winter sky with his two hunting dogs Canis Major and Canis Minor? A man and his hunting dogs is assuredly grounding in the austerity of winter. There is no bounty in the field; one can only pray for bounty in the hunt.

Until I pass from this life, I will eagerly observe Orion's measured path through the sky. He starts in the East. By April, his winter pilgrimage has him firmly stationed in the western sky. The seemingly immeasurable expanse of galactic time from a human life-time perspective give Orion and his dogs immortality. My dogs and I have neither. I'm not jealous. Rather, I'm grateful to Orion and his hounds for being a reminder of constancy in the face of change. I think that is good backdrop for thinking about the year ahead.

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We had a wonderful Christmas. My stepmom fixed and beautiful dinner of tenderloin accompanied by tantalizing side dishes. I hosted everyone for brunch today. I elected to forego the fried potatoes--I just didn't have it in me to do one more thing! The bloody mary's were wonderfuly I grated fresh horseradish root into the pitcher--and a couple of pinches of cayenne. Good vodka (Grey Goose) and crisp celery ensured a refreshing eye opener beverage. Daisey and Macy were well behaved. Macy even showed off a few of her ball tricks!

After our guests left, I decided to be celery-like and vegetated in front of the television!

I hope that your day, however you celebrate (or not!) was wonderful.