The Northward Contrail

Christmas Eve, a little early

The calendar has pulled a trick on us this year, and Christmas Eve is on a Saturday. Therefore, my annual Christmas Eve post will come a day early. I go back to it every year, but this moment in history is more powerful than anything I could come up with myself. Merry Christmas, y'all.

A new year and new projects

Another year's close to being in the books, and I've accomplished a lot. Maybe not as much as I would have liked, but I set my sights high anyway; still, I look at what I've done this year, and though I'm aware of where I fell short I'm still happy I got as much done as I did.

I used to look at each new year with a little bit of dread, because it felt like starting over again. It's completely psychological, because it's not like you wake up on the first of January and everything's suddenly a different color. For whatever reason, that's not bothering me this time around, and instead I'm looking at the new year as a chance for new opportunities, and new projects I've wanted to do for a long time.

There are some big things I want to do - this coming year, for instance, is when I hope to finally close the deal on flight training, and I've done just about everything I can to this point to make sure it happens. After the first of the year, that's when I can finally make it real. So that's the big thing. But there are other, smaller projects to which I'm looking forward. There's certain kits up in the stash that I've sort of promised myself as new projects. This new year, finally, it'll happen, I tell myself.

As for work? Well, coming into the new year with everything all planned out will take out a lot of stress. But there are new ideas I want to try, and I hope by the Fall term things will be exactly where I want them. I'm hoping, for instance, to finally acquire a gizmo or two that I've been wanting, and the ability to use that kind of technology in the classroom will simplify things an awful lot. Between that, and the quiet confidence I have in my ability to do my work, things should be better than ever.

Once upon a time a new year would fill me with dread. For whatever reason, 2012 doesn't, and I'm looking forward to this new sheet of paper. For a new sheet of paper allows you to draw whatever you want on it.

There's a beautiful vale in Alaska

During last December's adventure I picked up a copy of Evangeline Atwood's We Shall Be Remembered, which tells the story of the Matanuska Colony. One of the appendices has a poem I've come to love. Here's Don Irwin's ode to the laughing river in the beautiful vale, surrounded by a few rocks I collected from its banks back in August.

(Incidentally, this is also an excellent time to remind you of this marvelous documentary and its companion DVD set. I have both, and highly recommend them.)

Change of venue

You'll recall this time last year I was about to leave for Alaska. Years of prompting, that I really needed to see the place in winter if I wanted to see if it was more than puppy love, finally led to me buying the ticket and taking the ride. Of course, I loved it. What I didn't love was the journey itself, nor the brevity of the stay. Two days in Alaska bookended by a complete day of travel on each end (oh, and along with a string of delays on the way out) is no way to see the place. It doesn't leave much room for enjoyment, yet somehow I managed to pack an awful lot of fun into that whirlwind tour, and in spite of all the hassles I still look back on it with fondness.

This year's December adventure isn't as poetic. While Alaska is a place in which I'd love to live, Florida is a place I actually have lived, and although I look at it as more like "I survived it" I still have some good memories of the year I lived there. It's the first time I've been there in five years, and there's some morbid curiosity about how much will be different this time. After all, Fort Lauderdale is a place where, if you stand still for longer than 20 minutes, they'll staple a building permit to you and start building the scaffolding.

Last year's adventure was, for me, about as pure an escape as you can imagine. I'd had an incredibly stressful end to the semester, and the opportunity to put 4000 miles between me and my troubles was about as pure a blessing as you can imagine. This year, there isn't as much stress, and I'm taking some work with me, hoping to use the downtime and the change of venue as inspiration. If all goes well, my Christmas gift to myself will be completed syllabi, rewritten lecture notes and assignments, and a completed annual report. That way, I'll be able to enjoy the rest of my too-brief winter break, and then my classes will be a matter of just flying the plan I've filed. That will be very nice indeed. (As I'm fond of saying, I like to front-load my stress; that way, it's over with first, allowing me to enjoy what's to come.)

One of these years I'll take another winter adventure to Alaska. The difference will be that I'll plan it better, do it on my own terms, and not try to cram it into a tiny window between Winter commencement and Christmas Eve. (There will also be a stop-over in Seattle on the way back - which all future adventures northward will have, if I can help it - but that's another story.)

This year, though, it's something a little less poetic, but I'm certain the change of venue will do me some good, and the completed work I hope to bring back with me should do an awful lot to make me happy, as well.

Mountain lions and Christmas trees

Each year since we moved here, we've had a Christmas tree. It's been the same little three-foot tree hubby bought at a discount store one Saturday while I was away at some function. It's a cute little tree, and every year it's grown a few more ornaments. (It's now to the point that we're considering a replacement tree, just because we're out of room for ornaments.)

Every year we've put that tree up, but this year we're not going to. Travel's part of the culprit, but the main reason is the new cat. He's young and muscular, and most of all full of mischief. There's not a ledge or a shelf or anything he's not determined to explore. We had been putting the little tree atop a couple of bookcases, well out of reach of the Mighty Tiger. Since the Tiger is...shall we say, "full-figured," there's no way he can leap up there, and the older he's grown the less he's felt the need to explore like that anyway.

But the new cat, who fancies himself a mountain lion, is young and wants to explore. It took us all of about three seconds to figure out that the moment we put that tree up, it'd be a fiasco. Be it the cat trying to chew on the branches, or whacking ornaments around, or trying to eat the lights or chew through the power cord (and that's a problem we're having with the little one, for he likes gnawing on cords), the hassle would just be too immense.

It's not that we don't have Christmas spirit this year; come around on the 23rd and watch hubby at work in the kitchen and you'll find otherwise. This year, the lack of apparent visible Christmas spirit has nothing to do with grinchiness and everything to do with keeping a young and very curious cat from using up his nine lives.