Weighted Wooden Bookshelves

His bookshelves stand far above the ground and are weighted with a lifetime of thought, enjoyment and study.  A frozen biography of the man he was.  Each seems to hold a purpose, a story beyond the writing on each page.  I cannot resist standing in front of them, gazing at their covers, then opening them to look upon the mysteries stored within.  I find favorites of my own -- Wallace Stegner, John Irving, Annie Dillard.  There are others too, both familiar and new.  Some immediately capture my attention and others I skim quickly past.  And I want to sit with a cup of coffee and go through each shelf with my friend, who now has me fascinated by his books on the weighted wooden shelves far above the ground.  To hear now the stories, the passions and the learning he has found within.

Italian, Spanish, Annotated California Codes, Steinbeck, the Old West, an unabridged dictionary, chickens, a Bible, birds, natural history, algebra, calculus, Greek mythology, Cheyenne Indians, novels too.  There are books with cobwebs and dust thick upon them and ones used for research and reference with notes and dog eared pages. Few have been left unopened, most studied and read, some glanced at not long ago.  They hold a life of their own, a history joined together of a man and a view into who influenced his thoughts and ways. 

Within moments I know we share interests but they diverge as well.  Yet still, I am now more curious to know the man whose house they lay within.  Educated in the way of life, who knows his mind and his thoughts, who studied and wasted not time in his actions and is patient. Someone I like to have as a friend.  The kind of person with whom I want to talk and ask questions.

The story he has left open for me to see by his weighted bookshelves far above the ground.

Snow Please

You came early in November
And we shooed you away
Quite angrily
It's too early
For you to arrive
We're not ready
For you to come
And so you left us
And took the rain with you too.
And we thanked you
For the rest of November
Now it's the middle of December
And you haven't shown us
That you are even near.
We really wanted you this month
As we do every year
But now I am afraid
Your feeling are hurt.  
So please come back
And share a white Christmas
And stay for the winter too.

Especially at Christmas

Especially at Christmas,

I like to eat cookies.

So much sugar

And chocolate

And jam

And nutmeg

And spice

All tastes

Which give me delight.

Be it crunchy

Or soft

Or chewy

Or crumbly

It matters not much

To me.

I think I will make more

Right now.

Our Little Tree

We walked into the forest on a December day without snow, two years ago now and found just what we wanted, only a few feet from each other; our perfect Christmas trees.  Better even, for having been found in the woods on a cold winter's day.  The trek back with those trees, having pushed farther up the mountain than planned, was not easy.  Just as we reached the truck, tired and cold, the snow started to fall and we smiled in the delight of our day.

Back at home we put the tree in its stand and Tom carefully wrapped lights around and around.  They were little white ones to which were added many red bows.  Then the tree was finished with ornaments and placed in front of the window where it stood quite proudly.  During the next days it drank and drank and I thought that was a sign, of a tree that would stay quite lovely.  Family was coming for Christmas and I wanted everything to be just right.  And it was, until the tree lost a needle and then more.  I called my dad wondering what I should do and he shook his head (I didn't actually see it, but I knew) and said don't overreact that all trees lose needles.  No, no I replied, this one is losing a lot.  No sympathy there, so I told Tom and my mom and I think my sisters too and no help I found.

Then the day before Christmas Eve, I brushed against it perhaps, a little too hard and all of a sudden I heard quite a rustle and not one, not two, but all of the needles released from the tree.  Only minutes later my parents arrived and saw a quite bare tree with a skirt of green needles below.  Except for feeling quite vindicated about my lack of exaggeration, there was not much to do but laugh at the sight and shrug at the thought of starting over again.

My mom, knowing just what was needed, began to take off all the white lights wound so tightly around and then the bows and ornaments too.  Meanwhile, my dad and I went into town, for we wanted a Christmas tree, but all that were left, were the saddest and woeful of all.  Perseverance, however, is a trait of my dad and we trekked and we trudged through the streets (okay, we drove in his new shiny Subaru).  Finally we found a tree that we agreed would not only do, but was just right.  So home came tree number two.  It was put in the stand, with lights wrapped around and bows and ornaments too.  And it stood quite proudly, as the other one had.

All of that is to say that some of the joys of Christmas that year came not from my preconceived notions of how things should go, but embracing what is and through that finding laughter and cheer.