Time

I was in the Wal-Mart yesterday morning, braving the Christmas crowds early on my way to run a new trail. In and out, one item only, surgical strike. Jingle Bell Rock was playing on the overhead brainwash system and the Salvation Army lady was ringing her enormous heart out. The wrapping paper had marched in and taken over the entire garden department, minus the tiny little section for dying Christmas trees, 2 for $1 or something desperate like that. I hummed and smiled my way to the padded envelope section at the back of the store, surgical strike, got my mailer, and headed for the sunshine waiting just beyond the checkout line when BAM. It happened. Christmas depression. Not homesickness, not agoraphobia, not the blues. Full blown holiday despair. Pity maybe or just pathetic sadness for the human condition.

Fir Ridge, Oil on Panel, 7" x 5" SOLD

Here’s what did me in. This scrawny guy in long nasty denim shorts and lots of tattoos was standing in front of the fake Kindles in the electronics section of Wal-Mart. He was just touching them all noncommittally, not asking for help, and not getting any. And my heart broke. For all I know, he’s been wanting one for himself all year and his pops wants to buy him something nice for Christmas. But in my head he was trying to pull the trigger on a gift he couldn’t afford for a girlfriend, daughter or mother, spending his last dollar or bumping up that credit card bill even higher, two days before Christmas so his girl would have something to open. None of my business, and I just preached about choosing how you see life, but right there in front of my eyes was a story so already-written I wanted to stop, hug this guy, and tell him she’ll still love you if you buy her a toothbrush. Please go pick out a nice toothbrush for her. Here’s $3.

I didn’t do that. No hugs, no advice. I did give $3 to that Salvation Army woman out front, the one with the enormous heart, and tried to talk myself out of my mood as I got ready for my run. I parked at this new spot, Ipod on, sunglasses off, keys hidden and legs stretched. All bendy and excited about a few new miles nice and early, I headed off thinking about all the money. All the money people spend this time of year, whether they have it or not. All the money to buy, wrap, and ship things no one needs or probably even wants. I also saw a guy this morning wheeling a tiny pink sparkly Barbie bike out to his car and thought, I hope she rides that thing more than a week. When did I become such a cynic? Why can’t people give nice things to people they love? Heaven knows I get tremendous, generous, delicious gifts I don’t deserve. I was just about to the part where I tell myself to snap out of it Holyer, when something in my calf snapped instead. I felt it pop or pull or rip, and just like that I was hopping, stopping, and hobbling back to the car.

Old Barn, Oil on Panel, 10" x 8" SOLD

Now, the moral of this story is NOT when you’re tight you get hurt. I stretched darn it. And not wanting people to spend money on stupid stuff they can’t afford isn’t being tight. It’s being protective. Nosy, but well-intentioned. No, this tale is about what I did with the rest of my day. It’s about why that skinny kid was just standing in the electronics section. It’s about time. It’s about staring at fake Kindles with someone you love on your mind, finding wrapping paper and tape in a closet, and the moment when the paper and tape come back off for a different kind of BAM. The joyful, extravagant, loving human condition kind.  It’s not about the money at all. It’s not that the silly calendar I made for my brother is going to make his 2012 different than it would be otherwise, but the time I spent creating it, printing it, going to the Wal-Mart for a mailing envelope, and standing in line at the Post Office to send it to Switzerland were all spent thinking of him, time spent with him. It’s finally dawned on me that sweet Rosellyn next door would rather go out to lunch than find a card and a plate of cookies on her doorstep, so next week we’ll go out just us and spend some time together. Don’t worry Dorothy, I still shared your cookies with her and she loved them. Since I couldn’t walk much yesterday, I finally settled into my painting room with some canvases I’ve been avoiding eye contact with all week. I stood still and sometimes sat, and just spent some time with myself, my brushes, and these places in Montana I’ve been meaning to revisit. And today we’ll go see Pat’s people for a few days of Christmas.

While I was subbing a couple weeks ago, I got stuck in a media center with a big class of 8th graders while their teacher used her classroom for the equivalent of Quiz Bowl practice. During third period, everyone was relatively quiet except two girls at the closest table to mine who would not stop bickering. Bicker bicker bicker namecall, no YOU are, bicker. I finally told them life was too short for me to listen to them talk to each other like that, so either stop saying anything and do their work, or go to the back of the library where I could see them but couldn’t hear them. They looked surprised and said we’re twins, as if that explained everything, and TRIED to bring me into their bicker bubble by picking apart the idea of life being too short. How can life be too short one of them asked, when you live the whole thing until you die? Huh? I was wise to their widen the bicker field tricks, so I just put my finger to my lips and enforced the blessed media center code of silence. They spent the rest of the period quietly, thankfully, and I spent it sneaking looks at their twin-ness and thinking Oh, you’ll see. You’ll see how short life is. How it picks up speed like a cartoon avalanche and pretty soon you’ll be bickering in the old folks’ home. So that’s the moral of this story. Don’t fight with your twin. Spend time with the people (and places) you love. Time is the gift, not the fake Kindle or the rinky-dink calendar, and there’s an end to it. Spend it wisely, spend it well. And now that YOU’re depressed by the human condition, the fleeting kind of BAM, Merry Christmas. Sorry about that. I hope you have the time of your life.