Give it all you've got
“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.”
If you’re younger than 38, you missed a couple of big events of 1977, which doesn’t seem all that long ago for some of us. One event was the release of the original George Lucas blockbuster "Star Wars." Another rarity from the same year was the full moon on Dec. 25, the last time we've had a full moon on Christmas.
This year we celebrated blockbuster number seven in the "Star Wars" series, when the force awakened to the cacophony of millions of dollars spilling into the box office. We were also treated to a repeat performance from our nearest celestial neighbor when the moon waxed full like a heavenly spotlight on Christmas. As I write from this side of knowing, I hope the cloud curtains parted long enough for a satisfying view.
Now, with all the fretting, scurrying (I’m not a scurrier by nature) and challenging travel (at least one direction) in my rear view, I bask in this blessed week of seemingly suspended time. This glorious week of hushed activity between Christmas and New Year’s Day, when the 12 days of Christmas begin, is among my favorite respites of the year. It was only last year that I learned the 12 days don’t lead to the day, but trail after instead. Anyway, during this sweet lull, the only big decisions to make go something like; how many butter cookies can I eat before dinner and still be hungry, and should I join the family on a walk or go for the nap?
By the time this publishes, I should be warming my toes next a distant fire, and I plan to take in the latest force on the big screen. Though Han Solo may show his 40 years more ruggedly than the moon does, he still swashes and buckles an attractive figure for those of us who were present from the start. I was a mere babe in the solar system.
As usual, I’m excited by possibilities arriving on the fresh year. I’ve made plans — a few of the same ones slipped on through to 2016, and some are new. A website is on this year’s list so I can share more writing. I also plan to stretch myself (hopefully not to the breaking point) by speaking in public for the first time since I read books to my fellow first-graders. A logophile, or lover of words, always has more to say and, more importantly, hear.
There are no definite plans for celebrating the New Year. Though not one for wild and crazy parties, the most bizarre NYE event I recall attending took place at a bowling alley — Maricopa Lanes in Phoenix, Arizona, of all the weird places. In retrospect, I would suggest that drinking alcohol while heaving bowling balls may not show good judgment, but the less said about it the better.
Childhood New Year’s Eve activities consisted of popcorn, Laurel and Hardy movies and banging pots with a spoon at midnight while screaming New Year pleasantries at the neighbors. Then, for 20 or 30 years, part of which was lived along the Rogue River in Trail, where only skunks and salmon would have heard me, I refrained from this quaint ritual. Recently, I resumed the practice between binge-watching "Twilight Zone" and "Three Stooges" episodes. Nostalgia may require me to bring out the wooden spoon, broken during a particularly jubilant episode by our daughter one bright midnight. Her whacks were likely fortified by the fact that we weren’t doing anything close to a party, but banging pans instead.
I say, if you’re going to bang a pan, give it all you’ve got.
“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language, and next year’s words await another voice.”
— T. S. Eliot
Peggy Dover is a freelance writer living in Eagle Point. Reach her at email@example.com.