Every December we wonder if adding a summary letter of our comings and goings to the handmade holiday card, is worth bothering about. There have been years when we’ve experienced exciting adventures that we’re proud to relay to friends. And, there have been other years when news of loss and sorrow fill the page. Now, as we continue to weather the sands of time, our year-end rundown sounds somewhat repetitive and boring. Yet to us, each day has held its own attraction, even though it may be spent in familiar environs. So I’ll begin to encapsulate the highlights of 2008.

Two years ago the Christmas/Holiday insert (exactly 100 words) reduced every month into a very brief reflection. Though severely abbreviated, each month’s highlight aptly reminds me of the overarching tenor of 2006. This year is different and I wonder what another “100 word” summary would reveal. Yet, as I think about 2008, there are five themes that weave consistently through each monthly frame: family, friends, creative endeavors, politics, and finances.

I’ll start with family: Father, now 86, has battled a couple severe infections and some depression this year. Every month I’m with him at least part of a day.

But what I really want to say is; “At 86, my dad lives on his own, battles the bastards on wall street daily, goes duck hunting when the weather promises foul, bags an elk yearly, and gets in a fair amount of fishing in the summer. I love him dearly."

Friends; judigo visited and it was a splendid time. The energy/synergy/healing filled me then, and has remained. We’re getting too old to let this much time pass between us again.

Dear friend Greg’s surprise retirement party, hosted here, was a high point in his life, and in mine.

Creighton’s cousin, Catherine Pforr and her family, Jean Francois et Adeline, visited from France, in August. We enjoyed a fun rendezvous with Catherine et Jean Francois for refreshments at a French wine bar in Portland’s “pearl.” We reminisced about the summer when Creighton and I were with them for three weeks on vacation, touring France, and meeting relatives from both sides of their family. A bond was forged over that time; a bond of appreciation, love, and humor that remains strong today.

Our French family was excited about Obama. Later I sent a bumper sticker and campaign button to Adeline.

Humbug. Nothing short and right (write) is coming so I’m just going to send the holiday cards with a brief hello. Orders for my note cards are keeping me busy, and with all the other Christmas stuff, plus work...

How freeing a decision like this is. No longer tied to some tedious task of tying up the tag ends of another year into a tidy packet of words that charm, inform, intrude.

I want more to write about the nut bowl I own (which had been my mother’s parents) and to reminisce about the complex jigsaw puzzle of Christmas past.

Took the plunge into “Project FeederWatch,” sponsored by the Audubon Society and Cornell University Ornithology Lab. For two days a week (with five days in between) from now until March, we will observe and count the birds that visit our feeders. Right now, at 3:25 pm, there are three Oregon Junco’s on the railings, and a Chestnut Backed Chickadee is feasting on suet. Sunlight’s being overtaken by cloudy dusk, heralding another cold night.

The assignment is to note the highest number of each bird species seen in the site on count days. No bird is unimportant. I like that.

My first memory of the nut bowl is from the mid-fifties. Grandma and Grandpa Twitchell had moved from their Resort on Deer Lake, to a new house in Wenatchee, just a half block away from my parents. At the beginning of the holiday season, their nut bowl brimmed with hard shelled nuts: almonds, filberts, pecans, walnuts, and Brazil nuts. No instant gratification here! Hard, precise pounding with a small wooden mallet on the nut, held in small fingers upon the center cracking post.

And oh, the joy of breaking open the shell to find and devour the fresh, succulent meats.

That nut bowl is one of few family heirlooms I possess. When I put it out for the season, I’m transported back to those childhood memories at my grandparents home. As the adults quaffed their whiskey drinks, Mike and I would take turns cracking into the woody shells and devouring the moist treats.

Almonds were the easiest. Their bark-like shells crumbled with one or two mallet strokes. Filberts could be broken into with one whack, and although pecans and walnuts split nicely on their seams, excavating the kernels could be quite a chore. And then there were the Brazil nuts.

Would you recognize a Brazil nut in its shell? About 2-3 inches long, they’re three sided, with a tough outer case the color and texture of elephant skin.

It has to be the hardest nut in the world to crack! If I’d never been aware of its delicious white meat, I would have been happy just to chuck the whole lot of them into the fire and be done with it.

Unearthing the nut whole was a rare feat; cause for jubilation! More often the nutmeat was pulverized in the process of excavation, and some resisted our efforts completely.

The bowl was carved from a crosscut of a 10-12 inch branch, of Oak I think. The bark exterior is preserved, while the inside is smooth from the outer lip, down the sides to the interior bottom. In the middle is a turned, pounding post crafted from the same wood, and fitted with a flat, steel round on top. Its matching mallet, also turned from the same wood, has the same steel rounds on both hammer ends.

The only thing remarkable about it is the memories represented in it, and maybe I’m the only person who holds those recollections.

The guest room of my grandparents home was furnished with a single bed, and grandmothers sewing machine. To save on expenses, the heat was turned off from fall to spring.

It was to this bone chilling room my brother, sister and I would skip to pull out the holiday jigsaw puzzle. A large piece of plywood became our puzzle palette. For hours we’d spread out on the living room carpet piecing together this complex picture of a coach and four white horses, briskly trotting through a snow covered countryside.

Between sittings, the puzzle remained unmolested on the guest room bed.

This was one of those big jigsaw puzzles with a jillion little pieces that all looked the same. Only small variations in the shapes, and hue changes were clues to successfully assembling it. Even though we worked it every season, it still seemed a challenge. I remember one or two pieces were missing, but the finished project was always an accomplishment.

Sometimes I browse through the puzzle section in toy stores, hoping to find one similar. But, as with the nut bowl, it’s the memories associated; the cold winters, the family togetherness, the security I felt, that can’t be reproduced.

We opened the little record store on December 13, 1972, and closed it the same date two years later. Thirty four years from that day, I recall the emptiness of our stark reality then; how desperately broke we were, how bereft of friends and future.

But, that was then. The pain is gone, all wounds healed by time and renewal. Now I feel almost insulated from similar misery that affects many others in this downwardly spiraling economy. I have a job, insurance, autos, home, a good life, family, friends, future. Only the hope for retirement sooner than later, eludes me!

When the weather forecast calls for snow “on the valley floor,” a sort of frenzy overtakes this usually rainsoaked corner of planet earth. I admit to being carried away by the anticipation of snowflakes in the air! And, always, I hope for enough of the fluffy stuff to have a fun slip-n-slide and snort romp with the beagles. So, I was somewhat disappointed upon awaking to see no layer of crystals covering our back yard. The outside temperature was above freezing, and that was that.

Two hours later Interstate 5 through Portland, OR was restricted to vehicles “with chains only.”

While Portland remains buried in snow, with all schools closed, in Clark County there’s no snow or ice on the roads, and school is in session. Our Secret Santa exchange starts today; a building event I’ve organized to keep myself interested in going to work every day this last week before vacation!

I never would have dreamed I’d be the person to put these things together, but so it is. Maybe it’s my belief that we all need to have fun, to play, to see one another in different lights, that spurs me on. Hearing hearty laughter gratifies and confirms.

When I read or hear about students being caught in the web of their own silliness, and it turns out to be a felony, I summarily dismiss the violator as simply stupid. Even when I’ve previously considered these young adults to be quite intelligent, these are the times when I wonder where the hell their brains are!

Max: never a superstar, not bound to four year college/university life. Just a sort of regular guy, helping his mom move. A vintage BB gun left in his car became a point of young male interest. Play pointing, play shooting - bye-bye Max.

Although the news reports repeatedly announced school closures and the dire state of roadways throughout the metro area, the byways in my neighborhood remained bare this morning. Checking the net, the announcement from my school district was that we would close three hours early. So, by 6:30 I was en-route to work and encountered no problems driving. But - when I arrived - I learned that the decision had been made to close school. A few of us chatted about the confusion, and then went our separate ways. Tonight there’s still no snow and I’m thinking this is a manufactured event!

Again this morning I checked first thing to see if school was canceled or starting late. No such luck, so I hustled and prepared for work. As I poured my coffee for the road, I noticed snow was sticking on the deck railing. Big, fluffy flakes dropped through the dark morning sky. Somewhat burned from having driven a half hour out and half hour back yesterday, I checked again but my school district was running on schedule. All morning the snow continued to accumulate throughout the county. Yet by the time I left for home, roads were clear and safe.

Snow began falling again at dusk, and the temperature was dropping to below zero Celsius by the time I went to bed last night. It seemed plausible there would be a late start, but too unpredictable to count on. Much to my delight, when I rolled out at 5:20 a.m. to check the web, my district was CLOSED for the day. Vacation starts now!

The wood stove has been warming us since early morning. Both dogs are curled up in their favorite napping places, while Creighton keeps holiday music going, and I write my words and complete other projects.

Winter wonderland arrived with a full 6 inches of dry, fluffy white stuff out on the deck. Lots of bird activity at the suet feeders, and I’ve scattered seed on top of the snow for the junco’s.

A towhee danced a jitterbug while two thrushes scratched up a jig in the grounds around the squirrel feeding station. Protected by a huge douglas fir, they unearthed a feast of fermenting sunflower seeds.

This evening we’ll celebrate the sale of the house around the corner with the new owner Abby and her roomy Kate. Bread, salt, and wine are ready to go.

Solstice; the shortest day and longest night opened with a blue, satin sheen sealing the snow in a smooth coat of ice. Cracked corn strewn for birds, bounced and slid like buckshot on glass.

At mid day the Beagles and I crunched and slid our way out the front to walk in the streets where four-wheel-drive trucks had broken passable trails. Jacques, always excited to explore, repeatedly wound up legpit deep in snow after venturing from the beaten path. Mattie, his aging hip joints less pliable, stayed close to me on the trodden pathways.

By nightfall icicles began to form.

Icicle morning brings fresh, powdery snow on top of the frozen layer. We’re up to seven inches, and there’s no end in sight. Our plans to celebrate Christmas Eve with my family in Corvallis (120 miles south) are in jeopardy. Only vehicles with chains are being allowed on the highways and byways of the Portland metro area. Though we have chains for the truck, it’s a 1979 vehicle, and not one I’d want to drive a long distance in. We have four studded tires for the ‘91 Honda, but driving to the local Les Schwab for mounting? Just stay home!

He called his mom and patiently listened to her obsessive iteration of grievances: no food, no money, no boots, nobody visiting, no Christmas decorations, no presents to give, abandoned, lonely, sad, bereft. All delivered in a quivering, aging woman’s voice. All needy. All wanting rescue.

When he’d had enough, he handed the phone to me, giving her another half hour to process the same litany of complaints, though a different voice came through; less whiney, more acquiescent.

Consequently, $100 of groceries will be delivered to her door by Safeway.com. Meanwhile, I trek three miles and backpack home my own provisions.

Christmas eve morning; snow is falling in the gray dawn while I sit snug in my chair next to our bedighted tree, listening to a live broadcast of the Nine Lessons and Carols from Kings College, Cambridge. How many years now have we listened to this lovely, inspiring program; yet each time it is fresh and bright. Twenty perhaps. And this is the first year in as many that we won’t be in Corvallis with my family for Christmas Eve celebrating. I’ll miss that, but we’ll visit as soon as the weather allows, and we’ll have fun and merriment notwithstanding.

Unable to get back to sleep, I arose about 5:00 a.m. to a quiet household. I lit all the living room candles, turned on the little strands of lights, and curled into my chair in the flickering stillness. Santa had stuffed my stocking to the brim, and there were pretty packages under the tree.

What a blessing, I thought, to have a nice home, a lasting relationship, a stable profession, and time to enjoy simple pleasures like this. As dawn approached, snow began to fall and continued off and on all day; our first white Christmas ever in Vancouver.

Ornaments adorn this now ten year old artificial tree. As my eye rests upon each bauble, I remember when, where, and from whom the treasure arrived. Those with no emotional attachment will be the first, and easiest to chuck, but for now they add dimension. It’s the others that tug my heart.

A brightly painted, wood carved, long tailed ‘paradise’ bird from my mom. Thirty years ago I didn’t understand it. It wasn’t a “traditional” tree ornament, and in my determination to be liked by a very traditional family, I felt embarrassed. Why? Now I love it like a jewel.

Finally it melted enough to drive the car out. My first impulse was to get the four snow tires on the Honda, so off I went to Les Schwab. Four hours later, and a third of the way through a novel, I was back on the road. We may not have more big storms like this, but if they come, we’re ready.

While there, a fellow my age struck up a conversation with me. At sixty-five he'd been laid-off for seven months. A design engineer, he’d never before experienced being unemployed this long . He was sensitive, politically astute, and scared.

One of the hardest things about dealing with Jo’s obsessions is that I feel like she casts a net around me whenever I try to do anything that should be helpful to her. With the snowstorms, I tried to have groceries delivered to her home. I placed the order on-line, had the date/time for delivery reserved, but the groceries never arrived.

Twice I placed orders and twice they were canceled because of road conditions. Over the course of five days, she has obsessed - agonized over the non delivery. Now the weather’s broken, they will deliver in two days. Good.

She celebrated Christmas with Mark and family yesterday. Judy had purchased and wrapped the gifts that Jo would give Mark and the three children. Someone had bought and wrapped a gift for Judy that was “from Jo.” I remember a year when I did that for all of them, bought, wrapped and delivered her gifts for them - and then even bought and wrapped my own present from her. Crazy.

When we talked today she said that her only bright spot on Christmas day was that I’d thought of her; that I’d made sure Rose Villa delivered Christmas dinner to her.

Ah to be outside! The weather is mild today, and the rains subsided enough that I was able to do yard clean up for several hours. I love to look out the windows of my home and have my eyes rest upon well kept (though dormant and somewhat forlorn!) gardens.

Her groceries finally arrived, and she waxed eloquent in thanks for the bounty. Oh God I hope I’ll be able to keep up with life at the end of mine. I pray to have the capacity to care for myself always. Helplessness just doesn’t fit me very well at all.

In a flurry of “I can’t stand this mess any longer” energy, I cleaned house furiously most of the day. Jo’s mom described a neighbor who was also a furious cleaner, saying: “She cleans house like she’s killing snakes!” And maybe that’s it, I’m beating out the old dust, wiping away the stains of the past year, welcoming a new one with fresh linens and swept floors.

Calmer now and all cleaned up, I sip champagne with Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue playing in the background. Todays fire diminishes to a glow, beagles stretch luxuriously, dusk approaches. I’ll sleep well.