Home for the Holidays

January 7th, 2011
Four Months Since the Fire

Hello Friends, and Happy New Year!

Nellie and I are curled up on the couch, enjoying a quiet evening by the light of our little Christmas tree.

It was a quiet Holiday season for us, full of gifts and friends, laughter and sadness — the strangely mixed blessings that constitute life these days.  During the holidays there were times when I could pretend I was on vacation –  just another tourist among the many who booked cottages here in Chautauqua.  And yet, on the day after Christmas as I watched them check out of their cottages and load up their cars for home, I was filled with longing. Home. They get to go home.

As I was walking Nellie that morning, I watched as one woman loaded her final suitcase into the trunk of her car and then looked around for one last time with a smile. She seemed to be taking it in, imprinting the lovely meadow and mountains of Chautauqua in her mind, as we sometimes do when we’re leaving a place we love – we stop for that one last look, and then we get in the car and head for home.  As she drove away, she smiled and waved, and I waved back.  I wondered, was she thinking, “Ah, I have to leave, but you get to stay. How lucky are you?”  It’s funny – When we look across the fence and long for someone else’s life, we never know what they’re really experiencing. What looks like a vacation is really a strange homelessness, and what looks like a walk in the park is a little trip through hell, in spite of the scenery.

And yet there were many moments of joy and fun this Christmas. My friend Beth came over on Christmas Eve and we made dinner and played dominoes and watched the Muppet Christmas Carol, and laughed about how geeky we were to be spending Christmas Eve playing dominoes and watching the Muppet Christmas Carol.  I typically host a big open house dinner up at my place on the 24th, but this year Beth and I made turkey meatballs and roasted vegetables for two, had Bananas Foster for dessert and sat on my little couch and watched the Muppets on my computer, and I wondered out loud what Charles Dickens would have thought of his beloved Bob Cratchit being played by a big, stuffed frog (Kermit.) Nellie snuggled in between us, alternately flopping her head in my lap, then in Beth’s, then back to mine, each time letting out a long, blissful sigh.  Much better than a big dinner party, she seemed to say – way snugglier.

On Christmas Day my friend Linda came over and we made eggs benedict (a family tradition) and opened presents together and drank coffee and talked for hours. It was so relaxing. Then we headed over to my friend Val’s house down the street for a very Boulder Christmas dinner —  organic roast turkey with gluten-free gravy, dairy-free mashed potatoes, and wheat-free Christmas cookies.  We played games, listened to a CD of Native American flutist R. Carlos Nakai playing Christmas carols, and talked about family, and the Ghosts of Holidays Past, and how nice it was to be at a Christmas party where no one got drunk, or yelled, or burned the turkey because they weren’t paying attention.

People didn’t ask much about the fire, and I didn’t talk about it much either. At one point, someone asked me if all my jewelry burned up, and I replied that the only things that survived were what I had on —  one ring, one pair of earrings, a necklace, and the bracelet I was wearing at the time of the fire. She shook her head sadly, and then we changed the subject.

A few days later she showed up at my cottage with a small bag of earrings, culled from her own collection. “I just have way too many,” she said, “And I wondered if you’d like any of these.”  My eyes filled with tears. “Are you sure?” I said, “Are you really sure?”  “Oh yes,” she said, “I just can’t stand the thought of you with only one pair of earrings. And I really have too many.”  I picked a couple of pairs, and gave her a big hug as she left.  There it is again, I thought. That instinctual kindness that lives in us all, and occasionally taps on the door of our consciousness and says, “Hey, DO something.”

On New Year’s Eve morning my neighbor Lauren came over (much to Nellie’s delight,) and we drank coffee and talked about 2010. We talked about the “highlights and low-lights” of the year, and Lauren said, “Well, it’s obvious what your ‘low-light’ was, but what about the highlights?”  I replied that in many ways, 2010 was one of the best years of my life. I took some great vacations, and this year I got to fulfill a long-time dream of going to the ocean for a month and writing. I had a ton of work most of the year, and then in the summer took an amazing cross-country road trip by myself to Yellowstone, the Oregon Coast, and Port Townsend, Washington, which is where I was when the house burned down. I told her that actually, this whole Stupid Fire Thing has been a highlight, in its own weird way.  It’s taken me on a stormy journey into a new world, where my whole sense of self has been turned upside down and shaken, and what’s fallen out of my pockets has been pretty darn interesting. Who knows where it’s going to take me next.

We drank coffee and talked more and she went home in the early evening, and since it was snowy and icy and windy out, Nellie and I stayed in and watched movies, and then climbed into bed. She tunneled in under the covers, warm and  snug.  The wind howled outside the cottage walls, and I fell asleep – for once – long before midnight, and slept a long sleep. And in my dreams I was running from bombs that fell from the sky and burst into flames, and I knew that if I could just get across the border, I would be okay. So I ran and ran and leaped across the river, and then I knew I was safe, and free. I ran down the wooded path into a new country, where nothing could hurt me.

And when I woke up on New Year’s Day Nellie was sleeping curled up in my arms, breathing softly, and there were no bombs, and there was no fire, and I knew that this year, somehow, all would be well.

Sending You Our Very Best Wishes for the New Year,

Andi and Nellie

Cards from Nellie's Canine Admirers