in the woods one christmas eve

i'm home at my parents' house. and that's good. i've had fun here, seen people i don't get to see enough, seen others that i don't really need to see, and spent time with my family. i've read two books by scott russell sanders (along with three of his childrens books), read two other books, and started three more. so i've read a lot, i've written a bunch, looked at grading some, and i've hopefully rested up some too. i've played indoor soccer three afternoons, aggravated my ever-hurting ankles, and even hurt my back yesterday. i've went to brookings bars three nights, in all their smoky grandeur. i have a hard time understanding why every bar here is full of smoke. i'm sure that at least one bar could be quite successful being smoke-free.

this isn't all i've been thinking or doing. while i have yet to finish writing my thesis (i've been trying to take a break from it to recover some objectivity), i have started writing some childrens type stories for my niece. i've also started trying to figure out how to design houses (not doing all that great so far) and worked with photographs (matting and framing them). rather than wrapping christmas presents in wrapping paper, i've been wrapping them in my drawing paper, and then using soft pastels to draw a picture for the packaging. i kind of like that better anyway - it takes longer, but i have time to spend.

a few people have been asking me why i haven't written lately, and i apologize for that - i've just been trying to take a break from my computer, especially with all the typing i've had to do recently. it's all been fine, but i sometime react and want to get away from any long-term connection to a computer. i read emails, but don't send many. i type up ideas, but i don't type up a lot. so yes, i haven't been as academically productive, but it seems forgiveable.

i love it when my older relatives tell stories. quite truthfully, i enjoy the time i spend hearing their stories much more than i enjoy hearing relatives talk about politics. whether they are just reminiscing about a place or a person, or about the crazy things they did when they were younger, i find those times the best of my times among my family. this evening my cousins and i reminisced about our younger days together, doing whatever we did, but the most remarkable story was my uncle telling about he and another uncle staging a fight when they were younger, involving real guns being shot (with blanks) at each other inside their house, trying to scare my grandmother and her friends that were over visiting that day. i find these sorts of things crazy, but it's just the beginning of the stories my uncles can tell about their childhoods.

one involves my uncle paul and my uncle david. paul used to try to impress the girls by climbing a light pole. my uncle david decided he could outdo paul by pulling out a pistol and shooting out the light on the pole. they grew up in a small town in south dakota, and i'm sure there were crazy boys in most towns, but i think that my uncles were as crazy as most get. whenever we are back there visiting the town for whatever class reunion, we'll drive into town, and people on main street waiting for the parade will part to avoid them, it seems out of sheer terror. i usually find it funny myself.

i think that my parents on both sides of my family have just as crazy of stories like this, only my mom had more brothers than my dad did. i guess that my older brothers tried to carry on the legacy of terror (not in the terrorism sense, but in the crazy and somewhat predictably dangerous way). growing up in town--even with weekly visits to our grandparents' farms--had a big influence on all of us not being as crazy as we could be. but i think that in my brothers and me, there's still the latent and ever-upwelling urges to be crazy and dangerous. i don't know quite what that means, but it usually relates back to the indepent and free and sometimes stubborn parts of our personalities. i guess it works out, at least since somehow we've all survived up to this point. i do think that the stories that my family members have told me have not been some of my favorite parts of my time spent with them. the stories have also largely influenced how we grew up, thinking we had to be crazy and tough and dangerous. i find it kind of interesting. at any rate, i see less of some of my relatives than i'd like, especially lately, and i miss those stories. i wish i could just record them all, or i could hear them enough that i could comfortably retell them without messing them up or forgetting them. i guess that's my christmas wish this year.

i haven't spent this christmas eve in the woods. but i've listened to this song a number of times lately - i have found myself listening to iron and wine a lot lately - my brother and his good friend introduced me to a new song by iron and wine called the trapeze swinger. it's long and beautiful, but this one is more of this moment, and yet beyond it - both of them are about remembering loves. i think i like that a lot. quite beautiful.

Sixteen, Maybe Less by Iron and Wine and Calexico

Beyond the ridge on the left, you asked me what I want
Between the trees and cicadas singing 'round the pond
“I spent and hour with you, should I want anything else?”
One grin and wink like a neon on a liquor store
We were sixteen, maybe less, maybe a little more
I walked home smiling, I finally had a story to tell

And though an autumn-time lullaby sang our new-born love to sleep
My brother told me, he saw you there
In the woods one Christmas Eve, waiting

I met my wife at a party when I drank too much
My son is married and tells me we don’t talk enough
Call it predictable, yesterday my dream was of you
Beyond the ridge on the left, the sun had left the sky
Between the trees and the pond you put your hand in mine
Said, “Time has bridled us both but I remember you, too”

And though an autumn-time lullaby sang our new-born love to sleep
I dreamt I traveled and found you there
In the woods one Christmas Eve, waiting