Mara and I went for a walk today. Christmas was a bit lackluster because of COVID and we were all being pretty lazy. Work was really slow as it is for a lot of places the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Mara had been camping out on the couch watching TV. I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. None of us were hanging out with each other. And I feel really badly for Mara. Maybe it’s the second child thing. Maybe it’s my schedule, responsibilities, stresses, excuses are all different nowadays. I know one thing for sure, she’s not going to be a kid for much longer. And I love hanging out with this kid. And she’s always game for doing whatever.
So I grabbed her and told her we were going for a walk. And she excitedly obliged. So we walked the Burner trail along Slaughter and tossed a bunch of old sandia pepper, moonflower, and impatiens, over the barbed wire fence. And then she hung out and watched as I cleaned up some dead mesquite limbs that were impeding the trail. And we talked about stuff. I don’t remember what all we talked about. I remember telling her about mesquite, how to identify it, and how it’s good for smoking meats.
We stopped and watch three does grazing on the pipeline. Mara told me about a dream she’d had recently.
Call it seasonal depression. This time of year I always get all mushy and sentimental. And very cognizant of time and mortality. The days and years get shorter and shorter. Kids grow up so damn fast. I still think Mara’s only 4-years-old. I still think I’m only 40.
I completely identify with what you said, Josh. Time does seem to go much faster, and the kids (our grandkids) are growing up way to quickly! I often think about how we can interact more with them while they’re still living in your house and before they fly the coop and embark on their own lives.
I only knew one grandparent (my mother’s mother) growing up, so don’t have much of a model to draw on. We were among the youngest grandchildren, my grandma was quite old (or at least seemed old to me) and we lived at least three hours away. Consequently we didn’t see grandma very often— maybe once a year for a few days.
I think there’s a medically recognized name for the depression that sets in after the holidays— Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I usually suffer from it every year. The only way I’ve found to endure and minimize it is to keep busy and daydream about all the possibilities I’ll be able to enjoy once spring arrives. That and to look forward to our very delayed Christmas in early February.