Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, — but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, —
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

Our friend, Facundo Montenegro, died yesterday from lung cancer. He was a young man, and this loss is a sad one for all who knew him.

A year doesn’t seem like an especially long time. I saw Facundo a year ago. He seemed fine.

I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. But I do want to understand. I want this to be categorizable into some neat little box that will enable me to put it away on a shelf where I won’t have to contemplate it suddenly in the middle of the night or when I’m thinking back on a fun day. I want to be able to say that if only this had happened or that hadn’t happened, his early death could have been avoided. I don’t want people to just die. I want there to be a reason.

When I was small, I saw a movie in which two children died. Why, I sobbed to my father later that night. Why did they have to die? And he explained why. That’s the nice thing about literature — characters aren’t allowed to die willy-nilly. There has to be a purpose to furthering the plot or the character development of your protagonist. It can be the result of choices the character has made. But there’s an unspoken bond between the author and the reader that there is, in fact, a reason for each death.

That’s the problem with real life. There’s no agreement. We try to pretend that there is one, that people just don’t die for no reason. There has to be a purpose. A graspable, understandable cause for the untimely demise of a loved one, anyone’s loved one.

But there isn’t. And that’s so hard to get my arms around.

Facundo, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to wish you well on your final journey. My best wishes and intentions hurry after you along the path you’ve taken.

And my grief remains here to bind me to the others who have been left behind in the shadow caused by the absence of your immense light.

Pax…

I’m still not feeling 100%, but today I felt like I might be able to concentrate on something, so I came to work. (Plus, timesheets were due and if you’re out more than three days in a row, they want a doctor’s note — I don’t need to shell out a $15 copay to be told that I caught a bug and will be better in a few more days.)

Illness did not stop me from seeing Butterstick, as I’m sure some of you feared it might. It just kept me from being able to concentrate long enough to post photos. Maybe tonight after work. More likely tomorrow.

It also did not stop me from going to a chili cook-off (which the host’s mother won) Rudi was participating in. People seemed surprised that a bean-free, meat-free chili was a) good and b) spicy. Clearly a carnivorous crowd…

Pretty much the illness just made me feel tired and grumpy and congested. There was nothing especially wrong with me (except the need to trail tissues behind me wherever I went), but as I wasn’t sleeping well I wasn’t terribly useful and hung around in a malaise for four days.

It also slowed my knitting progress. Knitting four rows at a time seemed like a huge accomplishment, but two Christmas projects are within sight of being finished (especially now that I have the rest of the yarn necessary to finishing Christmas project #1).

Christmas cards also suffered. Luckily, most people I know have last names congregated at the beginning of the alphabet. Unfortunately, that means if your name starts with a letter after “D,” your card will probably be a few more days.

What has suffered most, of course, is Christmas shopping. When you don’t have any interest in even your most favorite activities (I didn’t pick up the novel I’m reading the whole four days I was home) and your head is filled with goo, it’s hard to convince yourself that it really is necessary to go out to the stores or sit in front of the computer and get some presents purchased. I did manage to get some done last night, so I’m hoping I’ll ramp back up to speed on that front shortly.

In the meantime, I’ll be the one hopped up on store-brand Sudafed severe cold formula (apparently people only buy name-brand drugs to turn into crystal meth…), which allows me to function in a somewhat normal (for me) fashion.

Yesterday I was under the impression I was allergic to my Christmas tree, but that hypothesis may have to be re-evaluated given that today I am feeling achy and cloudy-headed. I may have to reconsider coming to work tomorrow if I’m feeling this gross still since I have fun things scheduled for Friday and Saturday that I’d prefer not to be sick during. Bed rest can do wonders for cutting a bug off at the knees.

Yesterday’s party was a great success even if the tree was still in the hallway and no food was ready when our first guests arrived. We ended up with about a dozen people, which was much more comfortable than last year’s 30! People could converse! People could sit! People could move!

Of course, the only way we finished the cleaning in time was to resort to our tried and true methods of throwing things into bags and boxes and then throwing those into the bedroom. Which of course means that we have to clean again after everyone leaves in order to find our bed.

Today, the weather recognized the signs that the holiday season was really upon us and opened the skies around lunchtime. It’s been snowing off and on since then, and the snow finally seems to be sticking to surfaces. Being from New England, I think it’s perfectly fine for it to snow in December. People from D.C., on the other hand, are horrified by the very idea of snow. They clutch their Siberian-wear to themselves and scurry from one place to another. Or, rather, they try never to leave their buildings at all. They close things because of the threat of snow, let alone once flakes start flying. It’s all very funny to those of us who grew up driving in snow.

Christmas cards are strewn across the living room floor right now as the pasta water boils on the stove. It’s a cozy night in the Burrow, as I listen to holiday tunes in the pink glow of the lights on the tree and around the room.

The holiday season has finally arrived!

I was under the impression that because this year we’d had a head start on cleaning and on shopping for the party that our preparations would not involve getting up early or running around like mad. Somehow that has not proven itself true.

Perhaps I am the sort of person destined to run around like mad before a party. And there is the possibility that even if I were all ready for a party days ahead that I wouldn’t be able to sit still and would manufacture tasks to be done right up until the last minute.

But it’s probably a moot [moo] point to debate, because it will never happen. I will always be working up until the last minute.

And maybe that’s okay.

As the first weekend of December brings cold, wintry weather to D.C. tomorrow, we will be ensconced in the Burrow playing our annual version of Twister — right hand, beer; left foot, hallway; left hand, ornament; right foot, kitchen — as we try to squeeze just one more guest into our annual tree-trimming party.

Which means, of course, that today will be spent running around like crazy with trips out to Virginia for a tree (we found a nice tree farm last year that we really liked) and a few more party supplies and around D.C. to take advantage of the last few days of tax-free clothes shopping (don’t you think Rudi’s grandmother would like a nice warm sweater?). Then tonight will be spent cleaning (haven’t we been cleaning for, like, the last two months?) and doing some overnight prep work (or not, as will probably be the case).

We always have a lot of fun at these parties, even though I no longer have college interns to invite to trim a tree away from home. It’s enjoyable to have our friends come to visit — which makes all the prep work well worth the effort — but it would be so much easier if I were the sort of person who kept a tidy house. As I am not (nor is Rudi), the day before any event like this is always frantic. Rudi likes to believe this is because the Burrow is too small, but I well remember the days back in our spacious flat in Middletown where we had more than enough room and still had to resort to throwing things into rooms and closing the doors.

Regardless, I like to believe that our friends come more to see us than to see an immaculate apartment, so if there are still a few things lying about come tomorrow at 3, I won’t break down into tears. Because I will be surrounded by Rudi, our cats, friends, good food, and a sparkly Christmas tree, all the rest will just be details.