You might be thinking of a right jolly old elf these days- I know I have been, though possibly not the one you have. It was a magical morning. On impulse, I switched off the mercury vapor lamp atop the telephone pole in the side yard and let the darkness slowly dissipate naturally list an developing mist with the coming of dawn under the crystalline Culpeper sky.
I was relieved to be out of town. I missed some of the fun regarding the cliff we are in the process of flying off, without benefit of Donner and Blitzen. According to the Wall Street Journal article I was sent, I had sleep-walked through the surreal negotiations about the crisis. The story had been flagged by an astute reader with this as a highlight: “At one point, according to notes taken by a participant, Speaker Boehner told the President, “I put $800 billion [in tax revenue] on the table. What do I get for that?”
“You get nothing,” the President said. “I get that for free.”
Apparently the Speaker actually smokes at these meetings- in doors! Amazing. The reporter did not disclose exactly what anyone was smoking, but I have my suspicions.
It is on days like this, the Eve of the Eve, that I particularly like to be out of the Emerald City. I park the Panzer (implacable German efficiency) outside the gate to the farmhouse, walk in, pour a tall one, turn on the game, decide what flags to fly and start to decompress. It really is good. I can feel the anxiety start to bleed off. Refuge Farm is close enough to the city to go there when you need it and utterly away from it when you don’t.
Nice compromise, and I fully intend to work on that relative balance of time in the Brave New Year that is almost upon us.
In the meantime, there are some close-out items from the old year. The Gnome was waiting for me when the green-painted door swung open. I had managed to get the new, longer bolts inserted inside the iron of his iron legs, drilled out the platform to accommodate them, and got him thoroughly screwed in. I was done with the project, almost, an odyssey of restoration that had begun with discovering the little dwarf face up on the dirt of the crawl space in the house on the bluff above the bay.
I don’t want to get you going on another dwarf tale, but it has been quite an odyssey for the little fellow. He has been with our branch of the family since they broke up Grandma Socotra’s house when she passed years ago.
I recall seeing him there in the partial darkness during one of the endless series of visits when Raven and Big Mama were still in their house, mostly barricaded in the sanctuary of their back bedroom.
I felt guilty about taking him- that was the awkward time when removal of their things felt a lot like theft, not realizing that it was all going to be just more junk that had to find a home someplace or be discarded.
The panes of his lantern were long gone, and his paint chipped and his wiring the original 1905-vintage copper, the fabric skin of it long rotted away. He still had garden-dirt from New Jersey inside, a connection to the massive old house at 98 Sagiamore Road in Millburn.
I had grand plans for his refurbishment, but those fell away with the distractions of the last few years. In a rare moment of focus, I got the frame guy from K&S Art in Arlington to cut me new panes for the lantern. I purchased the paint to color them a festive mellow yellow, new cord and paint for his boots. And there the matter rested for the last two years.
You have followed with breathless attention as I actually re-wired the little fellow, painted his panes and restored his lantern. I wrestled with his base and mounting screws, a two-trip-to-Lowes project, and last week I got him just about complete, though the new mounting bolts protruded below the base and needed trimming.
The Dremel tool that would have knocked that off was in the closet in Oz, so with regret, I laid him flat on his back on the dining table and took off for the working week in The Big Clueless.
That was a matter of just a few minutes labor when I got back yesterday. The skies were clear, not cloudy as they were in the great city to the north. The sparks from the cutting wheel made a merry fountain of festive crimson in the afternoon sunlight. In a trice, my right jolly old dwarf was able to sand on his sturdy metal legs. I put him out front to greet the Russians, who were coming for dinner.
I am flying the American Flag at half-staff in memory of those who died in Sandy Hook, and for the general travails of the last twelve months. The full staff display will return with the Gadsden Flag flying in 2013.
Since I want to be respectful, my Jolly Old Elf is carrying his own in the meantime.
Merry Christmas!
Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com