Seasonal Change

My father is getting old. And he is no longer skinny the way we used to take for granted. Mother hasn't aged at all very much, except that if you look carefully, my maternal grandfather's hair genes have tolled/told the final story there. And I, I have about ten times the amount of white hair I had last year. I put it down to December stress.

I think the safest course of action for anyone in December is to cut and run. Pretend you have minimal family, no in-laws or outlaws or relations of dubious genetic provenance. I am all for spending family time with the two, three, four, five, six or (stretching things a bit, are we, much?) seven people who really mean something to you in the warm and intimate family sense; the rest ought to be silence and contemplation of the old year's passing and the new year's uncertain squalls.

Then again, it is impossible to separate your availability to those you love from your availability to those who you don't feel so charitably inclined towards. Especially when you may be seeing both in the same place and at the same time.

The biggest change in me, I suppose, is oddly bipolar. On one hand, I have a much larger tolerance for things I used to hate; on the other, I have a greater ability for doing without the things I like. It all makes for a less unnerving season, a less dramatic one.