Semisimian

I’m a staunch atheist who likes a holiday.

Jesus was most likely born in the spring or fall a few years earlier than we recognize, if he was even a single person or existed at all. The Church, as it did every time, took existing holidays and co-opted them.

The end of the Roman calendar year is an amalgam of pagan holidays that celebrate the shortest day/longest night. A lot of the traditions we associate with Xmas are celebrating the beginning of the lengthening of the day and the return to life/springtime.

Xmas has always been a meta holiday. Most are. Enjoy the company of friends and family just as people have for millenia, no matter what banner is hanging over the mantle.

Hell arrived a while ago and it is summer on Lake Myvatn, or Midge Lake. You can’t breathe without inhaling insects, so you have to wear a mask just in case a cloud of those things happen your way.

I’ll hang on to 10 as long as they’ll let me, but I am never going to 11. Then it’ll be a distro for dis bro.

Sorry.

Well, that’s one area you definitely don’t want dandelions growing.

Pets help us understand our own mortality in ways that continue to surprise me. When I was young, the first pet I lost was a young cat, just a few years old. I raised her from a kitten that was probably too young to ween so we had a close bond. She was indoor/outdoor and was attacked by a neighbor’s dog during the day when I was gone. Holding her and watching her die broke me, like she waited all day to die in my arms. She was mine and I felt like I let her down. Woof, it hurt. Still does.

But while I was holding her, our family dog (Allison) was next to me. She was older than I was, a feisty Lhasa Apso that had lost her ability to hold her bladder. We diapered her: we’d cut a hole in human diapers to pull her tail through to keep the hardwoods from getting ruined. She died a year later, after living a full life.

I buried both of them in the front yard, under a couple of pines that bordered our neighbor’s pet cemetery. Both times, digging those holes gave me the time I needed to be able to return them to the earth and say goodbye. I learned so much from their passing. It is the last gift our pets give us, their final act of love.

Now, older, with kids of my own, we have Sadie, who I am looking at as I write this. She’s a rescue, probably a golden mixed with some border collie, at least 16 years old. Her sister died last year and it was the first close death my kids experienced. Her passing taught my kids the alchemy of aging gracefully, the privilege of old age. Now, they find charm in Sadie’s rickety hips and excuse her incontinence. Getting old is okay; we are lucky to be able to do it. Watching your loved ones get old is a privilege we should cherish.

Edit: I wanted to thank OP for posting this. Reading your observations of your aging cat brought It all forward.

My Thermador is no different, shitty ice maker.

I know what you mean, but I immediately heard it different. It’s something we should be asking daily, just to make sure they have what they need. Are trans women okay? Are trans men okay? What do you need? I have a sympathetic ear and bourbon; how can I help?

He’s great. I first heard him on a Ninja Tune compilation. I got to see him in a 100 seater doing a poetry night. All snaps!

Pickles and nuts are standard charcuterie staples. You’ve got salty and savory and a little bit of fat. You need sweet to round this out. I would take your pickles and peanuts and spread them onto a whole wheat cracker (Ritz) or toast. Another option would be to add a jam into the mix and eat with a more neutral rice cracker.

Or, if you want to continue to be a degenerate, M&M’s would be good. Or hollow out a Cadbury egg and stuff it with the pickles/nuts mixture.