In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.

Christmas is here.  

The presents have been opened and brunch has been served.  

I am overcome with egg dish and cinnamon rolls.  

I am floating in coffee.  

A caloric coma will descend on me unless I act.

As a family we are now separated, exploring the treasures that we received just hours before.

I shout to no one, “I’m going on a walk.”

One, then two, then three individuals warm, “It’s too cold.”  

I appreciate their concern.

I ponder and then reject their suggestions.

On goes a zip-up hoodie, then a vest, then a jacket.

Airpods in, hood up, gloves on, boots tied.  I venture.

I am so ladened with outerwear that I look like a pimple about to burst. 

I soldier on.

I’m struck with the emptiness, the quiet, the solitude, the cold. 

Just as my family worried about me, I worry about my friend Tom.

He is 100 miles east of Denver driving with his son, en route to a ski slope in the mountains of Colorado.

I call him and wish him a Merry Christmas. I quietly assess his level of alertness.

Then silence again as I meander down paths that I have walked a thousand times before.

The air bites my nose and my thin gloves offer little protection.  I march on.

The Riverwalk belongs to me.  No other humans trespass my illusion.

To my right, the mighty DuPage lies in frozen stillness.

I break my silence by ordering a Christmas playlist from Spotify. 

The songs are familiar, some traditional, others silly.

Memories flood me from the past.  They are happy.

I cross over the river and continue my journey.

Now at Rotary Hill, I see the first sign of human life.  Some sledders are sliding down the hill.

I continue on.

I cross a covered bridge and gaze between its beams.

There are some patches where water is still flowing.  The sound is peaceful and relaxing.

I continue on. 

I look towards the west and note that the sun is setting.  It will be dark when I arrive home.

Now only a block from my house my earbuds greet me with “Silent Night.”

Silent night, holy night!

All is calm, all is bright.

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.

Holy infant so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace

I feel at peace.