I was going to write something completely different, but I’ve forgotten what.

As some know, my mother died of an aortic aneurysm when she was 45 and I was 21. In early November, someone I grew up calling Aunt (but who is not genetically related) almost died of an aortic aneurysm. Thankfully, she is recovering. A few weeks ago, I went in for my yearly heart check. Everything is fine, but there was some [insert medical phrasing immediately garbled in my brain] around my aorta. “Nothing to worry about!” the nurse said brightly. “But it’s something we’ll want to keep an eye on.”

Um. Ya think?

Then there are the twin horror shows that are Covid19 and police violence (one being new and the other being here since forever).

And here in the northern hemisphere winter is settling in. Nights are long and cold. The year is ending.

I’d like to hibernate.

Perchance to dream?

But there are stories to tell and art to make. There are sparkling lights to see and gifts to give. A spring not far away in the grand cosmic calendar. Flowers can’t bloom without the fallow period. Even the soil needs to rest.

Hang in there. Glad you’re here.