December is a hard month. What with the holidays, and the marking of time. You think of all those who have come and gone. As the years go by (nice title for a song), the memories of all those bloody christmases kind of flood in. Living in the present and the past at the same time is kind of a drag. As per a Philip Dick novel, it might be cool to just wipe out some of those past experiences, but I guess it kind of defeats the purpose (is there one?) of going through it all in the first place.
Every year, we get a little christmas tree, the Lovely Carla decorates it. She puts so much creativity and care into it. Each ornament has a story. The tree is one big novel all it's own, with subplots and detours. When she finally plugs in the lights and turns them on, the little sparkling colors just bowl you over. It's that beautiful.
Of course, the damn little tree is sad too. I mean, it's been cut, it's dying, and it won't last long. We ornament it, light it up, make it more than what it is, or maybe less? The tree is a little lesson too. A lesson we know already, every year we do the same thing, and it's never quite the same, and that's part of the process too.
December. My father was born in December. I think of him a lot. John Lennon died in December. I think of him a lot too. People who are gone, are gone, and well they aren't really gone either. And that's how it goes too.