‘Twas the Night before Christmas, and all through the Apartment Building …

Let me get this out of the way: it’s been a rough December, for so many people, and for us, too.

Although I bet no one’s as bummed as these neighbors whose sticky, fake blood signs stained their front door. They can’t escape from Halloween even now.

Yes, we’re still in the apartment. No, we haven’t signed with the house contractors yet. Yes, our apartment lease is almost up, and we don’t know what we’re doing.

I Sprang from the Bed to See What Was the Matter

It has been tough.

I keep getting the short end of the stick with medical stuff. 1) That allergic reaction to the blood infusion that should have been caught earlier means when Finn visits after Christmas I have to spend one of those days in the hospital doing that all again. 2) A typo in the radiology report of my thyroid nodule went unnoticed—a typo of two cm! I have surgery on January 22, exactly two years to the day since my ACL surgery. 3) Now, a screw up so bad with the neurologist situation that I’m not even going to summarize because it makes me too upset.

But, where was I. Yes, the night before Christmas! Here’s what I’ve been doing at nights.

Sleepwalking such that I placed one earbud carefully in a box packed to go to the house for Finn’s visit (found only by pinging it the next day with the “Find My” app).

Falling asleep in many awkward positions, like while in the truck, holding a thermal mug of hot chocolate, lid off.

Sleepwalking such that I’ve carefully arranged the cardboard box we use for recycling in the exact corner of the kitchen where the step stool goes. Found that mysteriously the next day, too.

Falling asleep with both earbuds in and my sleeping mask on, so I’m woken soon after by that haunting, ceramic, entirely unpleasant sound of earbud feedback.

Falling asleep while reading, just enough so I dream I’m actually writing the book in my hands as I read it. That actually was interesting.

Dreaming for the first time in ten years (a sarcastic thank you to that bad neurological drug), but with a harsh retry into dreams with vivid nightmares.

How do you write that stuff in a formal complaint to the neurology clinic, is what I’d like to know. Saying “On average three hours of sleep per night” doesn’t explain.

The Moon on the Breast of the New-fallen Snow

The truth is, no one in our family wants to be in Wisconsin right now.

Unusually thick snow in November.

Something like the 10th coldest temp ever in December.

Tracy and I keep stoping by thrift stores every time we’re out, looking for snow gear, cold-weather clothes, walking on ice stuff. We had nothing just a couple of months ago.

I broke down and bought new snow pants when I couldn’t find them used, and man do I love them. They are too long for me and so fluffy that they swish between the thighs when I walk, but I would still wear them every time I leave the house if I had my way.

Before the snow mostly melted, I would snowshoe the same path day after day.

It’s easy in the woods to see evidence of coyotes having killed squirrels, red-tailed hawks having killed rabbits.

Mice and voles scurrying on top of and under the snow.

I’m getting the hang of predicting what type of snow I’m looking at, icy, or powder or compacted, and aiming for the easiest to walk through.

Then the temps started rising. Here I’ve got my coat wrapped around my waist, my gloves clipped to a pocket. The winter wizard.

I wish the snow could stay like that for a good long time, truthfully. But we had a rain, and now the snow is mostly a mess.

Tracy continues to go out birding, maybe his version of Banjo’s frustration play. The same few birds. The same few places. But I go with him to walk in the quiet, always thinking surely the snow is gone everywhere and then wishing I’d brought my snowshoes because it’s not.

Even when it doesn’t snow, Tracy has to shlep himself over to the house to treat the sidewalk, as melting snow freezes and then melts more and freezes again.

Not Even a Mouse

When I’m at the apartment (which is almost all the time; don’t let these outside photos fool you), I’m using up all my comforting tricks. I’m restless nearly all the time, so it’s hard to read, hard to watch tv, very hard to nap when I’m intending to. Even baths have gotten tainted with a bit of anxiety over the question of when this restlessness will ever get better. Is the water too hot so it’s revving up my nervous system even worse? If I actually achieve stillness, should I get out right then and get in bed? Or should I stay in the tub and feel the stillness? The tub is somewhere my body won’t let me sleep.

Here’s my new find for comfort, a YouTube channel called @MoviesSquirrels. It’s a guy from Norway who sets up picturesque bird and squirrel feeders and then, well, takes pictures. But, YouTube, so takes video.

The indoor scenes are of a Scandinavian style living room, decked out for Christmas dinner, just the right size for squirrels. All stacks of wrapped presents, when squirrels unwrap them, turn out to—surprise!—have nuts in them.

The outside videos are of bird feeders designed as seed bars, with little stools and cups of hot chocolate that the birds peck at.

My favorite video series of his is the traveling food sled. Just a small wooden sled with neatly arranged bins of seeds and fruit, left beside the camera in the snow. Birds and squirrels and an occasional deer come and go, slowly and with their own natural, quiet dramas.

This is what I hope for all us this Christmas. Small, quiet. Or, if you prefer, loud and full of family and friends. Whatever, just naturally peaceful.

To all, a good night.