Tradition

Yes, of course, Christmas is an over-commercialized nightmare that has nothing to do with the original spirit of the occasion.  And, sure, Hannukah is pretty much a made-up holiday so that Jewish kids don’t feel left out during December.  And everybody knows that all of the contemporary religious festivities associated with the season are just pale reflections of the original pagan celebrations conducted by our early human ancestors.  

It’s all just a big marketing ploy by society, organized religion, and commerce to sell shit at the end of the year so that annual quotas can be met and healthy bottom-lines secured.

But it’s all okay by me if it makes possible some of the following:

• Congregating at the diviest bar in the fanciest part of town with several dozen friends and acquaintances, many you haven’t seen in a while (if not longer) to drink pitchers of beer, pile gifts on a table and make bets on the outcome of televised fights
  
  
• Rolling uphill en masse, plenty of bicycle-mounted Christmas lights blinking away, to our fair city’s largest and spookiest park
  
  
• Fanning out on two wheels through said park in search of comfort stations and selfies
  
  
• Getting lost at least three times in the woods, following different colleagues more sure than you they knew the way, but no more likely than you be to be right
  
  
• Finally making it to the sought-after sylvan glade where a cheery blaze awaits and an endless amount of combustibles is made available thanks to strong arms and sharp teeth
  
  
• Taking the easy way out by following that cargo bike
  
  
• Arriving at an old-favorite watering hole to take over the entire outdoor patio for the sharing of presence and presents for all
  
  
• Singing a song that normally aggravates but when shouted together sparks joy

So, yeah, the holidays are stupid and stressful and overhyped but when that disaster yields disasters like these, then you gotta believe that holiday miracles are real, praise be. 

Adaptive

As human beings, it’s all we’ve got going for us, really.

We lack the wings of the eagle, the speed of the cheetah, the strength of the elephant, even the uncanny resilience of a simple virus.  What we do have, though, more than any other of Earth’s creatures, is the ability to adapt.

We can build igloos in the Arctic to keep us warm; we can divert huge bodies of water in the desert for hydration and irrigation; we can cut down great swaths of forest for housing and agriculture; basically, we can adapt the entire world to our needs, so that we can be anywhere, do almost anything, and survive under conditions that would be a death knell for our stronger, faster, and more arial fellow beings.

And it all begins with changing our minds.

You can see this in practice on the last Thursday night of autumn in the Pacific Northwest, when initially, the proposed destination is just about creature comfort and slack, but then, is adapted to an indoor location northward.  

But then, it makes sense to pivot for a gander at last week’s scene of the crime, which leads to thinking a brief stop by the water is in order, which is modified to a proposal to visit a supermarket Phoenix risen from the ashes, which suggests that congregating at the nearby park shelter is the thing to do—by not that route, but that one—where at first, it seems like fire will be eschewed, until, thanks to improvisations with both liquid and solid petrochemicals, a cheery blaze is established, around which lots of different ideas for the future can be tried out, until it is time for the final adaptation of the evening, one that doesn’t even require a cover charge as it turns out.

An eagle would gone higher, a cheetah faster, an elephant stronger, a virus simpler but none would have adapted so well as a human.  

Yay, us!

Presence

https://tinyurl.com/52fmsjkk

Maybe you’re drunker than you think, but not that drunk, so  we’ve got to blame multi-tasking which is stupid anyway especially when it involves professional sports, and is impossible, as well, since we can really only think one thought at a time, right?

But then there you are, your friends’ cries of surprise and disbelief echoing in the background, as you find yourself tits over teakettle splayed out in the puddle.

Nice bike to save your stupid ass; thanks, Grant!; the Haulin’ Colin rack an unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) perfect front roll-bar, as well.

You’d been congratulating yourself all this uncommonly wet week for staying dry, employing booties and plastic and even two rain jackets simultaneously in the effort, but all is lost when you fill your bag up to the brim with leftover rainwater scooped by the fall. 

Also, it feels weird to ride without the leg strap dropped earlier in the day; you should have expected the unexpected.

Which would you rather have?  A favorite team’s loss or a broken collarbone?

Like Jack Benny said, “I’m thinking…”

But, duh.

You never know quite how you are until the next day or maybe later.  What once took six weeks could be eight or even forever, so you’ve got to be careful and all that more grateful when your lack thereof isn’t punished too harshly.

It makes you wonder what’s going to really do us in: our own stupid mistakes or the stupid mistakes of others.  Probably both, and that’s why.

There’s no use complaining about what all turns out okay in the end, but it’s still fun to talk about it, especially in the company of those who are no less pleased than you by the lack of injury while simultaneously being glad that they’re not as soaked as you are, either.

In order for a thrilling victory, you gotta have a thrilling loss; sometimes, though, you get to—go to—have both.