FROM A WRITER’S NOTEBOOK: Celebrating the season post-election

THIS IS HOW the season finds me: determined, ear-to-ear, not to let November disappointment crush my December spirit.

I am not going to spend the next four years this way.

I am not going to begin each day by lying in bed, wondering what on earth happened, not having shopped for a single present for the people I love, not having thought about a single present, wrapped it, made it beautiful.

I understand that not every reader will agree with me, but to anyone who harbors a little resentment, I have to say I’m with you and leave it at that.

Except I can’t leave it at that.

Because there is a heavy sadness that sets in for some of us when the future feels too dated, too narrow, too something — and not only sadness, but weirder kinds of behavior that are difficult for anyone who is not disappointed to understand, let alone feel compassion for.

Take this morning: Normally, I defy all household chores until after I write.

Today, I folded the laundry before going anywhere near my office, thinking, “Wait, shouldn’t the candidate who wins the popular vote win the office?

“It’s the simplest fairness, right?”

No. And no.

So I picked up my pile and threw it against the wall.

After staring at the mess, I refolded it.

A ridiculous waste of time, maybe, but a good way to blow off a little steam.

A friend of mine said, “Unfortunately, there’s no way out of this, so I’m giving everyone alcohol this year.”

I wanted to give her a great big cellular hug.

And last weekend, I did something I’ve not done in years, and it scared me.

After a terrific meal and even more terrific wine, the host said something that, to my horror, made me burst into tears.

And I mean burst.

Then I spoke in a tone that held a great deal of passion, but mostly it reflected my fears and confusion.

I blamed his decision not to vote for all that ailed me.

Here’s what it was: a feeble try at putting my pain somewhere, and a night I already regret.

My response to big disappointments has always been to get as far away as possible.

I ache for simpler lifestyles on simpler islands, preferably with no cable.

But the subtle joys of the season are beginning to push up through my letdown.

Even if I don’t feel like celebrating, they do.

I have my friend Lori to thank.

She is serious about the holidays.

She will not just fling a strand of twinkly lights over a tiny potted pine from Safeway and call it a day.

She’s a decorating geek.

As soon as I’m in the door, I always think two things at once: One person’s overdone is someone else’s just getting started.

And this: I’m so happy Lori does all this, that she bothers.

What amazing good luck it feels like to be invited to her home again, to tell all the funny stories one or the other of us probably told last year, but who cares?

To share a feast so satisfying that, well, I hesitate to use the word spiritual, but good food is mysteriously effective and will always transcend politics.

Now what?

Luckily, in a few weeks, maybe months (Jan. 20 will be rough on me, sorry), my sadness will ease.

Then, like the holiday season, it’ll be over.

And when it’s over, it’s over.

I wouldn’t dare predict the precise moment, but what will likely happen is, upon waking, I’ll feel the crystal-clear sensation of simply feeling thanks for the good in the world.

_________

Mary Lou Sanelli, a writer, poet and performer, divides her time between Port Townsend and Seattle.

Her column appears in the PDN the first Wednesday of the month.

Email her via www.marylou sanelli.com.

Her next column will be Jan. 4.

More in Opinion

PAT NEAL: The Discover Pass disaster

It was another tough week in the news. Legislation to eliminate the… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: A new adventure sport

There is a new outdoor adventure sport making waves all across this… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: Thank you for reading this

Thank you for reading this. Somebody must. I know this from all… Continue reading

LETTER: Held hostage by unvaccinated

So here we are again. On the verge of locking up and… Continue reading

Vincent Van Gogh created nearly 900 paintings during the final 10 years of his life, including 1889's "The Starry Night."
DIANE URBANI DE LA PAZ: Immersing yourself in the art of Van Gogh

Part amusement park, part magic mushroom-like trip, the Van Gogh Immersive Experience… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: A really hard winter on the Peninsula

It was daylight in the swamp. Last week’s snow was melting in… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: A miserable memory of a New Year’s Eve

In last week’s episode, we were sharing the yuletide joy of an… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: A Christmas canoe cruise continued

LAST WEEK, WE were comparing our modern system of transportation with a… Continue reading

John, Paul, Steve and Rita

Very big deals, cinematically speaking, have just overtaken our screens. For me,… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: A Christmas canoe cruise

As the holiday season progresses, we ask ourselves the question, “will we… Continue reading

LETTER: Look deeper

The picture on the front page of the Dec. 5 PDN presents… Continue reading