Quickly to the Left

The Mid-Hudson Bridge, mid-morning on Christmas Eve.  It isn’t a good habit, but I can’t help but stare down river and swallow in some of the icy blue majesty.  Consider the traffic once again, the steel girders swing up, holding us all in place above the river that green to the north as I look quickly, to the left.  I’ve told my daughters over and over that my grandfather apparently used to walk over the frozen river to work, before the ice breakers, back near the turn of the century.  They don’t seem to need icebreakers these days. 

My stepson and his wife will be arriving shortly down below at the station.  Instead of going to meet them, I go first to my mother’s.  Instinctive.  That property has pulled me towards it for all my life.   We need to get rid of presents at my mothers.   My sister is up.  My nephew is out with my father in-law.  He won’t be able to join us as I’d hoped.  My daughter and I make two loads each and I a third.  “Can you help to put them under the tree?”  “The porch?”  Alright.

They are already there waiting for us at the station.  Was just with them in Beijing a few weeks ago.  And back at my mom’s again, everyone is glad to see each other.  My sister is anxious.  She’s been told to finish her big cooking operation and clear out of the kitchen.  My mom is calm and gracious when she enters the kitchen as if my sister were talking about another person. 

We cross back over the Hudson and visit my dad as well.  And by then my wife is a bit frustrated that she’s left at home, waiting for our return.  And when we get there, they all head off again over the river, to get their last-minute shopping done.  And this evening, not long after they’re back, we’ll all head over the fjord once again, for the supper at my mom’s.

Tuesday 12/24/19