Hope

One of the things that I liked best - and remember most fondly - about Iceland was the face that they left their Christmas lights on all night long.  Granted, we were there during the first week of January, but what we found out is that they do this most of the winter.  It's their way to fighting back against the gloom of endless night (and when we were there it was dark almost twenty hours a day).  It's also why they string lights in the cemeteries; why should the dead be sad?  As we've discussed, maybe the most important thing we owe the dead is memory, and it's a lovely thought that you would string lights into cemeteries so that they aren't victims of the overpowering gloom either.  I told myself than when I got back that I would put my lights up, at least on the scrubby tree at the end of my driveway, as an homage to Iceland, and to hope.  And yesterday I clambered up the ladder and strung the lights, so I guess I don't break every promise I keep.  I've been pretty low lately, a combination of the changing season and the passing years, my son moving away,  professional stresses, and the fact that one of my best and oldest friends is dying.  He's about the purest baseball fan you can ever imagine, and all I could think of was that last night's seventh game of the World Series was the last game he would ever see, and that he doubtless knew it as he watched it; and thus the game itself, with each batter retired, was a metaphor for life itself.  When my son was younger and we watched a lot of baseball together it became a tradition for one of us, after the last sad out of the World Series, to say something like, "And now what do we do until spring training?"  It was funny and endearing because it was a shared moment and a family tradition, but also because we knew there would be a spring.  Sadly, there will be a time when it is the last game.  But here's the thing, my friend has handled this whole process as bravely and hopefully and realistically and beautifully as you can imagine.  He never asked nor accepted pity, and he cherished every day, and was the very personification of hope.  We should all be that steadfast.  So, as I was stringing the lights my heart was heavy with thoughts of him, but it still gave me joy.  And during the game, as I counted down the outs, I would steal glances out the window at the lights.  There's a metaphor there somewhere.

It's never too early, nor too late, for a little hope.