PORTLAND — The three of us walked along on the beach at the Eastern Promenade thanks to bare ground and a warm sun that made the waters of the Atlantic sparkle with Christmas cheer.
I called it our Christmas walk on a cold Sunday afternoon. Runners and speed walkers passed us with a smile and a hello. Playful dogs and their owners roamed the sand. A vintage narrow-gauge train raced by, blasting its ear-splitting steam whistle that was heard clear across the empty bay. We waved to the conductor and marveled at a machine that was nearly a century old.
Was this the beginning of a new Christmas tradition?
I doubt it because Old Man Winter, who appears to have gone West for the holidays, has way of getting back at all of us the next season. This guy knows how to hold a grudge.
But for the moment, the old geezer has concerned himself with creating havoc on the West Coast, and that is just fine with me. The residents on the other side of the country need the water and I could do without the white powder.
After last year, a warm December has been a real treat for many of us in Maine this holiday season, but whatever you do, don’t share your enthusiasm over the lack of cold temperatures and snow with skiers.
You might get a punch in the nose or be ignored the rest of winter. Whenever I mention this spring-like weather, I get dirty looks from my son — a ski patroller who lives for the white stuff.
I could give a damn about a White Christmas.
Sorry Bing!
I am perfectly content standing on cold, clear bare ground. Santa will just have use a helicopter to make his appointed rounds on Christmas Eve. Rudolph and his buddies can take the day off.
The walk in the crisp, cold Canadian air cleared my head and made me appreciate the fact that I can go for a two-mile walk with my wife and son and not get winded. The sea has always been my open-air cathedral where I go to sort out life’s problems.
Traditions fade and new holiday customs suddenly emerge with the passing of time and loved ones whose absence at Christmas dinner is always a heart breaker. Those who have passed on are now a part of Christmas past and a time that seemed so much simpler.
The holidays and depression often go hand and hand, and the absence of a mom and dad makes me acutely aware that all those wonderful people who celebrated the yuletide are gone forever.
But staring out across the chilly waters of East End Beach in a warm, winter sun preempted the deepest feelings of desperation. I was grateful my son was home from the University of Maine at Farmington. His presence makes the holidays that much more meaningful. While we were at work, he decorated the entire house with holiday spirit.
And so a new holiday tradition is born — the homecoming of my son.
By the way, depression and anxiety can find another mind to haunt — mine is occupied with positive thoughts. I miss my parents and all those who were so important to me during the holidays, but if I allow melancholy and the past to pester me, I miss what is going on the present — and that is not going to happen to me.
The gift that keeps on giving
Several days before Christmas, my son did something remarkable — at least in his parents’ eyes. He donated a historic artifact to a world-class museum in Philadelphia, Penn.
My son, a history major and honor student, had spoken with his archeology teacher about owning pieces of American history. The archeologist told him when people have private pieces of the past in their hands, other can’t see and enjoy a relic from the past.
My son took his conversation to heart and decided to donate an 1899 commemorative plate of the USS Olympia that was produced by Macy’s to honor Admiral Dewey’s fighting vessel, which fought in the Battle of Manila Bay during the Spanish-American War.
On Friday, we spent $60 to carefully pack and send the plate to the Independence Seaport Museum in Philly. We visited this maritime museum in 2013. If you like maritime history, this is to place to tour and learn. The Olympia is moored next to the museum and it is still in fighting shape. We photographed every inch of the naval warship during our last visit.
I am looking forward to seeing my son’s name next to the historic plate the next time we cross the Delaware River and visit the Cradle of Liberty.
My son continues to pleasantly surprise us, but that’s what children do when you love them.
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