Christmas and Cabbage Rolls

It's been almost two weeks since I blogged. Part of that was because I was busy with the Christmas and New Years' holidays. A lot of it had to do with my last post.

But honestly, some of it had to do with the reaction to my last post. "The One Where They Lose Their Van."

First of all, a lot of you messaged me to say that you really felt for us, or that you were in similar straits, or to ask if you could help. Thanks. A lot. I mean it. It means the world to us.

The thing is though, it got over 150 hits, most of those in the first couple of days. That's not a lot by Internet standards, but it's about twice as many as any of my other posts. I'm struggling with what that means.

At first, I took it as a really good sign. It means that people relate to what we are going through. I thought that maybe I was writing in an especially raw and honest way, and that the response I was seeing was due to that.

The Goddess had a different take. She said that people like seeing others fail. Maybe some of the people we call "friends" are secretly relishing the pain we're experiencing. It confirms their suspicions about us. And maybe it's some sort of divine justice and they are glad to see a bunch of smart ass, tattooed, atheist rockers get their comeuppance.

My current mood about my fellow upper primates has me feeling she may be on to something.

Christmas was hard. I won't say it wasn't enjoyable. It was and we had a great time. Thanks to the generosity of family, the kids really didn't want for a thing. The Goddess wisely took an old Thomas the Train train set that had belonged to the eleven-year-old and re-gifted it to the Monkey. He loved it and it was a big gift. The eleven-year-old got a laptop to work on his films. There were dolls and books and ukuleles and new clothes and harmonicas.

We also continued a tradition from my family of having a fish dinner on Christmas Eve.

But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling melancholy. Part of it was probably the 75-degree weather. I know a lot of people like that, but all I could think about was that this may be the regular weather at Christmas if we don't do something about climate change.

Then there is the way the holiday is celebrated generally. This was the year of the "Merry Christmas" Starbucks cup. I was struck, too, by the way people talk about this holiday in America. It's surrounded with anger and resentment and ill will toward people who don't celebrate it. More than any time in my life, I feel there is not just indifference, but actual animosity toward the poor, to refugees, to the outcasts.

If that's Christmas, then fuck it.

Like most people, I worked through the holidays. We lucked out this year because Christmas fell on Friday and I wasn't scheduled to work that Saturday, so I did have a three-day weekend.

I took a little time on New Year's Eve to reflect on my year in review and posted that on Facebook. I thought about doing it here, but I'm pretty committed to the quasi-anonymity of this blog. I've also written already about most of the things contained on that post, so it's old ground.

I worked on that night, which if you're a musician, is a good thing. Or rather, it's a bad thing if you don't. The soul band played for the New Year's Eve party at the Greenbrier Resort, which is pretty fucking fancy. This is the fourth year with the gig, and it feels like they're low-balling us a little every time. This year we didn't get rooms, which meant a two-hour drive back home sometime after 1:00 A.M. Still. It's work, and pretty good work.

The next day we had a traditional meal of cabbage rolls and black-eyed peas. The Goddess suggested we try cooking them in beef stock with just a little tomato sauce in them, instead of all tomato sauce. This I regarded as anathema at first. After tasting the results, however, I am a firm believer.

We stick a dime in one of the cabbage rolls. If you get the dime, you will be rich in the coming year. Forty-three years on this earth -- most of them with cabbage rolls on New Year's Day -- and I have yet to get the damn dime.

This year the eleven-year-old got it. Chomped down on it on the first bite.

After we ate I decided to turn to my New Year's resolutions.

I realize a lot of you think they're bullshit. Personally, I've given up on making any that are about weight loss or money. If those things happen, then great. Instead, for the past three or four years, I've written some that were more about an approach to life.

This year, I decided they needed to be action-oriented. I made them simple: Read, Write, Listen, Play. That is, I've committed to reading from a book (not just the Internet or magazines); writing in my blogs, working on short stories or novels, or writing for the magazine; listening -- really, actively listening -- to music; and play music, every single day, whatever instrument for whatever time.

When I was younger, and before kids, I probably would have set loftier goals -- write 500 words a day or practice for an hour and half. Part of getting older is being realistic about your time commitments.

The thing about these goals is, I really want to do these things every day. It's not like exercise or drinking eight glasses of water or whatever. I actually enjoy time spent in reading and writing, playing and listening to music. And so far, I've made time for them.

Now it's back to work. I wasn't back for more than ten minutes before a coworker shoved an iPad in my face to show me some homophobic video he found hysterical. 2016 is going to be great.

I just finished my lunch. Left-over cabbage rolls. God, they're good. The beef stock really sent them over the edge.

Then I bit into the dime.

After forty-three years, it looks like I'm going to come into some money.

The bad news is, the eleven-year-old apparently lied. I guess we'll deal with that when I get home.