THOUGHTS AT THE END OF THE YEAR

Anyone remember New Year's Eve 1999, the end of the 20th century, the beginning of a new millennium?
Welcome to the year 2000!

If you don't remember this momentous event, then you're too young to be reading my blog.

The Millennium Purists suddenly came out of nowhere and informed us that the new millennium didn't officially begin until the year 2001.
There's always somebody around just waiting to ruin your fun. 

 This little millennium guy was a gift. He counted backwards from 10, and then said "Welcome to the year 2000!"

 I don't know whatever happened to him.

I was living in Texas at that time. My parents were still alive. So were many of my relatives who are now deceased. I was in good health and good cheer.
What a difference 20 years makes.  

That was the last year that I prepared a huge New Year's Eve feast. It was elaborate and took days of enthusiastic work.

Years ago - when I was young, optimistic, and energetic - New Years Eve had a very special meaning to me. It was a sober, reflective time, when I seriously pondered the old year and eagerly awaited the new one.

I always prepared a fancy New Years Eve midnight supper containing my favorite things: 

smoked herring and salmon, Russian deviled eggs, Hungarian  burgonya palacsintak (potato pancakes), kolbasz (sausage), assorted cheese, assorted breads, olives and peppers, smoked oysters, pickled asparagus and hearts of palm, winter salad, and blood oranges.
And always, always dry white California Champagne. My favorite was Le Domaine. 

Every year I made my three favorite desserts: Black Forest cherry cake with real whipped cream, chocolate cheesecake, and a simple all white cake.

 One of the white cakes I made (long ago) for New Year's Eve and a gingerbread house

I yearn for those joyous, bountiful New Years Eves - - - and I'm stunned (not to mention alarmed) at how vastly different things are now......and how far I have fallen from grace.

Living alone in squalor (and ill-health) in rural Tennessee. Many of my relatives now dead. Some of my lovers are dead...others are merely lost in time. Friends (those few left) are now far away.
I have two cats to keep me company.
Meow. 

My music and serious writing are on a back burner......patiently awaiting a resurrection.

Life is what you make it, Jon.

To a very small extent that is true. But mostly life is the rude and unexpected shit that fate throws at us.
While we are foolishly gazing at the horizon - looking for unicorns and rainbows - the storm clouds suddenly descend and devour us.

Excuse me, I'm merely thinking out loud. Don't try to read too much into it.

Am I complaining? Not really. It's merely a soft lament - - remembering my past with astonishment.....and considering my future with dread.

A soft lament that stirs within my weary soul and seems to echo plaintively in the restless wind that caresses naked branches of winter trees.

Is this where I should apologize for being poetic? Or depressing?
I think not.
Blame it on my brooding magyar blood.

CHANGE OF SUBJECT

Every New Years Eve, for no other reason than abstract tradition, I drag out my antique dishes - - and I occasionally use them (very carefully, of course)

    Take ye a cuppe o kindness 

for auld lang syne

This very large cup is circa 1880

 This is my favorite antique cup, supposedly made in 1790.

Two white swans.

A haphazard collection of dishes from 1820 (200 years old!).

The little guy in the center is a creamer.

I found

this calendar plate the other day. One of my aunts gave it to my parents on New Year's Eve 1955/56

 P.S.
I'll post again before the end of the year
 (I'll bet you can't wait)

REFLECTIONS

 

I never make New Year resolutions. It's a well-intended gesture that is basically useless, futile, and seldom realized.

For me, New Year's Eve has always been a time for sober reflection and serious introspection. As past years pile up behind me and future years begin to look comparatively sparse, my reflections are becoming more grim.
That's the pessimism in me - which often has a rein on my emotions.

Optimists assure us that we have control of our lives and destiny and can do anything that we set our minds to.

The realist in me knows that, to a very large extent, this isn't true. No matter how lofty our goals may be, our plans can be easily be thwarted by the unexpected. Life is a maze filled with detours, obstacles, dead ends, bogus routes, and passages to nowhere. It's impossible to securely pave a seamless road to our intended destination.

This past decade was the worst time of my entire life. I was plagued by one major disaster after another, which - without going into painful details -  eventually rendered me into what I am today: a hermit existing in near-poverty in the Tennessee wilderness.

As if that wasn't enough, I have been inundated with health issues and physical ailments that I've never mentioned to anyone - not even my relatives or closest friends.

In essence, I've become a shadow of my former self and it isn't easy to deal with. 

I suppose the deepest psychological wounds I presently bear are those inflicted by my losses:
I lost relatives, friends, and lovers through death. I lost all of my financial savings when I lived in Texas. When I came to Tennessee the movers lost all of my most cherished possessions.

The mirror keeps reminding me that my youth and good looks have vanished.

I know I'm not alone with my grievances. Life is indiscriminately cruel and we are all plagued with subtractions of one kind or another.

I have no list of New Year resolutions, but at the threshold of 2019  my reflections have yielded one simple, redeeming thought:

The past cannot be changed, no matter how much we grieve. The future is eternally unpredictable.

The only tangible gift we have is the present.

Instead of wallowing in the mire of bitterness and regret, it is far more productive to focus on the things we have now - no matter how sparse or humble they may be.

Within the shroud of shadow there is always a hopeful ray of light.

NEW YEARS EVE REFLECTIONS

It is way past midnight, officially January 1st, but the new year is only a few hours old. It's still dark, and the night resonates with echoes of New Year's Eve. 

I had initially planned a long, meandering post. Fortunately for you, I'm weary and not in the mood to think or write. I'll offer a few random reflections. 

For me, new year's eve has never been a particularly celebratory time. Even at a young age I was always deeply reflective in somber pessimism. To believe that my new year would ever be happy, prosperous, or completely fulfilling was beyond the realms of my limited definition of possibility. To hope for too much was a certain assurance of doom. The superstitions of my Magyar gypsy ancestors taint my blood.

New year's eve has always been a sober time for me - a night for sweet remembrance, teetering on the vague threshold of uncertain possibilities. It is a magical night, a momentous night - filled with visiting ghosts of the past and the internal conflicts of resident demons.

I'm thinking out loud again, which isn't always the wisest thing to do. Reflections are often best left unsaid.

This new year's eve began as a dank, chilly, rainy day and quickly dissolved into a very dark, cold, rainy night. I didn't do much at all, but I did it with peaceful pleasure and a sense of calm that I haven't felt in a long while.

I got up fairly early after a few hours of gratifying sleep. I did chores, played with the cats, went outside for a few rain-soaked minutes to take some photos of the final day of  2016. There was nothing to see, really. Naked, rain-soaked trees and a dismal sky.

 view in the back yard

 view looking out from the front of the house

This was an extremely quiet night - and the most uneventful new year's eve I can remember. No coyotes or dogs, no owls - absolute silence. I seemed to be completely disconnected from civilization. Nothing but impenetrable darkness and intermittent rain.

I wrote a few emails to long-lost friends, watched the Times Square "festivities" on live-stream, sent a few texts (one to my cousin Nancy), and had a pleasant dinner at midnight.

That's the extent of my new year's eve.

My cat Kitzee (Scratch) stayed with me all night. She's presently on my lap as I write. Bosco and Scruffy are asleep in another room.

I had a few glasses of frosty ginger ale. Cheers!

I lit some candles in remembrance of 

ghosts of my past

An antique English mug (loving cup?) from the 1850's, traditionally used on new years eve. It's very large. I've had it for years.

My love and very best wishes to all of you for a peaceful, productive 2017.

Jon V.

LISTENING TO SILENCE

This Thanksgiving Day:
peaceful, quiet, delightfully mild, delicately overcast. Autumn leaves are quickly slipping away from sullen trees. The stark forest is acutely aware of its impending nakedness. Regal hawks sailing in the sky. Dozens of small birds hungrily flitting and scampering through the weedy terrain. 

I'm in a reflective mood - - neither particularly celebratory nor thankful.
Long ago I was thankful for my talents, my looks, my successes, my friends and relatives, my lovers, my health, my optimism.

Today - - my looks have faded, my health has vanished, optimism is minimal, friends have dwindled, relatives and lovers have died, life as I once knew it is slipping away as quickly as autumn leaves....

But I am here, worn and battle-scarred, yet surviving nevertheless. That's all one can do. 
I hope your Thanksgiving was peaceful, bountiful, filled with hope and all good things.

Grabbed my El Cheapo camera today and documented glimpses of my nothingness. 

 I took this pic this morning while laying in bed - extremely reluctant to get up. Bosco and Scruffy were looking out at the fog. This is a cell phone photo, which explains the blurriness. 
(I have an El Cheapo cell phone, too)

 I had initially planned to have a spiral-sliced ham today. Then I thought "What the hell for?" So I put it in the freezer to save for December. Instead I'm making Salisbury steaks and herbal potatoes.

A view today from my back porch, looking north toward the neighboring cow pasture.

The sun has been shyly peeking through the clouds this afternoon.  This tree is visible through one of my windows (how exciting!)

 I still have my little Halloween pumpkin

 Pine cones on a tree

(as if you couldn't guess)

 Same tree, different view

 I've had this antique painting in storage for years (it's one of the few things the movers didn't "lose"). Today I unwrapped it and hung it in my bedroom.

I suppose I'm cat crazy. Shoot me!

CHRISTMAS EVE, HAUNTED MEMORIES

Why is Christmas Eve such a haunting time, filled with the persistence of undefinable magic? Most likely because it resurrects dormant memories and stirs raw sentiments that wouldn't dare intrude our lives at other times. The sweet mingles with the bitter, just as a tender universal kiss of remembrance lingers before life's final breath.

There are Christmas Eves from my past that I cherish, and many more that should be permanently expunged. In my present passage of life, in the blessed solitude of this comforting wilderness, I feel far older than my years and uncomfortably ill-prepared for the enormous strength required to endure future battles. 

My life has been a never-ending battle, but so indeed have all our lives.

In the reverie of this magical night - my thoughts revert to times so distant that they seem to teeter as half-remembered dreams on the mists of  horizons....fleeting fragments of what was and what will never be again......

I remember a flurry of Christmas Eves in Southern California - when life was deliciously young and energetic, when it brimmed with constant adventure and surges of purpose.

The concerts, the parties, the gathering of friends.....
performances of "The Nutcracker" ballet and Bach's "Christmas Oratorio".... 

...when I was the piano accompanist for a singer at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in the L.A. Music Center....and I met Dorothy Chandler at a Christmas Eve cocktail party afterwards......

And yet - despite the gold and glory - there was always the tarnish of my dark side.
I remember a Christmas Eve when I was the harpsichordist at a performance of Handel's "Messiah" and after the magnificent event I got drunk, wandered the all-too-familiar Hollywood streets and spent the night with a stranger (nothing new - - it was only one in an endless purgatory of such nights).

Even in the blissful warmth of success my feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing were monumental obstacles - - and my need to be desired and loved was profound.

I remember Christmas Eves shattered by my father's rage and marred with  a terror so great that any semblance of holiday normalcy was completely expunged.....
..... Christmas stories of desperate struggles for raw survival - - when the problems with my father's maniacal violence were so intense that even the remote possibility of peace or of a caring God were non-existent.

I alternately prayed to God for mercy and cursed Him for the agonies I endured.

These are not grievances, they are merely memories on this haunted magical night.

In a later time of aimless wandering and quests for escape from myself, I remember a Christmas Eve somewhere in the sacred solitude of the Sangre de Christo Mountains of New Mexico (a place that my mother loved and once lived).

Midnight Mass in an ancient adobe church.....gentle snowflakes drifting in a frosted night. The deafening silence of the mountains, the air so crisp and dry that it intoxicates the senses.

Inside is a transitory respite of warmth and the false possibility of redemption. The altar is a great sea of candles shimmering in red cups, almost as burning reminders of all my sins.
I am immersed in this gentle sanctuary of peace and purified poetry.

The room wavers in the surrealistic glow of a quasi-symbolic dream: 
Jesus in agony on a tarnished cross, an archaic array of gleaming silver, the smooth white marble of weeping saints frozen in eternal prayer....accompanied by the drone of ancient chants and time-worn recitations....
redemption, salvation, forgiveness

Forgiveness.

Candlelight flickering in windows of colored glass and in the eyes of this small congregation - - reflections of troubled nights and unquiet souls.

I eagerly absorb the warmth inside, but the sanctuary is only a temporary antidote.

The outside cold awaits me, in a swirling frenzy of ice-dusted snow and the great shroud of eternal darkness that shivers in the whispering wind.