Both my attention span and my memory are short. Together, they have the capacity to create an insurmountable obstacle to developing expertise in any subject. When coupled with a lack of discipline—and levels of curiosity and interest that ebb and flow like Bay of Fundy tides—they seal the deal. In my youth, my interest levels never reached a point at which expertise would have been attainable. The older I get, though, my passion to learn can burn as hot as the sun. But the heat never lasts long enough. My interests erupt like a volcano, only to cool when another captures my imagination. And the cycle repeats itself. Over and over and over. How many times have I documented these failures of mine—and to what end? I cannot count that high and I can only guess at the reasons I repeat the tale. If I were to guess.
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Similarities exist between stupidity and ignorance, but ignorance is curable. And ignorance is forgivable. Stupidity, on the other hand, tends to be an incurable condition nourished by bigotry. And stupidity often is willful and, therefore, unforgivable. Stupidity can be infectious and/or hereditary—people who are not inoculated against it at a very early age are at high risk, especially in environments in which it flourishes. Education, including the teaching of tolerance, is subject to disdain by stupid people. But education can erase ignorance, up to a point. Education cannot eliminate intolerance of stupid people. The hypocrisy of intolerance in people who consider themselves tolerant is difficult to defend, but easy to understand. Perhaps another word or phrase is in order; one hates to consider oneself a hypocrite. Even worse, though, would be to consider oneself stupid.
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The view outside the window of my study is radically different today than yesterday. Shrubs loaded with red berries had afforded me an additional measure of privacy—beyond the privacy of living in the only house on a cul-de-sac—now are gone. The lower branches of a large round shrub across the driveway are gone, exposing the ground beneath and beyond it. Other trees and shrubs have been pruned and shaped, replacing the wild look of natural growth with the appearance of a freshly semi-manicured landscape. In the Spring areas of the ground that are now vacant except for a thick layer of small rocks will be planted with low-growing shrubs and a Japanese maple. The setting will have the appearance of casual formality, surrounded by a natural forest. I am counting on being here to see it.
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Temperatures are rising. The forecast calls for highs to reach 70°F, and maybe a bit higher, by Christmas Day. Cooler air is expected to return within a few days afterward, though, a prelude to who know what? If January 2026 is like most beginnings of the new year, much colder air will follow. Ice? Snow? Bitterly cold winds? I no longer trust the National Weather Service to give accurate forecasts; government meteorologists are being stripped of the resources they need to give reliable predictions. I would not be surprised to experience blizzard conditions at the same time the White House announces the most pleasant, warm January temperatures ever felt during periods when groceries are almost free for the asking and gas prices are lower than they have ever been.
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Early Christmas Eve morning, I will go to the cancer center to have my blood drawn and get an injection…either to counter low blood cell counts or protect me against bone disintegration or some such thing. I doubt we will have tamales and chile con queso and beer for dinner on Christmas Eve this year. That annual tradition from my childhood would require more effort than is warranted. Tradition. Ritual. Custom. Practice. Such stuff tends to dissolve over time, especially when reality interferes with memory.
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Mi novia is tentatively planning on making a salmon stew for Christmas dinner, which I think will be just right. When she mentioned it, I immediately remembered telling her several months ago about a comfort food I have not had in far too long: creamed salmon over rice, seasoned liberally with white pepper. Sometime after Christmas…not too soon, but soon enough…I want to make creamed salmon over rice. The dish is, hands down, my favorite comfort food, surpassing every other common comfort food such as macaroni & cheese, pasta, chicken pot pie, shepherd’s pie, tuna casserole, etc., etc.
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Early to bed last night, but not early to sleep. Hours after getting in bed, I remained wide-awake. After I finally got to sleep, I woke less than an hour later. Again, when I returned to bed, I was unable to get to sleep right away. Even after I did, I woke again in a couple of hours. I’ve been sleeping a LOT during the day, courtesy I suppose of my most recent chemo treatment a few days ago. When not having disturbing dreams, I am delighted to be able to sleep. It is a refuge from an overactive imagination. I am ravenously hungry at the moment. Perhaps a double-stuffed Oreo cookie will hit the spot. Or, I could shower and shave and go out to breakfast. We’d still have to take mi novia’s car; I have yet to deal with my car’s dead battery. Why do I still have my car? I bet I’ve put less than 200 miles on it this year. Ach.
