Last one

"'On a drizzly Saturday morning before Christmas I sit at my computer to type out my last column of the year. … I can see the Saturday Farmers’ Market from my office window. People are bundled up against the elements, checking out the oranges and honey and leeks.’ That comes from the column I wrote exactly one year ago (2001). Nothing much changes. As I write this year’s version, it’s raining and I’m watching the goings-on at the Farmers’ Market. This time around, Saturday is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Things start improving from this point on, if you, like me, prefer daylight over dark. Optimism offered on a cloudy day. On the other hand, when June 21 rolls around and we begin to head into the bright endless days of summertime, I like to remind people, ‘Well, it’s all downhill from here.’ Pessimism served on a sunny day. But here I am at the beginning edge of winter, watching the rain drizzle down on the market. In our production area here at the CN&R, there is a drip, drip, dripping from the ceiling—actually it’s coming from one of the screws that hold an air register in place. Some folks here suspect the leak is connected to the recent installation of a new roof-mounted heating and AC unit. Understandable. But I say it has something to do with the asphalt shingles that are scattered on the sidewalk and in the parking lot following last week’s howling rain storms.”

And that all comes from the column I wrote last year (2002) at this time. (The drip is still dripping, though it’s moved about 8 inches from where it was 12 months ago.) At this time of year columnists pretty much run out of words, so they cut and paste old columns to make a new one. I could always fall back on the obvious and write things like: “Man, I can’t believe 2003 is over! Who saw that coming? Seems like it was just 1996, for crying out loud.” Or: “This is the column where I get to wax poetic about the many columns I’ve written this year, mentioning some of my favorites and noting the significant impact my words had on our community. So I checked out our archives and reread my 51 columns. Unfortunately I came away really disappointed. When taken in one sitting, a year’s worth of this stuff presents the picture of a whiney, selfish and sarcastic guy who doesn’t have a nice thing to say about anybody. Who reads this crap?”

Last week I wrote about the bright holiday light show burning up the energy in a neighborhood near mine. Last Sunday night, while getting ready to watch the second installment of the Tolkien movie trilogy—which I must admit, contains way too many plot lines and characters for me to stay on top of—I heard a siren and saw the red light pulsating past my living room window. I ran to the front door and watched as the emergency vehicle turned onto Christmas Light Lane. Then I heard another siren and still another, and before I could put on my shoes and get out the door, at least four engines had followed that first truck. When I got there, neighbors were standing on the sidewalks in little huddles in front of their houses, looking on in the cold rain as fire truck brakes hissed and diesel engines droned. All the while the Christmas lights flashed and the white wired reindeer grazed in front yards, oblivious to the excitement. One woman told me she had been soaking her feet when she heard the rush of the trucks and flash of their lights. We watched together and looked for signs of fire or puffs of smoke. We saw nothing. A firefighter carrying some firefighting tool crossed the front yard and knocked on the door. He conferred with the owner and then walked back to his truck. And all the trucks and firefighters drove away.

I called the city Fire Department the next day, described the time and location and was told the homeowner had reported “a fire inside of a wood stove.” I feel pretty safe after seeing that response—but I’m still not putting any Christmas lights on my house.