Adam Luptak :: Scratches

Goodness, Christmas has come and gone, and it has indeed been a good holiday season.

I’ve been distracted – between work, Christmas preparations, and a girl that I met, I haven’t been finding the time for blogging, but, as always, I’ll be trying to turn that around.

Since I have a generous break from work, I will be trying to catch up some some things – a round-up of my work at Struck throughout 2008, some personal tidbits, some thoughts on world events… so we’ll just see how long that actually takes me.

But a belated Merry Christmas to all, and I’ll catch you all soon!

Wow, so I’ve fallen off of the metaphorical blogging horse. But as a friend of mine once said, “The saddle called – get back in it!” So, skating past the fact that it was a completely different context, I’m getting back on the horse, starting tonight with a reflection on the season.

This may seem strange, but recently, the Christmas season has made me think of a pretty particular memory from my childhood – a memory repeated many times over the years in varying circumstances. It’s the memory of a swim meet that my home team used to go to in Bozeman, MT – the Teddy Bear Classic.

The meet was just a swim meet, albeit with a twist – instead of trophies, the high-point winners received teddy bears of varying sizes. In fact, as we got older it wasn’t much of a competition, as the high schoolers from Montana weren’t allowed to compete in the meet due to a particular rule in their high school swimming region. What makes the memories of that meet so special was the trip itself – we used to get a bus for the whole team. We would drive there in the bus and sleep together at a local church.

Sure, there were petty little things – people not getting along, arguments over what to watch on the bus – in fact, I recall a time that one of my friends, who was quite the troublemaker, stole a tape out of the VCR when we stopped to use the restrooms. But by and large, those aren’t the things I remember, and they’re not the reason I think about it this time of year.

I remember being little, and being bundled up on the bus, listening to cassette tapes and looking out the windows. I remember years later, listening to cds with friends. I remember baking cookies at the church before the meet – clearly, not a meet we took real seriously – those sugar cookies that came in a roll, that you cut into slices and baked. I remember fooling around in the church, with the Christmas decorations all up, playing pool, listening to my friend Jack tear it up on the piano. I remember walking around downtown with folks, with my swim coach and my friends, with my first girlfriend. I remember one year when we got back to Idaho Falls to a parking lot covered in a layer of ice, and we would run and slide, spin around, fall, and nothing else mattered at that moment except the ice and our friends and the fun we were having.

More than anything, though, I remember looking out the window in the dark at trees going past. The route from Idaho Falls to Bozeman took us up through West Yellowstone, skirting the edge of Yellowstone National Park, and a significant portion of the drive takes us through forests. There was always something magical for me about the forest in the dark. There would be snow on the ground and snow on the pine trees – sometimes snow was even flurrying as we drove. The trees just sped by silently in the dark. It was beautiful and mysterious, in a way that always seemed so evocative to me of the Christmas season.

It should be no surprise to people who know me that I’m a hopeless romantic, and Christmas has been my favorite holiday because I always felt something about the season, something beautiful and wonderous, and maybe a little mysterious. Maybe cold, and maybe sometimes a little sad, but beautiful, like a sad, beautiful song. Haunting, maybe, is the word – hauntingly beautiful. That’s what those trees, those snow-covered forests, are to me. It’s like hot chocolate after a walk out in the snow with someone you care immensely about, with your hat and scarf and runny nose. It’s Robert Frost and stopping by woods on a snowy evening. It is child-like wonder, a fragile moment of peace in this broken, broken world that we live in.

I haven’t felt it in quite some time now. I think the last time I went to Bozeman was sophomore or junior year of high school, and in college, I never really found much chance to stop and take a breath, much less feel all those feelings I used to feel. I’m not even sure if it was all about the snow-covered trees in the dark, but it’s something that has been missing from my life – I don’t know if I even can feel it anymore – but I would like to, because I really do miss it.

If I don’t talk to you in person before, have a merry Christmas – I wish you the very very best of what this season might have to offer. Feel a little mystery and beauty, feel a little love. Smile a little, be still, maybe even close your eyes for a moment. Goodnight everyone.