The blog has
been on hiatus for a while. What can I say? Sometimes life and work get in the
way. But Christmas seemed like a good time for a new entry.
I like
Christmas traditions. And the Kennedys have a lot of them. Some happen every
year, and others only when all three brothers can get together. For example, Darren,
David and I are allowed to buy each other gifts beginning on Dec. 26. When we’re
together, we load into the car and head out to the after-Christmas sales. It’s
especially strange, since all three of us detest shopping, especially when it’s
crowded. In fact, it might be the only time each year you might catch me in a
store instead of ordering everything online.
There was a
report from Cairo, Egypt, where Darren and his family live, that my youngest
nephew continued another Kennedy tradition, proclaiming, "This is the BEST Phineas-and-Ferb-holiday-pack um,
thingamabob, EVER!" You see, no matter what the gift, it’s ALWAYS
the best ever. My brother once shouted from the rooftops, “This is the BEST Preparation
H EVER.” The neighbors asked him to get down from the roof and quiet down
immediately.
Traditions
are harder to keep these days. Part of the family is across the world, and my
parents now spend the winters in Arizona instead of Kansas City, where we grew
up and David still lives with his son.
So,
sometimes new traditions need to be formed, and six years ago on Christmas
morning I headed out for a little run on the Charouleau
Gap, a trail in the mountains just north of Tucson. It’s meant for ATVs,
mostly, but I liked the challenge. I’ve run it every Christmas since, usually
trying to go farther up than the year before. And I do mean up, because the
trail, as the name suggests, rises toward a gap between two mountains. Lately,
I’ve been nursing an injured calf, so I knew I was unlikely to go farther than
last year’s run of 10-11 miles. It’s not exactly ideal for running, with loose
rocks scattered on every switchback, and today’s run was cut extra short by one
of those rocks, which I stepped on wrong and rolled my right ankle (an injury I
have only slightly more often than calf tears).
That first
year, I also encountered a bull in the middle of the trail on my way back down.
It stopped me in my tracks, as I tried to figure out the best move. It occurred
to me that all that land is free range, and the bull stared at me with no
indication that he might charge. I wished him a Merry Christmas. He said “moo” –
or maybe it was “keep moooving.” I’m really not sure. I was a little surprised
to see him in the exact same spot the next year. And the next. Six years later,
I was disappointed to approach the spot and find it empty. Hopefully the old
boy was sleeping in. I did, however, run across three deer at the trailhead.
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Despite the
gimpy ankle, I made it back without too much trouble. Now it’s time to open a
few gifts and see what Santa left in my stocking (which most years includes an
annex – or grocery bag filled with more stuff).
I’m pretty
sure they’re going to be the best gifts ever.
Merry
Christmas, everybody. And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a
wonderful Tuesday.
