Two chess tournaments and several drama practices later, I’m back.

Christmas is coming. Sorry if that offends you, but frankly calling it anything else offends me, so I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this. I can do that amiably, can you?

It’s the time I think of the people in my life, how much they mean to me, and how much I might mean to them.

As an exemplar of the season, let me tell you of last night. On my way to rehearsal, in a garage loaner because my car is in the shop (with a blown head gasket) I stopped for a red light. I was laboring under a headache slightly smaller than the state on Montana, which was centered in my temples. The light changed, and I took my foot off the brake, stepped on the accelerator, and was promptly bumped solidly from behind. We pulled over to check for damage.

The driver of the other car was a young mother. One of the few in this town who seems to have the hang of car seats: her son, in the back, car seat properly positioned and secure, came through without a scrape. She herself was hesitant and apologetic, but her state of mind was more damaged than her body. The loaner was pretty badly beaten up in the first place, and all that seemed to have been added to the mix was a scratch on the rear bumper. Her car seemed none the worse for wear, either.

What to do? Somebody else might have made a fuss, demanded insurance papers, called the police, reached for a lawyer, etc. It was a perfect opportunity of for old curmudgeons like me to rail about irresponsible youth, and take off for a rant on the evils of teenage motherhood (if she was over 18 I’d be astonished). But what went through my mind instead was the young mother at the center of the season. I couldn’t help but see her in the worried smile of the young mother in front of me. My body felt the stiffness of a minor injury coming on, but my heart said to shut up and walk away. We shook hands, exchanged first names and wished each other well. She got back in her car, I got back in the loaner, and we drove off to our respective destinations.

The headache moved from my temples to the frontal lobe, my back and neck were stiff. But in spite of that, the rehearsal was magical. I felt it, I really felt it as for the first time the play started to come alive. There were the usual missed cues and muffed lines of a rehearsal, but for the first time there was the magic of performance in the air. I can’t explain to anyone who has never felt it when a play starts to come alive; those of you who have felt it, you know what I mean. Warm… glowing… energizing; I give up. I don’t have the words.

Was it from the play, or from the roadside encounter? I can’t begin to tell you, and what’s more, I don’t care. Whatever it was, I’ve shifted gears; the season isn’t dragging on me, it’s lifting me. I’m ready, now.