Wishes for the Winter Solstice

My phone’s camera decided to take this image the other day, either while it was in my pocket or while it was shoved into a locker during my MRI.

I was about to delete it, but this particular pocket whoopsie was striking. It’s an image that seems to capture exactly what I (and maybe you) have been feeling these days: Everything is strange and surreal, completely without shape, structure, or sense.

It wants to be chaos, it wants to be poetry. More likely, it’s a puff of pocket lint taking a selfie.

Reality never quite meets the expectation.

The MRI. I was having the lumbar region of my back imaged for the second time in two years. Seems I have at least one herniated disc and quite a bit of arthritis, which had stabilized and become manageable in 2024.

Over the course of the last few months, though, it’s fallen into a state of entropy. Severe pain, muscles that feel like they’re forever recovering from a marathon. Keeping me awake at night. (And thus, my husband.) Forcing me to cut back on activities I love, like writing, baking/cooking, and traveling.

I say this not to elicit sympathy, but to manage my own expectations. I expect a lot from myself, from completing all the items on my to-do list, to managing several projects, to becoming an award-winning novelist.

But I’m often forced to temper my expectations and settle for watching my pocket lint achieve sentience.

I’m tired. I don’t know about you, but I’m “stick a fork in me” done with 2025.

I’m tired of feeling hyper-vigilant and on edge, like I’m suffering PTSD from trauma that hasn’t even happened yet. (The “Ghost of Trauma Yet to Come”?)

I’m tired of malice and lies and chaos and division.

I’m tired of impersonal corporate systems and bureaucracies that function on autopilot (or AI).

I’m tired of an upside-down social structure that awards the worst of us and disenfranchises everyone else.

We’re all buckling under the strain of lowered expectations, we’re all waiting for a champion to lead us to Something Better.

If another revolution does come, our rallying cry won’t be: “Give me liberty or give me death!” It’ll be a simple plea: “Enough.”

I started The 805 Diary as an exploration and celebration of this valley I’ve come to love. Over the last year, however, it’s also become a way to show my gratitude for all the good people and good times that make this home. It’s been a keen reminder of the beauty and delight that can exist even in the ugliest of times. While the world re-fashions itself as a latter-day Mordor, the Santa Clara River Valley is our Hobbiton, our Shire. We have been gobsmacked by the warmth and generosity of our friends, both old and new. Thank you for being here.

As we hunker down in the long night of Winter Solstice, we raise a pint to our loved ones and wait for spring’s call to adventure.

Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and hoping you’re all safe and sound.

With love,
Deb, Dale, and Ruby