THE CHRISTMAS 2020 REPORT

By the time you read this, 2020, full of tragedy and lessons, will be over.  What next?

I have written this letter for nearly 20 years now. Each time, I look forward to gathering my thoughts and sharing them.  I consider who might read it. Looking back, a pattern emerges…some bummer thing happened and I get back to something useful by the end.  Perhaps a message of hope?  I have to say it’s not only difficult to get to that this time, it’s harder than usual to even start thinking like that.  So I begin with hand addressing them and now there are over 300 cards to mail and a letter to begin and the clock is ticking and Jan 1 looms. I begin this one by looking up and seeing what’s in front, not behind me.

The Santa Fe Report.

December 28, 2020.  I am in in Santa Fe, facing the fire. Don’t judge, please. I know you all know what looking at the 4 walls for months is like.  And my family is so fortunate to have another set to go to, if only we can get there.  Where it’s is peaceful and full of stars, and has fewer humans about than my LA neighborhood. Besides, me and the kids eventually had to stare down the ghost of Christmas past in Santa Fe (we dodged it by going to Hawaii last Christmas). After much debate we sprinted here in the car, stopping only for gasoline and three pee breaks, shielded in KN95s, gloves and wipes.  The La Marta house was welcoming and cozy (code for charming but neglected).  Dennis is sorely missed. His presence is strong in this house. His boots are still in the closet, his ski jacket with tags hangs there too. He had left neck warmers and gloves in a ziplock back, lovingly labeled with his distinct writing. And his art, especially his Hopi collection, is on every wall.  One of my arguments for coming was that this place holds us, focuses us on each other, which it did. We hunkered down, me and the kids, 2 dogs and our “covid” kitten, Bumi, and 2 guests from our LA bubble, and began some of our rituals. My batch of posole this year was vegetarian (another broken rule).  The tamales from Las Posas were still amazing, but the assembly line of cooks were replaced by workers with buckets.  The annual Canyon Road walk “Farolitos” was not a walk, but a drive thru.  There were a lot of cars, including patrol cars, and not many farolitos (paper bag lanterns), and even fewer luminarias (camp fires – I only saw one in fact).  And there were no people.  This is a good thing. Normally wall-to-wall pedestrians, observing the charming adobes adorned with lights and fires, Farolitos 2020 would be a super spreader.

Adam Schiff is not really my boyfriend:

A year ago there was a little thing going on called impeachment, and I mentioned in my 2019 Christmas note that Adam Schiff was my new boyfriend.  I got a lot of congratulatory texts after that.  While I am heartened that some of you thought I was progressing in my bereavement, and in a relationship with the esteemed congressman– the warrior who lead the impeachment of Donald J Trump — I was in fact not in a relationship with Schiff.  I was simply admiring him for trying very hard to help save our democracy.

BF Schiff did not prevail, but we made some headway in November.  Looks like it’s on us after all, to save democracy.  Or what I will call the idea that is democracy, since we have yet to realize it.   But Schiff – who is not actually my type — is still a patriot and a hero in my eyes (even though he supported the fallen LA County DA Jackie Lacey.  Nobody’s perfect).

You know who’s my next bf? Someone from the United States Postal Service.  Those guys kicked ass this year. 

Why Family Matters/Sucks

I don’t see my brothers hardly at all.  This is not accidental, and it has snuck up on me how normal it has become for entire holidays to pass with little or no contact.  It makes me very sad, but when I act on the sadness I remember the why of why things are the way they are.  And you don’t need the details.  If you don’t already know mine, you probably have your own.  But I did reach out to both of my brothers, who I love, on Christmas night. One never called back.  One did. 

Me: “Merry Christmas”

Him: “Oh, I thought Fauci had ‘cancelled’ Christmas”

And off we were.     Later, I mentioned that one of our childhood friends had recently contracted Covid19 and was very sick, but was pulling through. 

Him: “How can we tell the difference between the ordinary flu and the coronavirus? Especially when we consider the hype? …the rate of recovery is far greater than we’re lead to believe.

                Even if he has it, he’ll have build up antibodies….”

Me: “Whoops, I’ve got those damn cookies in the oven. Gotta go.”

That being said, please consider my brother has a form of schizophrenia.  He runs a little paranoid, as did my mom.  That’s his excuse.  What is everyone else’s excuse? Seriously.  WTF?

New Mexico Spirits and This Year’s Totem…

2018 was a bobcat staring me down just weeks before the worst day of my life.  2019 was a bighorn sheep overlooking us on the river where we scattered Dennis’ ashes. I understand there was a buck in my front yard the other day, but it didn’t come by for me. No, my 2020 totem was Christina Maria.   

If Christ was a brown skinned homeless woman with a beard, living in a car in hoarding conditions, with a bike strapped to the hood, then I met Christ on Christmas day at Fort Marcy Ball Park in Santa Fe. And she had a message.

Santa had brought Nell a pair of roller skates.  My house is surrounded by dirt and gravel, so we broke the rules so she could try them out. Our bubble drove the pod car to the nearby, nearly empty Fort Marcy park in search of an empty stretch of cement. There was one car in the parking lot which of course we avoided. When Sam got out of the passenger seat, I heard someone ask him for something.   A first aid kit.  I figured she needed a bandaid and was thinking whether I had one in my purse. I couldn’t quite see her.  She was in the driver’s seat with the door open. I was busy clocking the situation and for covid safety.  This car, perhaps this parking space, was her home.  The little car was packed top to bottom cardboard and plastic bags. There was barely a place to fit.  I asked her what she needed and she asked for some help with a burn.  She said she lives “alone” and she was trying to make something to protect herself with, which she thought was pepper spray, but it got all over her.  She by this point had swung her legs out of the car and on her right calf, from knee to ankle was one continuous burn that had consumed the whole lower leg.  All of the flesh looked like pizza.  She wanted to know if I had something she could put on it.  Perhaps aloe vera. Now I know we all encounter people multiple times a day who are on the streets, and it is a dilemma.  And every time I feel completely useless that I can’t really do anything that would make a difference.  And it’s Christmas day, and every production of a Christmas Carol is flooding back to me and it’s all on me what to do.  Sam checked his iPhone and told me the DeVargas CVS was open, so I told her I’d be right back and I sprinted there.  On my way I googled chemical burns and then spent $130 on stuff that was completely pointless, including 2 jugs of water, and bags of ice, full well knowing that what she really needed was a hospital.  And then also thinking that if I succeeded in transporting her to one, I would expose my family on the way there, there would likely be no bed for her anyway, and that her “home” would likely be gone when she was discharged. Her life would be worse. I brought her the bag of burn remedies and bandages, and she said she couldn’t reach it, could I bring it closer.  And I moved it closer to her, but I held my 6 feet distance, and accidentally dropped one of the water bottles, which sprung a leak.  I told her to pour the water on her wound. She was very grateful, and thanked me. I told her she needed a hospital and offered to call someone…she said she didn’t like hospitals and that she wasn’t in pain. She said it was worse 2 days ago. Still, I ran home and got her a baggie of ibuprofen and 2 tamales in case she was taking more than 2, it wouldn’t be on an empty stomach.  When I got back she asked my name, and I said Cyndy, and she said hers was Christ(ina)-Maria.  She said god bless you (me).  She looked at the park from the car and said she grew up here. She had her mask pulled down and I could see her beard.  And then me and the kids drove away in our rented SUV.  I was pretty sure she would get an infection that might take her out and there was nothing to be done.  I worried about her the past 2 days.  Today, I checked.  The car is gone.

And that, Charlie Brown, is what it is all about, I think.  It’s a dilemma.  There’s not a lot we can do for each other right now, but we can’t turn our heads.  We have to look at the burns.  They are there and they’re killing us if we don’t.

OK here’s the hope.  Moving less is good.  When you do, the animals return, especially the birds.  Everything is better when we slow down and focus on each other. So be it.

Be safe.  So grateful for my dear friends and family.

Love and grace,    Cyndy Fujikawa