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i hadn't traveled for a holiday in a long time. in the past few years the places i used to go were not there any more. there were new places but i was too sick or overwhelmed to go there, so plans were cancelled at the last minute or never made at all.

a crisp blue sky had been shaken out like a bedspread over scenic highway US 31 today. resorts and gingerbread houses, shops and docks and supperclubs and bandshells. sweet summer homes with a view of lake michigan buttoned up for the winter, tinsel lollipops and wreathes and candles fastened on the light poles, up high. in one small town there was a balsam in the square in the middle of town. it was 60 feet tall and covered from tip to its' final bough in shiny paper plates - hundreds of them. it looked like an activity the whole town had been on, as some were ornately decorated with patterns and textiles and ribbons, and others had simple smiley faces or crayon scrapes. they all swayed in the thanksgiving breeze, each dangling in their places by a length of red yarn.

people must be happy here. look at all those families wandering around with smiles and coffee and bags. and a couple dressed exactly alike, in black paints and orange jackets with black stripes, laughing arm in arm as they walked their two black labs.

people must be happy here.

a few miles down the road afther the miles had flown fast under the truck, the scenic highway changed it's mind. every half mile or so, another small broken house with its' eyes shut tight. torn shades and sheets in the windows, plastic over most of one side, no front step and a few beaters in the yard. the houses were not worth much, nor did the lots they were on, i imagined. and i wondered what kind of a holiday unfolds in those kitchens and living rooms?

and whether or not people are happy in there.

something hit me in the grocery store today, something sad. i was reaching for a bottle of capers and it was like an emotional hot flash. suddenly i felt quieter and kinder and like i was missing something or someone, missing badly.

this is my favorite season, this beautiful fall, and it is also a season of loss for me. mom and martha died in september, dad in october, jim in december. i lost forever the freedom of never having to think about my heart in november. the weather is blessedly cool, even cold - which i adore, the colors are crazy spilled paints on even the most depressing canvas, everything that is dying is beautiful.

i went to an art show yesterday. my darling cyndi was showing her mosaics and 3d collages at a place called the casket arts builing in northeast minneapolis. they used to make caskets - for people, not for wine) there years ago, and now it is 4 floors of warm stone walls, planed and polished wood floors, skylights and comfortable cushions, and 4 stories of artists.

cyndi's art was the best of course, and how pretty she was in her blazer and black skirt! she fixed a round of vodka pomegranite cocktails on the rocks, and, after visiting with her, i went off to explore.

the artists, all siting in studio, seemed very far away from me, even if they were happy to have visitors, which most were. there were a few that seemed to be slathered in their own pain, so as to have a greater impact on the viewer. after all, if you want to be an artist you have to be afraid of something.

i felt out of place. even the pieces i loved the most could only hold me for a minute, because it hurt to look at them. where does this come from? the ideas for the color, texture, content, medium? how do they think this stuff up? it makes me feel like i am missing something. i gues this is the appropriate season to feel that.

i want something. i want to be something like they are, do something like they do. i don't understand any of it, and it scares me.

on the other hand, like i said, you have to be afraid of something, right?