I THINK MINING

The snow is still deep and the car is still lost in the drifts; but it is Christmas day so there is no concern or urgency to dig it out.  

The daughters are preparing the large-meal.  Up until now I have pretty much done the cooking as they fussed the kids.  But just for this meal, they may have the honor. 

We went sledding down the hill behind the complex.  A simple orange piece of plastic, but it sped down the snow-covered road where no car can pass.  The grandson delighted in the movement, but only as long as his aunt or grandpa was sitting behind him.  Pull the sled up the hill was all he would do alone.  He is almost as conservative as a banker lending to a junior mining company.

Meanwhile the two sons-in-law argue the relative merits of California versus Iowa.  Can’t see how either will win, but they are at it word for word, vote for vote, and deficit for deficit.  Neither knows mining, so I will not add perspective.  How can I opine about farming versus traffic jams?  A state with no money but lots of hate versus a state with corn, soybeans, and lots of hogs.

I found only one other blog on mining with anything good to read about mining this morning.  It is that blog Mining Towns in Canada by littlepatti (no capitals.)  She nicely captures the dilemma of an aging lady in a Canadian mining town in this rumination on the attitude of the old to Christmas:

I don’t panic much anymore. My gifts are more thoughtful, less extravagant, and wrapped well enough in advance. The decorations can be done any day now and I passed the mini tree to my Grand daughter. One artificial tree is plenty and perfect so I wonder why I didn’t discover that  years ago. Maybe it was the Sherry that clouded my mind. “Too soon old, too late smart”.

I made the mistake of six artificial Christmas trees, but all small enough to fit on one shelf in the dining room.  All recycleable through to next year.

Then there was somethng not heard in thirty years, namely the Queen’s Speech.  That was a staple on the mine where I grew up.  All the family would gather around the radio to hear the young queen and her so perfect accent lift our spirits for the next year.  But now the accent is soft and the voice is gentle.  The ideas are reflective of war and the absence of peace, the economy and the absence of security, of the blessings of happiness that come with doing something for others (anything, including blogging I suppose.) 

And so another Christmas passes and we pick up the wrappings as the grandson plays with the dragons I got him.  One is an American Dragon:  red with bold, simple lines, and many useless moving parts.  The other is a German Dragon: complex of form and subtle of color with vast wings and sharp claws.   He was immediately branded the bad guy because he has two heads and a big yellow flame coming out one of the mouths.  The American Dragon is of course the good guy, even though he looks more dopey than moral.

Thus the day, like the year passes in family & friends, politics & reason, fear & hope, and the faint smudges of mining memories that will come back soon enough in the New Year to demand immediate and proactive attention.  Enjoy Boxing Day.