Austin, TEXAS, December 12, 2005 — Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. According to the WEB, a guy named Alphonse Karr said it first.

Change is always with us. Even when we feel we are stuck somewhere, we are really moving toward something else.

The environment, the cast of characters, the ease with which we draw the next breath influences the next moment, taking us on a different path.

And paths can divert wildly. There can be cataclysmic change.

But that c'est la même chose part is

always cutting in, too. My delight at being at the club or doing things around the house while others are working is fading. It is starting to seem like the same old thing.

In water aerobics this morning things were normal. We hadn't been there in quite a while, but it had a feeling of sameness and predictability.

When I got there (early!) another early arriver was walking down to the pool.

"Is your dad coming?"

"He's here," I said. I'd spotted his van and his camo duffle bag, which was a free gift with a subscription to some outdoor magazine long ago, was sitting by the pool. The noodle floats and styrofoam weights were arranged poolside, too. He had gotten them out of storage I was pretty sure. He came out from being inside in the gym, chatting with people, and the three of us got in. The instructor wasn't far behind.

It had been ages since we made it to the water class what with sniffles and cold weather and other excuses. But there was a familiarity to the three of us starting 'kick and reach side.' That first lady to arrive (call her S.) is an elegant older woman who has a lot of grace. She has weathered a bout of cancer since we've been coming, barely cancelling trips for chemo ("I'm just skipping the shore excursions." she said of a cruise) and letting her hair come back in a short elegant do. Very refined. A little reticent. She looks on the louder and bolder people with amusement. Like everyone she seems proud of my dad for keeping at it. He's older than everyone here.

The others ladies straggled in. First, the talker. The one who, save on the day she had laryngitis, is always on top of every topic. Then the birdwatcher, Red Cross volunteer. Who is almost as elegant and reticent as S. In fact, the two of them attended Wellesley together. (Call this one E.)

Two more regulars arrived. One is a calligrapher. She is slow to remember the word she wants to say or the name of someone or something. I'm not sure if it is dementia or a part of her personality. No matter. She's friends with S. and E. and they or someone else always offer the word or name for the blank place in her sentence and we move on. The last person to make the dip was the youngest person in our class. She still has a kid in high school. She's from Nicaragua. Her husband is Iranian. Theirs is quite a story. She loves the class and the chatter.

We've done this class many times with all these people.

So things were sort of back to normal as we did jumping jacks and flutter kicks and hand to heels and such in the water. We discussed movies, holidays, L's fiftieth wedding anniversary and M's husband's holiday party. Both at the club. The topics vary a little. But things are much the same as ever. Reassuringly the same? Sort of. Today they were doing a little matchmaking. Perhaps not a first but something different.

After water aerobics I went home right away. I almost never do that. I always feel like I haven't gotten enough exercise in that class and I usually go and change and go to the gym for some stationary bike or weights. I feel like not doing that today will be a momentous change. (I also don't have to feel bad about it because I made a resolution not to.)

However, there was a sameness. Dad came over. He had a coffee. He refused my offer of a banana ("I alredy had my banana today") and accepted my offer of a Clementine. Just what I expected. He took the presents I'd purchased for him to give and he headed off an another errand. I thought I might fix him lunch, but I knew he'd probably hurry off. He wanted to go buy a gift certificate and be done with his Christmas shopping.

C'est la même chose. Holidays are like that. When you are in your fifties, there's nothing new about it. Sure people keep coming up with new decorations (icicle lights, rope lights, giant blow up decorations) or they cycle back around to old ideas (the aluminum tree is a collector's item now and has now been revived as a 'new' item). But it has a sameness. A red and green sameness, same old wreathes and lights and ornaments coming around again. The same rush for the stores. Oh, the debate has evolved. The secular vs. the religious. The dust up over 'Happy Holidays.' But no great changes have come along. Not really. And the 'it' present may be different. Furby, iPod, Xbox, whatever.

I did want to decorate a little. I pulled a few things out of storage. Not the least being a large collection of bendable, posable Christmas figures. Mostly Santas but with a few reindeer, angels, penquins, trees and snowmen thrown in. Last year I had a big party. So I had not only decorated but bought a few (very few) extra decorations. I don't like trees. I feel I've evolved beyond trees. But I do like ornaments. My big push for change is to set ornaments around among the usual artifacts and gee-gaws, fill a vase with them, put them in the (dusty) glass collection. I feel like this little change to decoration, just scattering festive things around without a focal point, somehow redeems it.

There is one major change to my Christmas holidays though, starting with 2002. My mom isn't around in her bright holiday get-ups. The picture below shows her in 2001, on her last Christmas Eve. She'd escaped from the hospital where they had poked and prodded and tested without figuring out that she had Multiple Myeloma which would kill her in August of the next year. She was trying her best to be festive. I feel like I can see her pain now, in this picture, knowing how it would all come out.

Christmas will never be the same without Mom. She cared about the holiday. She wanted as many people around as possible. One year she had her nephew and his family and she decided everyone should have a personalized stocking at the last minute. She stitched them up, ten or more stockings, for everyone that would be there, young and old. I remember having to go to a Sears store in the mall on Christmas Eve to get a sewing machine needle so she could finish this task. She ignited Christmas with her delight in festive family things and Christmas carols. She believed it was the birthday of her savior and a time to delight children.

Mostly I agree with Karr, but Christmas for me will never be the same since I lost my mom.

Meta: I changed the typeface on my style sheet. I took an HTML class long ago. (Before style sheets, I think!) The instructor liked Comic Sans MS and I sort of thought it was readable on screens, too, and I've used it forever. But I was itching for a change. And I read somewhere that the face was considered lame. Has nothing to do with Holidailies, though. I resolved not to change because of my association with the portal and I'm not. I just decided to change just because. The typeface is noticeable. But I'm making another change in the production of this page that may not be as obvious.