YULE BOCK

Have you ever noticed that any obstacle, no matter how small, can keep you from doing what needs to be done if the ‘needs-to-be-done’ thing is something you didn’t really want to do? 

Oh my! That sounds like something Andy Rooney would have said in his little, 3 minute gig that closed out the CBS program, “60 Minutes”. I wrote a piece about Andy a few years ago: he passed (died) in 2011 but was one one of my favorite television personalities. He did have a way with words. I don’t try to copy Andy’s style but then again, neither can I escape his influence. 

I will soon be stuck on the bubble between years. It begins to inflate like a Sleep Number Bed until you are teetering for balance on its north pole. The annual bubble doesn’t have a special day. It is just the period when you feel conflicted between last year’s number and the new one. It matters when dating cheques and forms you have to fill out every time you go to the doctor or dentist. Let me see, nooooo. . . I don’t think I’ve had pulmonary diarrhea in the last year; now where do I sign and date this, and how many more places do I have to sign? The bubble lasts until after the last time you write in the wrong year and you have to start over with another blank page. Then one day you wake up cured. 

This holiday season has been filled with parties and open houses more so than any season I can remember. We Unitarians celebrate this season with a month of Yule Bock open houses and parties. There have been 2 or 3 per week, one on Christmas day; they run on well into January. A full week after the New Year we turn Pagan with the burning of the goat. Old Norse custom was to honor Thor, the God of Thunder who rode around the heavens in a cart pulled by two bocks, (goats). So his followers, that would be us (tongue in cheek) fashion a huge, straw goat with festive red harness and bridle. At our last party someone is appointed (a great honor) to set the Bock ablaze. We torch the old Billy in the parking lot, stand by with a fire extinguisher as the straw crackles and the smoke unfurls. A shot of Scotch or Grog or Vino or even Cider will be lifted and a spiritually correct toast will be raised. 

Last week I went to the old, warehouse district, 6th & Central Street in KC. The building was built in the 1880’s but has been upgraded to quarter-million dollar condos. The woman who lives there opened up the Yule Bock party to her neighbors in the building so I met some new-to-me people and that was cool. The 16’ ceilings created an echo chamber effect which rendered my hearing aids useless. I went back to reading lips but body language was crystal clear. I was in a safe place with like minded people. I drank hot-spiced cider. I’ve learned that my alcohol tolerance allows for responsible behavior but balance and coordination take a hit with the first drink. So away from home I might sip a few ounces of wine or an even thinner slice of brandy but it was hot cider for my toast and nobody cared at all. 

When I arrived I had to announce myself through the security key pad at the door. When my host answered I identified myself, confirmed I was talking to the right lady, who I did not know well enough to connect the name with the face. She would have to give the door permission to open. She said she would call her daughter to come down and let me in. I thought it a little odd but then what do I know! Another party goer with their own pass word let me in and I arrived not knowing still, who was who. As the night progressed I learned that the mother, whose party it was, had unexpectedly been needed in California, where she was when I spoke with her through the key pad security connection. Her daughter, the lady who hosted in her mother’s place is a Unitarian as well. I recognized her face and thought I had connected the dots but again, what do I know! I didn’t give it a second thought but I’m sure Andy Rooney would have given it a 3 minute ride had he been around.