Golden Olden Days

There's an old, familiar face working as seasonal help at the store where I'm employed.  The face belongs to Pat, a fellow Crone and dinosaur, who quit working there a few years ago and has returned for a short while to make some extra coin.  She's a poet who devours books, and has brains to spare.  But what matters most to me is that she is a quiet reminder of earlier days at the bookstore when we were working together.  It was a time, not really that long ago, when I realised I was a no-longer-young person in the last "straight" job I'm likely to have, a.k.a. jobs between gigs that hardly ever happen.

Anyway, it's nice to see a recognizable face dressing up a place that's becoming stranger to me all the time.  (That's not necessarily a bad thing.  Change keeps me on my toes.) I was really happy to hear that Pat would be coming back for the Christmas season, although I knew we'd have very little time to actually do anything that resembled socializing or catch-up conversation, because it's just too busy to stand around and gab.  But I enjoy  seeing her at the store, even though it's just in passing.  It feels familiar and even a bit nostalgic (a sure sign I'm not young anymore), especially at this time of year.  So thanks, Pat, for being there.  In fact, thanks for just being.
Anyway, that's all I had to say.  I haven't any profound revelations or new discoveries to share - just the warm and fuzzy feelings that seem to magically surface this time of year.  So here's to a Happy Solstice, Merry Christmas and a healthy, prosperous New Year to all my family and friends who delicately tint the present moments with the warm, sepia glow of the past. 
Blessed be.
- G. P.