In her mid-sixties, my Mother became alarmed about osteoporosis. After consulting her doctor for things she could do to combat this possible health problem, she began walking a couple miles a day. On her next visit, she asked what she could do next.

“Swim,” came the answer.

So, even though my Mother wasn’t particularly comfortable around water, she began swimming twice a week at the local college pool. I always thought this was admirable and also something I would never do.

Fast forward a couple decades and I am now my Mother’s age. I’m not concerned about osteoporosis, but nevertheless I have found the benefits of swimming. I started by taking aquacise classes at our local health club. For a while, they were very enjoyable and provided a great cardio workout. But many of the women in the class came to talk during it, while I came to exercise. After a while, their conversations began to annoy me.

On the principle that the only behavior I can change is my own, I decided to try swimming laps instead. It’s a solitary activity not prone to conversation. That was six months ago. Now I’m quite the devotee and am even taking swimming lessons to improve my form and my efficiency. I feel exhilarated after half an hour’s swim. And perhaps I understand a little better how my Mother felt as she took up swimming to combat her own concerns.

Today is the “shortest” day of the year. I’ve always wondered about this title; since December 21 has 24 hours in it, just as every other day in the year does. But what it really means is that today has less sunlight than any other day in the year. That’s where the “shortest” comes in.

Where I live this is insignificant, since grey gloom usually descends around the beginning of December; and sunlight – long or short – is a moot point. In fact, this time of year, I look forward to darkness to camouflage the grey.

In spite of the grey solstice, I had a wonderful day. Started at the dentist’s, which probably isn’t most peoples’ definition of ‘wonderful’; but I always love how my teeth feel after being cleaned. And that’s what the visit was about. No cavities, no root canals, no gum problems. Just a plain old cleaning. My tongue glides across my teeth as I write.

Then there was the piano lesson, the conversation with a great friend, a visit to see my former neighbor, and still time to read regardless of the ‘length’ of the day. Christmas is four days away; and I’m blessed that I’m almost ready. Have to wrap seven gifts for various family members and that’s it. Easy.

For the rest of the evening, I’m hunkering down with my Kindle®. Am going to finish Audrey Niffenegger’s new book, meditate on the meaning of the shortest day in the year, and go to bed completely relaxed. Amen.

The company I work for is a fourth quarter company. This means that, while it’s solvent the entire year, the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is when it makes any significant profit. We’re ruled by Black Friday and Cyber Monday, just as any other retail endeavor is.

This year has been the craziest yet. For instance, many vendors will not accept a 30-day invoice policy; they want their money before they ship their product. In light of the current economy I understand this; at the same time, it penalizes companies like ours that prides itself on paying every invoice in 30 days and have a track record to back this up. What do we do? We pull out the plastic.

We were on the Today show two days ago, a wonderful advertising venue. The phones and the Internet went wild, to the point we sold double our sales goal. It was great. At the same time, we had to order more product which brings me to the paragraph above. And, yes, we got out the plastic again.

It’s interesting that vendors think plastic is more reliable than a history of paying on time. They also pay for the privilege of being able to charge, since credit card processors take their cut and the vendor receives less than it would under a 30-day billing system.

It’s just the way of the world right now. And, I predict it will pass. But will we return to 30-day invoicing? I don’t think so. I think the wave of the future is the wire transfer. I say this because today I received an email from a vendor who no longer accepts 30-day invoicing or credit cards as payment, due to fraud issues in the industry.

In a way, I’m glad. In another way, I’m reminded that the only constant is change; and, as the company’s finance manager, I’d better be prepared for a lot more wire transfers in the coming months.

Earl and I arrived home from Colorado five days ago with Christmas staring us in the face. We have about a dozen boxes to unpack before we’re truly settled into our new home, and already we’re supposed to rearrange furniture to accommodate a tree, a train, and other holiday accoutrements.

Which leads me to wonder, just what exactly is the definition of the “holiday spirit”? I mean, when people say they’re in the mood or they have the spirit, I don’t really know what they’re saying. Are they happy? Are they buying tons of gifts? Are they excited? Or reflective?

I haven’t done a scientific study, but I don’t think the “spirit” is about grandiose decorations or big gifts. Neither is it about fancy clothing or flashy parties. Rather, it’s about noticing that the year is winding down and that the celebration of the anniversary of the birth of Jesus Christ (which is really what Christmas is all about) is about to occur. It’s about thinking inward instead of outward. It’s about pausing instead of rushing. It doesn’t matter if you’re a believer or not; December is a time for reflection.

So I’ve decided this holiday we’ll do what we do. We’ll put up a tree as time permits. We’ll enjoy eggnog and listen to Christmas music; we’ll buy modest gifts and appreciate what we have. We’ll revel in the closeness of family and friends; and maybe in all of this we’ll have the spirit. And, whether we do or don’t, it doesn’t matter as long as we’ve enjoyed being together in the ebbing days of 2009.

Earl and I leave for Denver, Colorado, in the morning. He thinks we can pull out of the garage at 4 AM; I’m not so sure. Neither of us is packed yet; and it’s almost eight in the evening. It doesn’t really matter, because we’ll do what it takes to arrive at my aunt and uncle’s in time for Thanksgiving dinner, which is three days away. By car, Denver is only two days away.

Maybe I should be gathering underwear and collecting shirts to go with various slacks. Maybe I should be packaging my cosmetics and facial cleansers and hair dryer. Or my computer and iPod and Kindle. Instead, I’m sitting here reflecting.

This is our first Thanksgiving in our new home . . . only we won’t be here. I’m fine with this, as it’s far more important to me to spend time with my aunt and uncle. What I’m really reflective about are the changes that have occurred over the years since we began going to Denver for Thanksgiving. Or, more specifically, the changes that have occurred in the past ten years . . . the years we lived at the other house.

Early on, my sons visited more often. Now they’re busy. This year finds one son in Europe for the next few months and the other up to the eyeballs in his retail business. You can’t visit easily when you close the doors to your store on Christmas Eve and have to be back to open them the day after Christmas.

Then there’s my old neighbor, Clara. On any given night I would walk across our lawns and plop down on her couch for a chat and a cocktail. And we’d stare at the river that bordered the north side of our homes. The entire visit was always heart-warming. We still hope to continue this tradition, but it will take more effort since I now live on the other side of the river. She doesn’t drive at night, so the effort belongs to me.

It doesn’t matter if it’s that house or this. In ten years, Earl and I have settled into life in St. Joseph/Benton Harbor. He’s made a better adjustment than I, and I think this is because the community itself is conservative and appeals more to him than to me. Where he finds people who support his point of view, I bite my tongue. Where he’s joined the local rifle range, I’m searching for a comparable club of my own.

My best friend, Carol, is in India this holiday. I miss her. Even though she’s promised emails to keep in touch, so far they haven’t arrived. And I can’t call and hear her voice and offer best turkey wishes. I know they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in India, but I hope she knows I am most thankful for our fifty-five year friendship. Regardless of what she and her husband eat on Thanksgiving.

My other close friends – Anne, Judi, Noreen (in alphabetical order, because there’s no way to prioritize their friendships) – have all touched base. For that I’m grateful. So may we all be recipients of Tiny Tim’s holiday toast: “God bless us one and all.”