Disaster fiction isn’t for everyone. During a major hurricane, pestilence, or flood, some who are personally affected and unsure of the outcome will read or watch everything they can about it. Others go out of their way to avoid the topic.

The wildfire devastating Los Angeles feels more personal to me than most catastrophes. I’ve hiked in Eaton Canyon, where a major part of the fire began. I’ve stayed at a friend’s house in Altadena, now in ashes. But the friend moved out years ago, no one I know is threatened, and I’m not traumatized as people in the path of the flames might be. That lets me look forward to novels from the library about monumental fires of the past:

• Karen Brooks, The Chocolate Maker’s Wife (2019). Conspiracy and family secrets during the Great Fire of London in 1666.
• Susan Wiggs, The Hostage (2000). The first volume of a romantic trilogy of riches and revenge set in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871.
• Susan Meissner, The Nature of Fragile Things (2022). Resilience and solidarity for a mail-order bride in the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake and Fire.

Image: A large fire in the night. U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. 

Before he enter on the Execution of his Office, he shall take the following Oath or Affirmation:– I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.
                 - United States Constitution, Article II, Section 1, Clause 8

Every four years on January 20, before the incoming President takes office, he swears or affirms the oath prescribed in the Constitution. The Twentieth Amendment (1933) fixed Jan. 20 to start presidential terms and a slightly earlier date for terms in Congress, to have new Representatives in place to select a President if the election were inconclusive.

Only for the President does the Constitution spell out exact wording for the oath of office, quoted above. George Washington said, in his second inaugural address, that if he ever knowingly violated the oath, “I may (besides incurring Constitutional punishment) be subject to the upbraidings of all who are now witnesses of the present solemn ceremony.”

The Constitution requires hundreds of federal and state officials to vow to support the Constitution but leaves the wording open, provided no religious test is required. The oath for members of Congress has grown from a brief “I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support the Constitution of the United States” to a more detailed version than the President’s. They vow not only to support the Constitution but to defend it “against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” They swear they take this obligation without purpose of evasion. The President’s oath seems simple by comparison, but the obligation he undertakes is no less solemn and binding.

Image: President Washington takes oath of office, April 30, 1789.

Jigsaw puzzle season is here again. Winter holidays are over; balmy days lie too far ahead to lure me outdoors. Between sessions at the puzzle table, I read the next chapter in my current mystery novel. Add bits of writing, exercise, housework, and human contact, and my day is complete. I have no wish to make time for more.

Philosophers debate the meaning of time. I’ll avoid that fray. For me its meaning varies among (1) the time of the natural world: day and night, summer and winter, new moon and full; (2) the time humans invented to coordinate plans and records: clock hours, calendar weeks, the date one year ends and the next begins; and (3) the time we experience: what flies when we’re having fun and drags when we’re bored.

The Industrial Revolution pushed culture from the seasonal rhythms of farming toward the mechanical rhythms of clocks and calendars. Factories could operate year-round. Electricity freed assembly lines and offices from having to close at dusk. The seasons of most American jobs rest less on climate or daylight than on holiday shopping, tax time, or annual meetings.

​Before retirement, I lived largely by clocks and calendars. Now I feel closer to the rhythms of nature. Countless plants and animals take winter to rest and regroup, without apology. Why not humans? The warmer, longer days will cycle back soon enough, with no prodding from us. 

Once or twice in my childhood, my mother baked a cake on January 6 with a hard bean hidden inside. The recipient of the slice with the bean had to bake the next cake. It was her play on the tradition that whoever got the bean was king or queen for the day.

Even before Christmas became a holiday, third-century Christians celebrated the arrival of the Magi in Bethlehem to see the baby Jesus. The legend evolved far beyond the short biblical account in Matthew 2:1-12. Consider:

• “We three kings.” Magi were priestly astrologers, not monarchs. Their three types of gifts are the only basis for putting their number at three.
• “Of Orient are.” Matthew says they came from the east. By the 700s they had names, and later, diverse homelands: Balthasar from Arabia or Ethiopia, Melchior from Persia,  and Gaspar from India.
• “Bearing gifts.” In some modern cultures, children receive gifts on January 6 from the kings who brought gold, myrrh, and frankincense to baby Jesus.
• “We traverse afar.” How far could one travel by foot and camel in the twelve days from Christmas to Epiphany, when tradition says the kings reached Bethlehem? Of course, it's only an assumption that the star first appeared the night Jesus was born. Matthew doesn’t say.   

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And so forth. None of this is to belittle the rich, non-biblical traditions of Three Kings Day, even the bean in the cake. Folklore takes on life and meaning of its own, regardless of its supposed origin in history or scripture.
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Image: From the opera Amahl and the Night Visitors by Gian Carlo Menotti, 1958 performance. I always loved this annual TV special about a surprise visit from the Three Kings.