Cool on the heels of its closing days, the sky has only had brief moments of revealing its blue self, winter being more comfortable in shades of gray, cocooned in cloud-covered obscurity. On the dimmest days, the sky runs into the bare trees and dull ground with barely any demarcation – just one long monotonous sheet of a color that could be called ‘Doldrums’.
When a stretch of blue sky appears, one rushes to the nearest door to step outside and take it in. The light moves quickly at this time of the year, and the days are not as endless as they so giddily feel in the summer. I’ve admired a stand of fountain grass in the afternoon sunlight, then languidly took my time getting a coat on so that when I got outside to freeze it in a photo, the light was gone and the magic dissipated. Winter can make movers of the most reluctant of us.
Mercury goes into retrograde motion tomorrow, and is slated to be that way through January 18, 2023. My plan is to hunker down for the duration, keeping my head low and staying as quiet and low-key as possible in the hopes that the rascals of Mercurial motion pass by without much trouble or hassle. This is when meditation and a baseline of calm works to keep the rollercoaster ahead in somewhat manageable form. It’s also the time to be more accepting and forgiving of fall-outs, flip-outs, and wig-outs; my usual MO is to avoid all those outs anyway, but even the best of us can fall prey to such acting-outs at these perilous times.
Though the title of this post is all hellfire-and-brimstone/doom-and-gloom, I’ve actually learned to take these periods of uncertainty and tumult as times of learning and practicing flexibility. The tree that can never bend often ends up breaking. For far too many years, my Virgo nature wanted rigid structure and organization. It still does, and I’ve learned to appreciate that to an extent. I’ve also come to understand the importance of going with the flow and not being so tied to unreasonable constraints and order. Sometimes even reasonable boundaries need to be broken or eased. The older I get, the more amenable I am to these sorts of changes. Both meditation and therapy have helped in my acceptance and reconciliation of the largely imperfect nature of life. When Mercury slides into retrograde, and plans and routines get whacked and bumped out of alignment, I try to take it with a laugh and chuckle rather than an angry outburst or diatribe against some other entity that’s bothering me. Displaced aggression is never a good look on anyone.
For the next few weeks, let’s go a little easier on ourselves, be more forgiving and ready to laugh at our foibles, and enter the New Year with a lightness of heart that allows for minor disruptions to glance off our egos like drops of Mercury…
We have burned most of the month up, and our holiday season nears its close. I am ready for the shift, having never really gotten into the holiday spirit this year (though I came close a few times). A winter of mindfulness and meditation lays ahead, filled with baking comfort foods, nestling into heavy blankets, turning the pages of a book, and finding the subtle, sparse beauty of the season. Before we turn the page to January, however, we burn a little brighter, and a little hotter, as we round up the year in review, and close out this year with a ring or two of fire. Stay tuned…
Though I haven’t written about it as much lately, my meditation practice continues each day, lending me stability when life forces shift and the world sways and rocks in ways we didn’t think we’d ever feel. Life is entirely different than what we knew just three years ago, and it feels especially harsh in the winter, which has only just begun.
And so I lend light to the long nights with candles, finding calm in the deep, slow breathing. The practice of meditation has survived for centuries. It has lasted throughout all the winters, all the summers. I’ve only just started to find my way into its effects. Sometimes it feels like magic. Sometimes it feels like nothing. Always, it feels like I’m connecting to something.
Our family had a lovely Christmas Eve/Christmas Day gathering and dinner, and we are very thankful for that. It was a reminder of what really matters, as well as a comforting thought that we need not wait for Christmas to gather and break bread together. The holiday magic lent a special glow to the proceedings, however, as Christmas sometimes seems to do. Here are a few pictures of how it went.
Our family is anchored by Dad and our newest addition, Jaxon Layne. 92 years apart, they span three generations, and the rest of us are filling in the blanks in-between them.
Paul and Landrie felt like it was another baby shower for Jaxon – and as it was his first Christmas with us he got the bulk of presents.
Not that he noticed much – he was just happy to roll around on the play-mat and smile at all of us who passed by. May he continue honing such simple peace and pleasures.
Lola and Jaxon.
Generational cross-section.
Andy tried to steal Grinchie from Emi, whose caretaking left much to be desired, but we ultimately left him behind in her incapable hands. We’ll always have Hedgie…
This was Emi trying to repair Grinchie’s broken neck after she let him fall on the hardwood floor.
Noah had some hefty reading to do, and a new iPhone with which to text us. I told him he could ignore my texts like everybody else does at his own peril.
Father and son.
Father, son, and Godson.
Merry Christmas everybody! May your year be as blessed as ours has been, and may we all continue to have health and happiness.
Christmas morning began in crisp, brisk form, with clear blue skies and a stiff upper wind. Much of the snow had already been driven off by a bout of rain, and the dry cold air that’s currently pulling from the remaining snow cover. There was a clarity that only seems to come at Christmas, but I’ll watch for it on the days to come. Maybe I’ve only ben pricking my senses up on the special days when the magic is there for anyone who takes the time and care to notice.
I only made one quick turn around the edge of the pool, to reach one of the only spots of nearby greenery still green at this time of the year – the juniper bush. Prickly of texture, it’s one of those landscaping feature that wants nothing more than to be left alone, admired from afar, and given water only at the most drought-like stretches of deep summer – and even then it would likely turn its nose up at such efforts.
An austere visage of beauty for the beginning of winter, this juniper stretches high into the sky, having been planted well over a decade ago as something to lift the spirits at just such a point in the season. We have a wider stretch of junipers on the edge of the yard – more difficult to access with the snow, but maybe worth the little trek for a bouquet to ring in the New Year.
The day after Christmas is sometimes a bit of a let down, though I’ve never felt that way. This was always the day to start again – and it fell just as winter vacation got under way. So for those who don’t find the holidays as happy as we pretend them to be, this is the day to return happily to the grind, and as it’s a Monday, here’s a weekly recap – the last of the year.
“That Welsh rabbit was ginger peachy.” ~ Meet Me In St. Louis
Often referred to as ‘Welsh rabbit’ or ‘Welsh rarebit’, this is the famous appetizer mentioned in the holiday classic ‘Meet Me in St. Louis’ and I finally got around to making it. I used this Food Network recipe by Alton Brown, which seemed like a strong foundation upon which to begin. It’s quite simple if you have all the ingredients (I had to get a can of Guiness for the 1/2 cup of beer required, but all the rest was on hand.) It’s basically a deconstructed grilled cheese sandwich of sorts, a bit of a béchamel with beer and dijon mustard for some kick, and couple drops of hot sauce to liven it up. Personally, I found it a little bland, and if I ever do this one again (most likely for a lark at a dinner party) I will be sure to tinker around a bit to give it some additional oomph). Otherwise, served over a bed of toasted rye bread, this makes for a decent winter treat after a bout of shoveling or ice skating or skiing or fill-in-the-blank-with-another-winter-activity-in-which-I-will-not-be-participating.
Side-note: there is no meat, rabbit or otherwise, in this dish. Google the reasons how it got the nickname. I’m in a post-holiday spell of laziness.
Other side-note: When Andy came into the kitchen and surveyed the dish, he simply remarked, “Somebody threw up on a plate” then walked out.
Awakening to the cuts of rain upon roof and window, I groggily opened my eyes. The early hour was still dark, and in the air this haunting song played thanks to the radio I neglected to turn off the night before. It brought me back to the Christmases of my childhood, where this song played such a part in the church services of advent. No matter what else was going on, the hushed reverence paid to this melody struck through the space. This is what it felt like to be holy.
How strange that Christmas Eve should always feel like such a dark night. My memories of it are always surrounded by the thick veil of blackness at the edge – the way we would march into mass just as the sun was descending, and march out in complete darkness. Sometimes it was already dark out when we left for church, and even without all the Christmas lights on the houses, or perhaps because of them, the darkness felt more full, more endless, more… dramatic.
What light might there have been in that manger all those years ago? I don’t recall mention of a roaring fire, or even candlelight, only that it was cold, and they laid the baby in the straw because it was all they had. Desolation begets drama, and so the Christmas story of my childhood was told to me. Every year that story would be read to the congregation of St. Mary’s, and I remember sitting on the altar in my altar boy garb, twiddling my fingers beneath the cassock and eagerly anticipating the magic of the evening ahead. It was the one church service I didn’t mind attending, as the nativity beside us glowed with its own light, staving off the surrounding darkness, reminding me of where my head should be. Jesus – the reason for the season – or so said a religious instructor I once had. I laughed so hysterically at the saying that she couldn’t help but laugh too. She recognized the sense of silliness inherent in such a belief, and I recognized the seriousness of her faith – somewhere in the middle we met, and I didn’t get in trouble for disrupting the class.
Christmas Eve was the night we were supposed to pause and reflect on what the season truly meant, outside of the gift-giving and Santa showmanship. Personally, I got the lesson early and understood that it wasn’t about packages, boxes or bags – hell, anyone who paid attention to ‘The Grinch Who Stole Christmas’ knew Christmas meant a little bit more. Though that certainly didn’t mean I didn’t want the gifts and presents. Who wouldn’t?
We begged and sang for God to give rest to us merry gentlemen, and we went to bed barely able to contain our excitement or close our eyes. Restless beneath the bed covers, I still ended up falling asleep well before Santa ever arrived. My brother managed to stay up one year, sneak down to the landing of the stairs, and spied on my parents putting presents under the tree. I think I knew the secret by then, but didn’t let on. He was more vocal in his disbelief. Somehow, I didn’t want to break the spell. We were always different in just about every way.
We have arrived at the start of that special evening once again, and though it’s been a while since I’ve felt the magic I felt as a kid, remnants of it remain. Mysteries still unsolved linger in the songs here, hints of enchantments that smell of pine and cinnamon carry through the air, and hidden treats are tantalizingly hung in the upper echelon of unreachable Christmas tree boughs. Maybe the magic is in the mystery of it all, and holding onto that is how we hold onto Christmas. It’s so easy to break the spell in the harsh light of day – perhaps all this darkness is how the magic happens.
Having gone through all the motions, and donned all the holiday costumes, and felt the magic of friends and family come through, I still haven’t quite gotten in the Christmas spirit this year – and it’s ok. My basic nature is to intrinsically rebel against what everybody else is doing, even when it would be much easier to acquiesce – and at this time of the year, when so many are giddy with cheer and excitement, I just feel the tug of my heart pulling the other way. Looking back over the drama and down times that previous holiday seasons have produced (social media can relentlessly remind one of that) as well as blogs from Christmases past (search the archives for Decembers that came before), I see the pattern of the problematic push to force myself into a state of happiness that the rest of the world so effortlessly seems to attain. How could such a Grinch possibly hope to find redemption year after year after year? Why repeat such a self-defeating prophecy? Once that lesson is learned, what’s the point of slipping back just so you can better yourself come Christmastime? I’d rather be better going forward than revert to previous behavior in the hopes of accomplishing some sort of epiphany every single year. That’s simply not sustainable.
I’m getting in my head again, and I don’t mind putting it out there. Some people simply don’t find the joy in Christmas – so maybe this post is for them. In the same way that some of us don’t have children, or like Skittles, or have Netflix – we march to a different little drummer boy. The more you try to sell us on the Christmas spirit, the more we rebel against it. Sometimes when I see people enveloped in the season, going about in happier moods and shouting about holiday compassion, I want to ask why they don’t act like a fucking decent human being all the other days of the year. Jesus would surely want that shit to continue year-round.
But then I take a deep breath, and I get a little high (just kidding – I’m quoting some song, I swear…) the point is, I pause in my judgment and let the people have their fun, and their Christmas spirit. It doesn’t hurt anyone, like some hypocrisy can, and if people are happier at the darkest time of the year, all the better – just don’t expect me to join in the grinning idiotry.
While balancing my check-book (because I’m THAT old guy) I realized I have trouble seeing close-up just as much as I have trouble seeing at a distance, so I popped an extra pair of reading glasses on top of my prescription and it worked.
My vision has been substantially deteriorating at an ever-quicker rate. These last few months especially I’ve noticed a marked decline – so much so that I am going to put readers and eyeglass chains on my Amazon wish list so I have a pair for every room and every restaurant I frequent. It’s utterly ridiculous.
As for this double-decker of glasses, such is the point in life where I find myself: mostly unbothered, somewhat amused, and a little frightened of where this might be headed.
The longest night of the year is now behind us, which only brings us to the second-longest night of the year, and so the long tunnel of winter stretches forward, elongating and disappearing into seemingly-endless darkness. In some ways we are at the bottom of the year – the ground level from which we can only rise and find light. To make it more bearable, we shift to the spirit of hygge here, something that will last beyond Christmas and New Year’s Eve, filling this corner of the internet with cozy warmth and sparkling comfort.
A bouquet of fresh greens to remind of a spring and summer to come.
A collection of candles lending soft light and gentle warmth to a chilly space.
A fuzzy blanket, wrapped around the shoulders and brought room to room.
A stark and sparse expanse of a whitewashed room, stunning in simplicity and grace, small and infinite at once.
Little earthly delights that hint at the sparkle of other worlds, where meaning might be found in the breathtaking font of companionship, in the shared experience of something that could be called heartwarming. This is how we navigate the winter – a winter that’s only just begun, a winter that holds most of its darkness in the days ahead, when the light of Christmas fades, and the freshness of a New Year all too quickly dissipates.
Do not be fooled by a penchant for a pastel palette, Ziwe is a force not to be fucked with. Excelling at forcing the uncomfortable conversation, her variety series on Showtime features some of the best celebrity interviews happening right now. As described here, the show is, “A no-holds-barred mix of musical numbers, interviews, guest stars and sketches that challenge America’s discomfort with race, politics & other cultural issues.” It’s the reckoning we’ve needed for way too long. She earns her first Dazzler of the Day for her wonderfully wily way of getting substance and hilarity from her guests.
