In many ways it’s been a typical holiday season: decadent food, festive gatherings, cozy nights. Friend Mary and I took in our town’s new Christkindl Market and it didn’t disappoint. Although it’s only a sliver of the size of Christkindl Market on Daley Plaza in Chicago, the folksy wares, yummy food, and–of course–gluhwein were spot on. I attended my grandchildren’s Christmas program and offered a kids’ craft table at our parish’s annual celebration of the Feast of St. Andrew. Of course the house is merry and bright with holiday cheer and I’m actually baking this year, something I haven’t done in nearly a decade. My best gift came early: a one-year-old kitty named Dory.
Not that I live a greeting card kind of life by any means. I spent Thanksgiving cooking for one and will for Christmas, as well. I miss my mom every. single. day. Distance–some geographical, some relational–separates me from much-loved family. Grief over the loss of my marriage has become an almost comfortable companion. And the worry of aging alone keeps me up at night now and then.
I read recently about the idea of glimmers. Triggers, off course, have become part of our modern vernacular. We understand that some experiences stir up feelings associated with past trauma, often moving us back into our fight-flight-freeze responses. Glimmers, on the other hand, are those cues which remind us of feelings of safety and calm. So that gluhwein? The Christmas pageant? Baking cookies? All glimmers taking my nervous system back to a time when life was less complicated, more certain.
Last night I watched Patrick Stewart’s A Christmas Carol and was reminded, once again, that we have some agency in what manifests in our lives. When Scrooge attends Fezziwig’s Christmas party with the Ghost of Christmas Past, Scrooge hears his mentor say to his younger self, “Ebineezer, when happiness shows up, always give it a comfortable seat.” Simply put, we are more than our suffering. I have come to recognize the many glimmers that lighten my day–if only I open the door, pull out a chair, and invite happiness to take a seat.
Of course it should come as no surprise that some of my most satisfying glimmers come as I read. In fact, I’ve got a nice little TBR pile waiting for Christmas week reading. Friend Denice lent me Thanksgiving by Ellen Cooney and it will become a yearly read for me, as it is for her–although I’ve got to get my hands on a copy. The story begins with a young married woman in seventeenth century New England named Patience. Her husband’s actions while hunting for a turkey set in motion the stories of succeeding generations, finally ending in this century. Each chapter is named after an element of the Thanksgiving table (dishware, tablecloth, pie, turkey) and centers on one woman in the family: her challenges and trials, her hopes and dreams. But it is just as much the house’s story as it is the women’s, and we are brought along as it is updated and added on to, as land is sold off and people move in and out of the family and the house. When compared to my own experience–many houses, distant family–the novel has the sweet taste of a fairy tale.
This holiday day season can be a tough time, no doubt about it. But whatever weighs us down lightens when we recognize the glimmers that show up. And when they do, grab Happiness by the hand, show her your most comfortable seat, and ask her to sit and stay for a spell.
This is my symphony 