2 DAYS AFTER . . .

Did you clean up the living room yet? Andy Rooney says it's a good idea not to clean up too soon . . . that "mess" is part of the precious holiday memory.

Have you finished the Christmas turkey/ham/chicken/standing rib/tofu? What did you do with the leftovers, anything special? We used to slice leftover turkey and put it on bread with slices of cheese on top, then baked or broiled (memory lapse here) until the turkey was hot and the cheese melted. These might have been done in the electric skillet. (Nowadays it's the panini press.)

Recycling? Papers, boxes, plastics (we recycle #1 and #2 plastics), cans, bottles.


The previous year's Christmas cards became part of the kids' crafts.

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My Minneapolis daughter is visiting this week. We have a relaxed schedule. She visited with her brother's family on Christmas Day.

Tomorrow my Ohio daughter comes for lunch and chat.

We heard from the Arizona kid on Christmas Eve.

I played the organ on Christmas Day at the church. Next gig is Sunday the 30th, "Festival of Lessons and Carols."

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Before you know it, we'll be wishing each other a Happy New Year--celebrating the arrival of 2019. The year will be two days old when I visit with you next. In the meantime, you can be thinking up a good word for the coming year. I have one in mind already.

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When you get tired of recycled turkey etc., try out a new eating place in your neighborhood. Or, trade leftovers with another family. Or go on a fast. (That one doesn't appeal to me much.)

Wherever you are, God bless you abundantly in the coming days and months.

COUNTING DOWN
5...4...3...2...1!

Counting today, there are five (5) days left before Christmas Day.

Are you at "Yikes!" yet?

At my house it's a time of Post-It Note reminders and checklists.

--Veggie trays made and delivered? ✅

--Cards and letters mailed? ✅

--Gifts purchased or made? ✅

--Gifts wrapped? (hmm, move on to next item)

--House ready for company? (not yet)

--Food purchased for company visit? (working on it)

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So what have I been doing, you ask?

There's music to locate and then practice for the next three services I'll play.

A close friend who now lives in Florida is "home for the holidays" to visit her family; we had lunch together yesterday and an intense but satisfying catching-up session.

There are bills to pay during this week of the month. That's if they're going to be on time.

I've cut a few more blanket and pillow case kits for my Heart & Hands group to sew this week; this will be our final meeting until the new year.

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Somehow--maybe there really are elves who come in and do their thing while I sleep--anyway, somehow, it all gets done in time for whatever is happening next.

At the end of these five days, we can rejoice with Linus and Charlie Brown and the gang, and remember what Christmas is all about.

A blessed Christmas to you from Thursday's Child!

THE MYTHS OF CHRISTMAS

First, a definition:

Myth—any real or fictional story, recurring theme, or character type that appeals to the consciousness of a people by embodying its cultural ideals or by giving expression to deep, commonly felt emotions.

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Do you remember when you were told there was no Santa Claus? That's right--no jolly fat man in a big red suit, with a long white beard, who rode through the sky in a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer? No sudden appearance down the chimney to bring lots and lots of toys and gifts to good little girls and boys?

Some people recall this exploded myth with sadness--they feel they lost the mystery and magic of a generous saint.

Other folks, decades later, still cling to the anger they felt--they'd been lied to, betrayed, led to believe one thing, then the rug was whipped out from under them; they lost faith in those who had told them the story in the first place and then whisked it away.

You might like to search for the letter written to The New York Sun in 1897, in which a little girl named Virginia O'Hanlon asked the editor if there really was a Santa Claus. Just type in yes virginia there is a santa claus.

We all have myths and stories we've enjoyed, needed, and even, perhaps, still cling to.

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Another one was dramatized for me when I taught freshman composition. We were nearing the end of the first semester, heading into December. We'd read an essay appropriate for the holidays soon to be celebrated.

My class of 22 included students ages 18 to over 50. Not quite a bell curve, there being more in the 18-28 age range. But one woman was 50-something; she saw the world through a different lens. I anticipated a lively discussion.

The Christmas Eve activities shared by most students included school plays and concerts,  church pageants, family trips to visit grandparents. Pretty much a broad spectrum of what scholars call The Golden Age--that time that "always was, and never is." We recall the good things, we relate to the happy times from movies or television programs. We lump our childhood Christmases together and declare we "always had a happy Christmas time."

My next question to the class was, "What are you going to do this Christmas Eve?"

"Go to church." 
"Go to a party." 
"Open presents." 
"Have a big family dinner."

Then my 50-something student spoke up. She wouldn't be celebrating, not because she wasn't religious or had anything against Christmas. She was unmarried. Had no children or other relatives. She found Christmas Eve the loneliest time of the year. 

The room grew suddenly, unexpectedly, silent. 

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For most of the younger students, it was like learning Santa Claus was just a fun kids' story.

Christmas Eve was supposed to be a magical time. Presents under the tree! Big dinner with lots of food and wine! Lights and noise and action, the bigger the better!

This woman, twice their age, had injected Reality--a different kind of reality--into their world. Having no children or other family, her friends couldn't relate to her situation. And she couldn't relate to the magic and hoop-la described by the younger students.

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I'm not against myths. As an art form, the myth often expresses or illustrates truth. 

Santa Claus represents all that is good and generous. He is, in popular culture, St. Nicholas, a bishop of the church, who actually existed. Here is a portion of what is written about the good saint on the website franciscanmedia.org:

Perhaps the best-known story about Nicholas concerns his charity toward a poor man who was unable to provide dowries for his three daughters of marriageable age. Rather than see them forced into prostitution, Nicholas secretly tossed a bag of gold through the poor man’s window on three separate occasions, thus enabling the daughters to be married. Over the centuries, this particular legend evolved into the custom of gift-giving on the saint’s feast. In the English-speaking countries, Saint Nicholas became, by a twist of the tongue, Santa Claus—further expanding the example of generosity portrayed by this holy bishop.

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The myth of a universally happy Christmas Eve is not bad, or destructive. It may be the only light in a dark existence. (You might want to reread, or watch, Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol for reference.) 

Myth points to truth. Hang onto that.

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And one happy ending to the Santa Claus story is told by my friend Jan. When she learned Santa Claus wasn't real, she was extremely hurt. Her dad told her, "Santa Claus lives, in the hearts of little children everywhere."

Saint Nicholas

HERE WE GO!



Part of the winter scene--in days gone by and still today--was and is sledding. 

Somehow that snowy activity never caught on with me. It wasn't the cold--I had snowsuits, mittens, boots, the whole kit, enough to keep me warm for at least a half-hour of fun.

Fun? Not for me. Did you know that the only way you can race downhill on a sled is first to walk up the hill pulling the sled? Of course you did. And once there, you hopped on the sled, pushed off, and zipped down faster than a speeding bullet, to the bottom. Thrill? Of course it's a thrill. Until you have to haul the sled up the hill again. The fourth or fifth time, unless you're super-energetic, is when sledding became no-fun-at-all for me.

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The reason I bring up sledding is to make it an analogy for this time of preparation for the holidays.

When I taught freshman composition, we had to learn the difference between metaphor and analogy. Metaphor is simple: A=B. Analogy is about process: Process A is like Process B.

Today: Preparing for the Holidays is like Sledding.

Things go along smoothly for a time as we're going faster and faster downhill. Then we hit a bump. (You name it--flu, unexpected expense for the house/car/kids, order didn't arrive, unexpected visitors did arrive . . . .)

Finally we get to the bottom of that particular hill. Then it's up the hill again, for another run. And another. And still another.

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My downhill progress was halted until the new flooring was installed, furniture has been restored to its rightful place in the living and dining rooms, some chairs donned new vinyl tips to prevent their scuffing the new floors . . . whereupon life began revving up again to its recognizable downhill pace.

Yesterday's list included sewing Christmas gifts--checked off a couple of items there.

The festive season is also a time of preparing and delivering veggie trays or brownies & tangerines--made a good start there. Some will be delivered this week, some next week.

Christmas cards are scattered on the desk waiting for addresses and stamps, and in some, there will be notes to write. (Had to buy new cards this year--the old ones went off and hid somewhere. They also took with them the Christmas stamps I like to use. Note: Add stamps to tomorrow's shopping list.)

Most days you'll find me with my head in a tote stuffed with Advent music. And after that, it'll be music for Christmas Day and the following Sunday's Lessons & Carols.

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Yes, it's all happening, day by day, hour by hour. My challenge is to keep focused on one project long enough to get it finished. For us list makers, there's nothing so exciting as crossing off a completed task. There may be 99 more tasks to be done, but the one that's over and done with signals a moment of celebration.

One great big plus for this season--there's no time to get bored or wonder what to do!


Each day brings more hours to give to food prep or note writing or gift wrapping or music practice . . . .

I'm not crazy about the hectic pace. Downhill speed isn't my style.  Super-saturated lists don't make me smile. Discovering I'm out of gift bags/wrapping paper/ribbons and bows doesn't quite make it to the panic stage, but I'd rather have things to hand. (Another bunch of stuff to add to the shopping list.)

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Back in the '60s we urged everyone to "stop and smell the roses," just in case they were too busy to enjoy life.

Over the years I've taken time to enjoy a great many things in my life. Today I give thanks for my youngest daughter, whose birthday it is. We'll visit by phone later in the afternoon and compare my weather in Indiana with her weather in Minnesota. We'll catch up on what's happening in our lives. 

I am grateful for family and for friends, for weather that hasn't become too difficult (yet), for people to give gifts to, and for time and energy to make many of my gifts.

Most of all, may I stop my sled's downhill race and appreciate this season--Advent into Christmas--for what it means.

May all your sledding be free of rocks and bumps, and the trip back up the hill easy.