Christmas Eve

Silent Night – ND #17

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Stockings Hung With Care – Photo: L. Weikel

Silent Night

I’m feeling rather quiet at the moment. Lucky for me, due to the puppies needing to go out before bedding down for the evening, only moments ago I was standing underneath the night sky searching for stars. It was the Christmas Eve night sky, although technically it’s Christmas Day. And all I could comprehend in those moments was how silent the night was, which of course made me smile. Silent night.

As I stood outside tonight I could feel a similar magic to that of the Winter Solstice, which is as it should be, since there is a kinship between the two. Both celebrate the arrival (or return) of the Light, one literally and the other metaphorically.

Ah, Magic

I wish I could bring some magic to our circumstances right now. We need an infusion of light again. I’ve encountered so many people lately whose internal batteries are running low. And these are the people who are usually the buoys for others.

It’s never a good thing to have the optimists lose hope.

There is, of course, something to be said for the awe that can completely overtake our loss of hope when we look up. When we look up, our physical eyes can see the potential limitlessness of our existence. We realize there is so much more than the day-to-day worries that so often ensnare us. And even if we’re not sure what our next move is, when we look up (and especially when we can see the stars) it’s not hard to find the courage to trust the Universe to provide.

That’s magic.

Works of art from Mongolia – Photo: L. Weikel

The Next Few Days

Over the next few days, I’m going to be looking for the magic.  And even as I write that sentence, I have to smile. Just look at the photo of the stockings hung on our mantelpiece this evening. They’re from Mongolia. Handmade by a collective of young people learning to make a living through honoring the skills cultivated in their culture over millennia, it feels like a miracle that I bought them there myself.

Who am I to have been lucky enough to experience life – if ever so briefly – on the Mongolian steppe? And what a blessing is it to have these tangible and exquisitely crafted reminders hanging on our mantel?

That, too, is magic.

Wishes

I hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday, filled most importantly with love, warmth, connection, peace, and good health.

Don’t be afraid to look for the magic. And I’m saying this especially to those of you who are losing hope or finding yourself feeling sad or lonely. If you ask for some magic, it will come.

Believe.

(T+17)

Imperfections – Day 774

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Christmas Eve – Photo: L. Weikel

Imperfections

I’m sitting here listening to rain pelt against the dining room windows while a long, lonely gust of wind whistles through the keyhole of our front door. No need to worry about ‘closed building syndrome’ in this old house – and that’s just fine with me. I’m happy with the creaks and cracks of this home, the things some people might consider imperfections.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say I love the imperfections that make our house our home. Not all of them, of course. (Oh, for even a smidgen more kitchen counter space.) But overall? I honestly think it’s the imperfections that keep me sane.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in a house that was built in 1770. It was nothing like the houses of most of my friends. Our wooden floors were known to occasionally cast splinters as big as spears into my foot, piercing my socks and making me yelp (and causing my father to reach for the black gunky stuff that smelled like tar, that would supposedly ‘pull it out’ if it was embedded too deeply to dig out).

Christmas Eve 2020

I think many of us would agree that this Christmas in particular is filled with imperfections. Certainly, it’s far different than any Christmas most of us can recall. But I have to wonder. What will we remember most about this most abnormal of yuletides?

There are so many people enduring untold grief this Christmas. (And of course, I am using Christmas as a shorthand for all the holidays we may be celebrating at this time of year that celebrate the return of light, and encourages going within, hibernating, and reflection.) Nothing feels the same. And precious little is the same.

People are losing loved ones to the pandemic and other causes by the thousands – every single day. We’re being asked to sacrifice our traditions for the safety of ourselves and others. We’re wondering just how long this no-longer-fresh hell is going to last.

A Reminder

Karl and I were lucky enough to be able to spend a few hours with one of our sons and daughter-in-law. Because the weather is as unpredictable as it is, early this evening, it was balmy enough for us to safely sit outside in their enclosed porch and eat dinner together – occupying opposite ends of the long dinner table.

As we were driving home in the pouring rain that luckily mostly held off until we were leaving, the wind starting to whip around us, a couple of deer jumped out into the roadway in front of us. Luckily, I was driving slowly enough that I saw them well ahead of time. Turned out, though, that the three that popped onto the roadway before us were joining quite the cadre of peers on the other side of the road.

They were so beautiful and such an unexpected sight! I rolled down my window and took their photo, in spite of the raindrops splattering on my face. They were a lovely reminder of the gentleness we’re all wise to exercise with each other and ourselves over these holiday times.

I’m grateful we didn’t have an accident. And I loved the looks they seemed to give us as they stood there in the rain, returning our gaze. I realize this post probably makes little sense. But I wish all of you a peaceful, loving Christmas Day. May we all enjoy a day of respite from the insanity that has marked this year in particular.

And I’ll forgive myself for the vast imperfections of this post – not least being the fact that I just blew right through the witching hour of 1:00 a.m. (when it gets automatically sent out to my email list).

Merry Christmas. Happy Solstice. Let’s let the light shine into our hearts.

(T-337)

God Jul! – Day 408

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God Jul!

That’s Merry Christmas in Swedish. I lived in Sweden during my senior year in high school. Being an exchange student was probably one of the hardest things I ever accomplished, but also one of the most fundamental to shaping who I am today.

But I’m not actually interested in focusing on myself or that part of my life tonight. I’m only thinking in terms of a Scandinavian language because I’ve been contemplating jólabókaflód, an Icelandic tradition you may have read about.

Jólabókaflód

Our family flirted with this a couple years ago, but we didn’t ensure that all complied. To be honest, I was the worst about actually permitting myself to just sit and immerse myself in the written word.

We all got books for each other that year, but only some of us spent Christmas Eve (or any other part of the holiday) reading. Others of us were still preoccupied wrapping presents and providing some technical assistance to Santa in the stocking department.

I mentioned to Karl the possibility of us embracing this again this year, but it just didn’t happen.

Realizing the Pattern

If I’m honest, I’ve known for a long time that I rarely give myself the chance to “just” sit and read. Pretty much the only dedicated time I allow myself to read (I’m talking a novel or memoir or something else that takes me ‘elsewhere’ and isn’t a newspaper or magazine article) is after I’ve written my post for the evening and crawled into bed. And the duration of that engagement is often far too short for my taste.

While it’s extremely rare for me not to allow myself to read at least a full page before falling asleep, it’s equally true that I’m often hard pressed to wedge in many more pages than one because I fall asleep mid-sentence.

I’m delighted when I hit my stride in a book and find myself unable to put it down. Yeah, man – that is the best feeling ever: finding a book you can’t put down.

Breaking Out

So, I realize my pattern. And I’m going to make a concerted effort this year to break out of that rut. I want to read more. And I want to write more. It’s as simple as that.

And while Karl and I may not have succeeded in embodying or practicing the essence (or even the superficiality) of jólabókaflód this year, I’m sensing that we may delay its implementation this year until New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day instead. Just because we dropped the ball tonight does not mean we can’t pick it back up over the next several days and run with it.

I feel an aspiration coming on: 2020 may just be the year I do a deep dive into words.

My own personal (and perhaps enduring?) jólabókaflód.

Oh! And Merry Christmas, by the way! God Jul!

(T-703)

Christmas Eve Magic – Day Forty Three

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 4 Comments

Christmas Eve Magic

Karl, Maximus, Tiffany, Sage, Sarah and I took a moon and starlight walk earlier this evening. It was weird to have the luxury to engage in such an indulgence and enjoy the brilliant night sky. It brought back vivid memories of riding home in the back seat of my parents’ car after midnight mass on Christmas Eve, with my head leaning against the car window, staring up at the stars, yearning to see something magical streak across the sky.

I’ve always believed in magic. I might not see it very often, but I know it exists.

And not the magic that comes with top hats and card tricks. Real magic. The magic of magi, of wisdom, of the power of love.

Christmas Eve always reminds me of my mother. I miss her exquisitely on Christmas Eve, probably because, as a mother myself, I’ve realized through the years how much work it takes to coordinate ‘life’ to make magic real for our children.

And not in the manner that you might think. Not in making sure wished-for toys found their way under the tree or in the stockings.

Rather, in cultivating an attitude of wonder and possibility.

No one in my family ever definitively told me I was ridiculous to feel the magic of Christmas. And yet no one ever made a big show of pretending in order to foster the magic, either. I grew up with an attitude of possibility cultivated by my mother; an unspoken acknowledgement that if you rule out any hope of encountering the unexpected, you very well may make yourself blind to it.

I never want to be so sure of anything that I make myself blind to the possibility of magic.

And I have my mother to thank for that, as well as a dad and siblings who never felt compelled to douse the light in my eyes; the light that will always believe in and search for evidence of enchantment and hope, love and kindness.

May all of you keep searching for evidence of what you know is true in your hearts.

(T-1068)