fresh sweet air

It didn't call ahead.
It didn't ring the bell and wait politely at the door.
Instead, while I was out and about, a Christmas cold threw wide my door and marched in with overstuffed luggage looking like it plans to stay awhile.
It isn't a pleasant guest, the kind you wish could stay forever.
In fact it's pretty demanding, making me constantly rise to blow my nose and wash my hands;
Making me stagger to the kettle and contemplate my pillow longingly.
It talks too loud and stays up all night and leaves things strewn about.
I'm looking sadly at the calendar and pessimistically predicting departure dates.
Still, there's nothing like being sick to make you appreciate health.
Nothing like enforced rest to make you thankful for useful occupation.
My 2012 may go out with abit of a snivel, but the fresh, sweet air of the New Year is just around the corner.

Emmanuel

The following is taken from a piece called Emmanuel, by Frederick Buechner

Christmas is not just Mr. Pickwick dancing a reel with the old lady at Dingley Dell or Scrooge waking up the next morning a changed man.
It is not just the spirit of giving, abroad in the land with a white beard and reindeer.
It is not just the most famous birthday of them all and not just the annual reaffirmation of Peace on Earth that it is often reduced to so that people of many faiths or no faith can exchange Christmas cards without a qualm.
On the contrary, if you do not hear in the message of Christmas something that must strike some as blasphemy and others as sheer fantasy, the chances are you have not heard the message for what it is. Emmanuel is the message in a nutshell.
Emmanuel, which is Hebrew for "God with us."
That's where the problem lies.
The claim that Christianity makes for Christmas is that at a particular time and place "the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity" came to be with us himself.
When Quirinius was governor of Syria, in a town called Bethlehem, a child was born who, beyond the power of anyone to account for, was the high and lofty One made low and helpless.
The One whom none can look upon and live is delivered in a stable under the soft, indifferent gaze of cattle. The Father of all mercies puts himself at our mercy.
Year after year the ancient tale of what happened is told; raw, preposterous, holy, and year after year the world in some measure stops to listen.
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth. A dream as old as time. If it is true, it is the chief of all truths. If it is not true, it is of all truths the one that people would most have be true if they could make it so.
Maybe it is that longing....... that is at the bottom even of the whole vast Christmas industry, the tons of cards and presents and fancy food, the plastic figures kneeling on the floodlit lawns of poorly attended churches. The world speaks of holy things in the only language it knows, which is a worldly language.
Emmanuel.
We all must decide for ourselves whether it is true. Certainly the grounds on which to dismiss it are not hard to find.
Christmas is commercialism.
It is a pain in the neck.
It is sentimentality.
It is wishful thinking; The shepherds. The star. The three wise men.
Make believe.......
What keeps the wild hope of Christmas alive year after year in a world notorious for dashing all hopes is the haunting dream that the child who was born that day may yet be born again even in us.

words to live by

One year on Boxing Day.......
I went outside and flung a string of lights into the branches of our maple tree.
Better late than never, I thought to myself.
Are those words to live by?
I think so.

many ways

'Although it's been said, many times, many ways, Merry Christmas to you.'

clearly

Two mice, clearly married, discuss mozzarella, havarti, cheddar, swiss, and parmesan. There's nothing like shared interests to bring a couple closer.

bric a brac

The little goat girl and boy were gifts I made my grandmother back in the late eighties when the country look reigned. She lived in a tiny apartment by then, and likely the last thing she wanted was more bric a brac but she graciously accepted my gift for what it was, a token of love.

spreading out the joy

Most years, I wait until the evergreen is cinched into the tree stand and swathed in lights before I turn my thoughts towards decorating for the season. By then, December has settled in for its brief stay and there seems to be so much that calls for my attention. This year, I dusted a shelf and added a touch of Christmas in late November. Then, a few days later, I added some coloured balls on ribbon in my window. Nativities followed and then a mitten garland.
My house has an expectant holiday glow and there is still the tree to look forward to, to enjoy, to add.
We're spreading out the joy.