Holidailies: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.
Let your heart be light,
From now on our troubles
Will be out of sight.

It was the last day of classes before the holidays which meant that I would be dealing with low attendance, hyper kids and random frenzies. Not surprisingly, I am tired. Exhausted last night, I fell into bed without completing the myriad of things I had wanted to accomplish before I was supposed to be abed--small things like snacks for the kids who would bother to come to see me on "National Skip Day", bags to bring home the stuff that needed to come home with me for the holidays (hello 5 sweaters draped artistically across my computer chair), and cards for the teachers I hadnt written to yet, colleagues I wanted to appreciate with a small note and a wish.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on our troubles
Will be miles away.

The last one was most important to me. I feel like I lean quite heavily on the people around me to help to lift me up, to support me and keep me afloat. In a profession that is quite isolating, finding those pockets of people who will share a shoulder, give you a laugh and make you feel less robotic, means everything. And so, I brought my cards (blank ones that I felt the need to fill up) to school with me and decided to spend my free moment (ha!) making my appreciation visible.

Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore,
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.

I dont regret sloughing some things in order to create those moments of amazement for people and while I can never truly respond to the comments "Where do you find the time to do this??" or "I cant believe you spend so much time on this!" I think it will always be thus.

A bunch of first year, new to the community, cant afford to fly back home this Christmas, people (who might otherwise miss out on a Christmas dinner) are coming over on Sunday. I dont know if I have, as usual, committed myself to too much, but I will make it work. As they say something is better than nothing. Fellowship is so important to me and hosting a gathering to create that fellowship can only bring more Christmas into our home and for that chance, I am grateful.

Through the years
We all will be together
If the Fates allow,
Hang a shining star
On the highest bough,
And have yourself
A merry little Christmas now

And so it goes...

Holidailies: Let It Snow

Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Last week was the coldest week on record in Alberta. -50C (-72F for another frame of reference) is an unbearable kind of chill. It is the weather that exists only in polar regions and should never involve the words "work" or "on time" or "not so bad". And yet we slogged through--I went to work, I sent my kids to school (walking some days!) and almost everyone in my classes attended. It was dark when I came to work and it was dark again when I left. I suppose you could say I was surviving but only just barely.

It doesn't show signs of Pausing,
And I've bought some corn for popping,
The lights are turned way down low,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Survival is a coping mechanism, I think, that allows people the luxury of pretending that everything is Ok, that things have not frozen themselves into a state of inaction.

We have had some blackout periods in the last week--when it is so dark the night has no respite from the inkiness that spreads from horizon to horizon, it is a frightening thing.

On one night in particular, I was driving along when the power went out and suddenly my only frame of reference was the circle of light cast by my headlights. I felt alone, isolated, afraid and a little exhilarated. It was so novel to trust in the lay of the land, to notice the small nuances of the drive, the lines of headlights that stretched before me and behind me.

When the lights came back up I was disoriented, like rediscovering the truths of the world, the things that I hadn't noticed before coming up into the brightness of the artificial day. And I felt glad, suddenly, the fear of the moment fading away as the twinkle of the lights lit up my children and my home crackled to life once again.

The fire is slowly dying,
And, my dear, we're still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

And so it goes...

Holidailies: Let There Be Peace On Earth

Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be

In the year 1896, according to Alfred Nobel's will, the Nobel Peace Prize was established and stipulated that it be awarded to the person who:

“during the preceding year [...] shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses”

The 2009 Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to Barack Hussein Obama today in Oslo, Norway on the 113th anniversary of Alfred Nobel’s death. Much has passed from that day to this and we continue to value the idea of peace, especially at this time of year.

With God as our Father
Brothers all are we
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony

Christmas often heralds messages of goodwill and unity and serenity. What drives us apart are often the very things that will bring us together—desire for cooperation, importance of individuality, value for democracy; it is interesting to me that Obama’s acceptance speech, then, included many references to the fact that " instruments of war do have a role to play in preserving the peace."

Let peace begin with me
Let this be the moment now
WIth every step I take
Let this be my solemn vow

Can I accept this paradox “O brawling love, o loving hate?” that strengthens and justifies the actions of the few to benefit the many? Is this slender olive branch extended tenuously across the breach a way to say that our actions are sanctified and right? Do we have the right to say that what we fight for is any more or less worthy than those “whose names [we] tender as dearly as [our] own?” and shall we, after all, “be satisfied”? Words that lack conscience, perhaps, since, without explanation, our actions do not reflect our truths.

And our truths have been thus: we play games of blame, we are masters of feelings of convenience, we lack empathy, unless we bear the brunt of the pain, we teach our children, unwittingly perhaps, that our family matters more than other families, and that as long as we work hard, keep our heads down and don’t rock the boat, all will be well.

Ours is a world of sickness—ill in the hearts of men who cannot look beyond the four walls of our personal castles, our pie in the sky dreams, and our delusions of grandeur. We suffer from closing out communities and shunning our neighbours. We suffer because we do not the direction in which to heal.

Once a year we take a moment to honour those who fought in war so that we may live in selfish peace. What of those who fight on? What of those who die in selfless war? There are no answers to my questions, I think. I, too am guilty, as we all are in our materialistic narcissism, but perhaps on this day, where one man is heralded as a harbinger of peace, a poor player whose accomplishments are yet to be realized and whose brief hour is still strutting and fretting upon the world's stage, I await to hear this tale, full of sound and fury, and hope that it does not signify nothing.

To take each moment and live
each moment in peace eternally
Let there be peace on earth
and let it begin with me

And so it goes...

Holidailies: What Child Is This?

What child is this, who, laid to rest,
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?

There are no words to sugarcoat the pain, no tidings of joy this sad day. But perhaps tidings of comfort will rise on the winds of a nation grieving for the story of this small boy.

Two days lost in the woods, two days of anguish, a fraction of relief at his discovery, the heartbreak of his injuries, the mourning that begins.

These are small times that ope the floodgates of a nation; and when I heard, outside the snow began to fall lightly upon us—frozen tears to shroud the day.

Rest in peace, young James Delorey, may flights of angels sing you to your rest.

So bring him incense, gold, and myrrh,
Come, peasant, king, to own him.
the King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone him.

And so it goes…

Holidailies: Believe

Children sleeping
snow is softly falling.
Dreams are calling
like bells in the distance.

Last night I awoke to find my two year old nestled next to me under the covers. I didn’t have a glimmer of consciousness as to when he had appeared in our room, never mind what had woken him from his slumber and brought him here. When our children were small, we co-slept with them and everyone had a restful night’s sleep, even if there were moments of waking and drowsing back into the softness of sleep. Eventually we weaned them to their own beds and, these days, they remain there throughout most nights. Occasionally, we will hear their bedroom doors open, the soft shuffle of feet and then a small body snuggling under the covers.

We were dreamers not so long ago.
But one by one we all had to grow up.

I am glad, somewhat, that they have grown independent enough to find ways to soothe themselves with their nighttime waking. And yet, it sends small pangs of sadness that a certain phase of parenting is done for us. I don’t miss sleepless nights, walking the floor to find that magical position that would lull a tired and unhappy soul back into the cradle of sleep, but I do miss that feeling of connectedness to my children’s dreams.

When it seems the magic slipped away,
we find it all again on Christmas day...

Julia is on the cusp of not believing. She is often told by her callous classmates the “truth” about Santa Claus and the commercialism of Christmas that lends itself more to “I’m desperate for” than “I’m grateful for” sentiment. Yet, precocious as she is, kernels of her innocence remain and I push her to reconsider the words that she hears and consider instead the message that she feels in her heart. And, like the clear ting of the bells that herald the day, she tells me that she believes and I, well, I celebrate her dreams with her.

Believe in what your heart is saying,
hear the melody that's playing.
There's no time to waste,
there's so much to celebrate.

Believe in what you feel inside,
And give your dreams the wings to fly.
You have everything you need,
If you just believe.

And so it goes...

Holidailies: Here We Come A-Wassailing

Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a wand'ring,
So fair to be seen.

When the season began to get underway and we started to pull out the decorations and the tree, I was, admittedly, in a bad place. Grinchy, one might say. Things at were rough—students with high school drama that consumed their days and devoured restless nights; coworkers who were also filled with unthoughtful, unkind, abrasive high school drama; my own kids who lacked places to burn energy, people all around me who were tired and let down and angry.

The weather mirrored everyone around me—cold, fierce, miserable. The most unChristmassy mood pushed its way into me and I wasn’t immune from its callous hooks. I was angry, anxious, upset. How could I go on? I felt like I was up against a wall, trapped in a whirlwind of circumstances that were spiraling out of my control. I was hurting, crying. There was nothing giving about these days.

Love and joy come to you,
And to your wassail too,
And God bless you and send you a happy new year,
And God send you a happy new year.

And then. Some gifts. A smile of understanding, a note of support, a venting session, a laugh, and a song to uplift my heart. And, just like that, the lights began to look brighter, more festive; the tinsel shimmering rather than tacky, the bells caroling rather than clanging.

We are not daily beggars
Who beg from door to door,
But we are neighbor's children
Whom you have seen before.

A feisty undercover plan, a furtive pirate with giggles from far away days, and then, just like that, things were beautiful once again.

Today, an unexpected parcel from a friend thought forgotten. Breakfast from a coworker who thought I needed a pick-me-up. The kids in bed at a reasonable hour. All around me, there are small mercies that lift me from one day to the next and show me, in this season of giving, that love and joy will come, even in the darkest moments, if you are open to receiving.

Love and joy come to you,
And to your wassail too,
And God bless you and send you a happy new year,
And God send you a happy new year.

And so it goes...