a Charlie Brown Christmas

While not actually a Christmas carol, the music to Charles Schultz' 1965 television special is iconic to anyone who grew up in that era or any subsequent generation. Vince Guaraldi's score is perfect, and any cut from it - even the "non-Christmasy" music - instantly conjures up Christmas for me.

Capturing the Christmas Spirit can be tricky. Charlie & Co. are masterful at portraying this without being sticky or maudlin. The message of the show, of course, cannot be missed. We are celebrating much more than tinsel and lights in this season!

Here's "Christmas Time is Here" from the opening credits.


Today's the seventh day of Christmas!

Solstice

from this source

Did you see it? Last week, the full moon occurred on the Winter Solstice - and then, to top it off, it eclipsed. Like, totally. What an amazing confluence of cosmic events: it has not happened since the early 17th century, and it shan't happen again until 2094 - I don't intend to be around for that one! I do not necessarily believe that the things that happen in the sky influence my earth-bound behavior. However, I am a big fan of natural events and good timing, not to mention being a big fan of the Creator of such events.

I almost missed it - I thought it was going to be on the evening of the 21st, but (in this time zone) it happened at about 11:30 on the evening of the 20th. (I'm so glad I was paying attention!) It was raining on and off, so I was also unsure that anything would be visible in the heavens... but the sky cleared, and I ventured outside around 11:15. I wasn't sure where to look, so I just went out to the courtyard of my building - there are no great views of the sky there, but I didn't really know where the moon would be in the sky at that time. All I needed was to look up: there she was, directly over my head.

http://mantoos.com/science/winter-solstice

So beautiful. So strange.

Not long after totality was reached, the clouds returned and hid the moon. (I felt some relief to be going inside - my neck ached from tipping my head back so far!) My constant companion, my iPod, was with me as I watched bella luna... playing selections from the many versions of Windham Hill's Winter Solstice recordings. It is an Advent tradition for me to begin my Christmas music listening with these albums recordings. They relax and inspire meditation in me, and I play them often. So of course, I had the Windham Hill playlist going as I dashed outside into the cold. It was a perfect companion.

P.S. ~ it's the fourth day of Christmas!

the bleak midwinter

snowflake stars are cut from silvery origami paper

Today is the third day of Christmas. I seem to have spent the first two days (and, possibly, the day before that) dining exclusively on cookies. This behavior must stop ~ my body is craving vegetables, meat and milk at this point. Back to work now, that shouldn't be a problem.
This song is one of my very favorites to sing in Advent and Christmas. It is also one of the very favorites of the Bethany Quartet ~ and I sure missed singing this, and any Christmas music with them this year! The first time I ever heard In the Bleak Midwinter was in Julie Andrew's holiday special in 1987, hence the video link above. (Click on it, click on it! It's so good. Not only was Ms. Andrews the star, but her guests were Placido Domingo, the King's Singers and John Denver ~ certainly all-stars in my music library.)

There is nothing I do not love about this song:

In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
snow on snow.
In the bleak midwinter long, long ago.
Angels and archangels may have gathered there.
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air.
But his mother only, in her her maiden bliss,
worshiped the beloved with a kiss.

What then shall I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb.
If I were a wise man I would do my part.
Yet what I can, I give him: I will give my heart.

It's that last verse. As a person of little means (as far as this society is concerned), it gives me pause - and hope. Whenever I have a meager offering to bring, this verse runs through my head and I feel comfort. It is no small thing to give from the heart - in fact, it is the only gift that matters.

this flake, and those above, were "cut" with an iPhone app, "the Flake Factory"!

dust, to dust returning...

Almost didn't make it to the Ash Wednesday service. (It's always so hard to get anywhere by 7:00 on a work night.) I decided to grab an "after school snack" and then go, having dinner later. Though I probably missed the first half, I'm glad I went. The service was quite spare, and the songs simple.

Ubi caritas et amor, ubi caritas Deus ibi est.
(Where there is charity and love, God is there)

Come and fill our hearts with your peace; you alone, o Lord, are holy.

Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true. With thanksgiving, I'll be a living sanctuary for you.

The first was sung in English, but I love the Latin - probably because that is how I learned the song. The second is one of my very favorite (and well-used) meditative songs... it is best to sing it over and over and over again, until it sinks in deep and becomes part of my breathing and being. The third has not been a favorite of mine; it has a fairly modern, "pop"esqe tune. However, tonight the words were what carried me, and I went into a good place with those.

The silences were the most wonderful...

In the last, long period of silence all was still - until a distant train whistle broke the silence. It reminded me that we are not (as I tend to imagine on holy days) in ancient Christian times, walking in the dust that Jesus trod. No, we are in 21st century America, where trains whistles still blow, cell phones go off, and electronic gadgets remind us that we are late for church.

Even so. Lent comes to this wonderfully imperfect, American culture - as surely as it came to the English and Germans in the 1930's, slave traders in the 19th century, our founding patriots in the 18th century, to the Italians and French during the renaissance, and so on, through the ages.
It is so odd to see people walking around with an ashen "†" on their foreheads. These people with whom I share my experience - my family of friends, brothers and sisters in Christ - are all 21st century beings, too. And yet we carry the ancient symbol on our foreheads tonight. We are but dust and ashes, (carbon-based beings!) and to dust we shall return. What we celebrate is eternal - even in this modern time. And so we observe and celebrate Lent in our way, in this time.
I think this is the first time I've wrapped my brain around the idea that liturgy is not a reenactment of events that happened long ago. Though our traditions have their origins with Christ, through the timeless hand of God they stretch through the ages, morphing and evolving with the centuries, to meet us here, and they will greet us again in the future.

I'm still trying to figure out how I'll observe Lent this year. A while ago, I thought I might be giving up Facebook. I heard on NPR this morning that English priests asked their congregations to give up carbon emissions for at least one day of Lent, to relieve climate-change suffering for the poor around the globe. (A lofty goal! Imagine not using electricity/gasoline for even one day per week!) I might be working on this. I might keep you posted. ;o) Time will tell.

an Advent opportunity

It is an interesting thing to balance, this time between now and the end of the year. On one hand, there's Christmas. Joyful red and green celebrations, twinkling lights, peppermint and jingle bells; elegant, raucous, beautiful, silly music; pine boughs, wet streets and secretive errands to bustling stores ~ I love it all. On the other hand, there is Advent. Candlelight, reverence and preparation for the Child who was born to die for us all; solemn hymns, passionate purple, the spirit of discovery, wonder and unworthiness of it all ~ this, I also love.

In recent years, I have been so very concerned with keeping Advent, that I lost Christmas. I became such an Advent pharisee that the season became lost. A short excerpt from last December's blog:

I count myself among a small minority who prefers to honor Advent - in church, at least - by not rushing Christmas before it's time for that baby to be born. ...without Advent, how can one enjoy Christmas? I don't know. I just feel as if, by insisting on putting Advent first before Christmas in my personal celebration, in these past few years I've missed both and end up somewhat empty-handed and empty-hearted when Christmas comes around.

I'm not one to get caught up in the hype - in fact, I will run in the other direction if I see hype creeping in - so gross consumerism is not the issue here. A change of heart is in order, and shan't be too difficult. After all, I've been a Christmas Keeper from way back. I love this stuff, and I'm going to let myself have it!

Tonight I read a wonderful sermon by a Unitarian minister who goes by the name of Peace Bang in the blogosphere. She makes excellent points about what she calls the confusion of the season, and recommends we treat Advent/Christmas like the thanksgiving feast: "I think that if you want a juicy holiday season, you must rest like the turkey. A half an hour every day." A daily dose of Advent-Sabbath, if you will. So that is what I am going to do.

Starting tomorrow, December first, I am going to do one thing each day to celebrate and prepare for Christmas. It might be something big, it will probably be something small - but it will be my own personal Advent task: to find joy in this balance of preparation and celebration.

Georgia Ruth Biddall Quickert

... was born this day, 1906. My paternal grandmother, she was ferociously stubborn, ferociously proud and loved us all ... ferociously.
Here she is in 1979, with her first three great-grandchildren (there would be somewhere between 24-27 in all eventually - depending on how you count) at Dad's 50th birthday party. Jenny, on the left, was just 4 weeks old. Jennifer W., in the middle, was maybe 6 months old, and Aaron (standing) was 22 months old.

Yes, my cousin and I both named our daughters Jennifer. I can claim a lack of imagination, but deny vehemently any imitation.

I love, love, love the joyful, proud look on her face in this picture.
Happy birthday, Grandma!
love, Nancy.
I mean Kathie.
I mean KATHY.
xoxo

devotional

I swear, I was not looking for this, it just came to me as a gift.

Deep Peace

It is Thursday night. It has been a very long couple of days, and earlier this evening I described myself as feeling like an old dish rag, used up and wrung out. Battling with learning about computer functions, programming (?), upgrades. Doing battle with my bank. Getting really upset and angry with the bank situation - which equals, in my case, crying about it.

[Side note ~ I wish that I could get angry and upset and just - be angry and upset. The tears come, every time. And I feel weak and stupid for crying at a time when I feel I should be more powerful and focused. It is the time when I feel most like a "stupid girl" instead of an empowered woman. Half a century into this life, and I'm still doing the crying thing. Don't get me wrong: I think crying is a good and important thing to do. Just... not when one should be making a point, or standing up for one's self.]

Okay, so all wrung out. But by late afternoon, a few things changed. I did some baking. I got a call from T. to go have a coffee break, and we sat out on the sidewalk sipping our beverages and just talking about our feelings. I could feel the pressure just seep away... and I was looking forward to choir rehearsal tonight.

I love choir because I love to sing, and I still feel like I don't sing enough. I love choir because T. is there, and so many of my dear, dear friends are there, and I just love being with those people. I love choir because I come away feeling more centered than I did coming in.

Our anthem for Sunday is an acapella piece that T. wrote months ago, not knowing the circumstance under which it would ultimately be sung. He dedicated it to B., who is struggling with cancer and putting up a real tough fight. The words are a Gaelic blessing, arranged by John Rutter:

Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
Deep peace of Christ,
the light of the world to you.

I had a feeling about this particular choir practice. We had a death in our congregation last week, B.'s husband. It was sudden and jarring, and we are still trying to wrap our minds around the loss. Sweet B. is doing well - considering everything, remarkably well. She was there tonight, and we all got to sit and just be with her. Folks asked gentle questions about how she and the kids are doing, what sort of things she'd like for the memorial service... and we all just sat together like a family and loved her. It was a precious, sacred time.

When it was time to go, K. suggested a song. We sang "Breathe on Me, Breath of God", and it was... perfect. A beautiful ending to a sacred time.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with thee I will one will,
To do and to endure.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Till I am wholly thine,
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with thy fire divine.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
So shall I never die,
But live with thee the perfect life
Of thine eternity.