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Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

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We left warm dry homes to venture out on a cold, wet night. We left willingly, joyfully; we left to sing “The Messiah.”

There are hundreds, maybe thousands of “Messiah” Sing Alongs held through the country — from the grandiose ones with full symphony orchestras to the most humble held in church basements and community centers.

Last night’s concert featured four soloists, a conductor and a crack organist who didn’t miss a note. The chorus was, well, us — people who’ve hung onto their old scores from the first time they sang the oratorio in college or choir. People who probably worked a full day and did no vocal exercises before arriving. The most enthusiastic and wondrous of choirs. 

We may not have hit every note — in “His Yoke Is Easy” it is doubtful whether I hit any right notes — but as we belted out “King of kings/Forever and ever/And Lord of lords/Forever and ever/Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” it didn’t matter one little bit.

The Creches

The Creches

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They came from Peru and Uganda and Poland and Germany. They were made of wood and porcelain, silver and stone. They were small and large, sweet and serious.

The creches I saw this morning after Mass were assembled for blessing. They were family heirlooms, souvenirs of travel, some a little battered around the edges.

The nativity scene I grew up with is in no shape to photograph. It’s battered and chipped and its little cardboard stable would be in the trash if I didn’t own it.  But it figures into my earliest Christmas memories and is precious for that reason.

This is a new creche, a little ornament I bought today. I’m giving it to Claire for her first Christmas tree. I hope it will work its way into some memories, too.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

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The candy is hidden so there will be some left for tonight. There’s a plump pumpkin for carving. And the yard is covered in crisp brown leaves.

I took this photograph at a pumpkin patch Suzanne and I visited three years ago. I remember even then the preciousness of time with her. (Peace Corps was already in her plans.) The preciousness of that time, telescoped as it was then, and especially as it is now during her leave, is just a compressed version of all the precious times we spend with those we love.

The ripe fruits of autumn remind me how important it is to store up those times. Store them up as a plant does, capturing sunlight, soil and rain.

 

Decoration Inflation

Decoration Inflation

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It used to be a pumpkin beside the door. But the ante has been raised and now more houses than not feature dangling skeletons, inflatable jack-o-lanterns or witches that have flown — splat! — into trees. Some neighbors string orange lights or garland their mail boxes with autumn swag.

I enjoy these tokens of the season — because they’re fun and they add variety and texture to life — but I bristle at decoration inflation, at a decorating season that stretches from October 1 through mid January.

So I’ve established a modest compromise. A few fall tokens (all of them souvenirs of when the girls were young), an autumn wreath and, come mid-December, colored lights around the door and on the front bushes. It’s decoration without inflation.


(Claire made these tombstones from paper and croquet wickets when she was in fourth grade. )

All That Glimmers

All That Glimmers

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I stepped outside last night right after dark to catch a glimpse of Lexington’s fireworks. A neighbor told me he had viewed the display from the backyard of a house three doors down, so I figured there was a chance.

At first I saw only smoke, evidence of local fire crackers and bottle rockets. But from time to time I’d hear the deep boom of the real thing. And then I spotted the colors, the reds and greens barely visible through the trees. Light forms pulsing up and out.

It was a cool evening and fireflies were winking ever upward in the sky. There were more than I see at home, more than I’d seen any other night this year. Their glimmers mixed with the manufactured ones in the sky. The effect was of a fairy land of dancing light. It was a mutual rejoicing, of earth and of all the creatures on earth.

It wasn’t what I saw later on television, the spectacular fireworks from the nation’s capital (pictured above) that I watched last year from across the river. Last night’s light show was too ephemeral to be photographed. It was a moment of holding my breath. It was a moment of wonder.

Ale & Cobblestones: An Alternative 4th

Ale & Cobblestones: An Alternative 4th

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Sometimes I’m glad it’s a holiday because I want to celebrate the holiday. Other times I’m glad it’s a holiday because I need a day off.  The lack of patriotic imagery at the top of the page will explain how I feel about today.

Actually, I’ve been laughing this morning over something I heard on the radio driving to Kentucky yesterday. It’s about an ad campaign for Newcastle Brown Ale, imagining if Britain had won the war.

“Coast-to-coast cobblestones, shoe shines on every corner, all the fish head pie you can eat. And at the end of the day you’d kick back and surf through all five of our government-run television stations.”

That’s dialogue from one of the spots. Other advantages of “Great Britain 2”: Lovely accents, free health care (if you don’t mind waiting a couple of years for an appointment) and colorful curse words.

The ads are hilarious. But don’t take my word for it. Listen for yourself. And dream about driving on the left, eating mushy peas and having tea and scones every afternoon.

Happy 4th!

After Love

After Love

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In memory of the poet Maxine Kumin, who died eight days ago, and of St. Valentine’s Day:

After Love

Afterward, the compromise.
Bodies resume their boundaries.
 
These legs, for instance, mine.
Your arms take you back in.
 
Spoons of our fingers, lips
admit their ownership.
 
The bedding yawns, a door
blows aimlessly ajar
 
and overhead, a plane
singsongs coming down.
 
Nothing is changed, except
there was a moment when
 
the wolf, the mongering wolf
who stands outside the self
 
lay lightly down, and slept.

Maxine Kumin, “After Love” from Selected Poems, 1960-1990. Copyright © 1970 by Maxine Kumin.

Radiant Way

Radiant Way

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For me it’s a return to work after two weeks off — a good day to celebrate the Epiphany, a feast that marks revelation, the manifestation of the divine and, in the words of James Joyce (courtesy of the Writer’s Almanac), the “sudden ‘revelation of the whatness of a thing,’ the moment when ‘the soul of the commonest object … seems to us radiant.'”

The workaday world sorely needs some radiance, some shining representation of its meaning and purpose.

So today, on my return, I will look for it.

Begin Again

Begin Again

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Twelve hours into the new year and it still feels like early morning. One late-night reveler in my family just returned from her evening out. Another sent a text at 3:02 a.m., as if she was ringing in 2014 in California — only she was 20 miles away.

I caught up with our oldest daughter at midnight her time, 6 p.m. here. She was celebrating with fellow Peace Corps volunteers at a work station in northern Benin.

As for me, I woke up unsure whether I was in Virginia or Kentucky.

Disorientation: It’s good for the soul. And not a bad way to begin again.

Fast Away

Fast Away

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As the old year passes, I take to the road. No time yet to mull over 2013. That will happen today, when I’m driving.

Meanwhile, a photo I snapped yesterday — sleeping vines, dried tendrils. Not unlike the palm of a hand or the expanse of a road map. Crinkled, worn, main arteries obvious now that leaves have gone.

Here at the cusp of a new year, it’s not hard to see where I’m going, where I’ve been.