Celebrating Epiphany

Celebrating Epiphany

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It’s a day in need of rescue, so that it isn’t buried at the bottom of an ornament box as we strip the tree and take it down. Or, since 2021, to separate it from the taint of the Capitol insurrection. 

In western Christianity, the Epiphany celebrates the visit of the magi to the infant Jesus. It marks the presentation of Jesus to the Gentiles, the revelation of his divine identity. It has also come to mean a sudden intuition, an aha moment. 

I’ve always appreciated this day, because it ends Christmas with a bang not a whimper, with a quest, a star and a sense of wonder. Despite the rich robes of the three kings, it has always reminded me that inspiration doesn’t lie in the grand occasions of life but can be folded into the lowliest of enterprises: sweeping the floor, raking the leaves, feeding the birds. 

We don’t know when the aha moment will strike, only that it will — if we pay attention. 

(The Adoration of the Magi, Edward Burne-Jones, courtesy Wikipedia)

 

Once More to the Breach

Once More to the Breach

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There is something both unsettling and gratifying about charging into a project that you’ve left idle for a month. Never mind the explanations for your idleness — a research paper due, the holidays to prepare for — the work itself has been left behind, and it lets you in on its annoyance. 

Surely nothing else can account for the way a once-admirable essay shrinks in power and perceptiveness. Nothing else explains the inelegant phrasing, the lack of insight.

And yet … with the power of time and distance, suddenly there is potential again, too. A new overview, perhaps even a revised table of contents. It’s a good way to enter the new year, with rolled-up sleeves. 

Strange But True

Strange But True

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It’s been in the 60s these past few days, a welcome blast of warmth that almost makes up for late December’s frigid temperatures. But it’s also a little strange, as unseasonable weather tends to be. 

The holly berries look out of place in this balmy air, as do the Christmas lights still decorating houses up and down the street. 

This time last year an unexpectedly heavy snow blanketed the region, shut down Interstate 95 and left motorists stranded overnight in their cars. Today, it’s hard to imagine that. 

But this is weather in the age of climate change. 

(A photo from last year’s snow storm.)

Up in the Air

Up in the Air

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The crane seems like a stunt double from The War of the Worlds, a 100-plus-foot behemoth that takes up most of our suburban lane. It was brought in as reinforcement when two men and a chainsaw were unable to complete the removal of dead limbs from a lopsided oak last week. 

In a move that has gotten our carbon footprint off to a bad start for the new year, I’m afraid, the crane and two other large vehicles pulled up to the house early this morning. After 30 minutes of waiting for the crew to assemble, the real show began, duly recorded for two-year-old Isaiah. 

First, the crane operator slowly raised the contraption’s arm, extending it high before swinging it over the neighbor’s house to reach the troublesome tree. Next, in an act of derring-do seldom seen outside a circus, one of the guys who had been calmly putting on gear was hoisted up into the air. 

He hung suspended for what seemed like hours but was only a minute or two before reaching the tree, chainsaw swinging from his belt. A few minutes later, he was joined by another acrobat. Together they’ve been slicing the deadwood away from this (knock on wood) still-viable oak.

I write this post from the basement, the only sensible place to be. I can hear the grinder machine whirring. Most of the branches are down, I think. The show is almost over. 

(I generally prefer horizontal shots, but this post cried out for a vertical.)

Tropical D.C.

Tropical D.C.

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Most people who live in or near Washington, D.C., avoid humidity whenever possible, knowing that in time it will find them. After all, the District was built on a swamp, and it  has the miasmic air to prove it. 

This usually appears in the summer, however. Winters tend to be bright, dry and clear. They’re the only time when you might actually seek a steamy environment. 

Which is what we did yesterday, strolling through the tropical plant display in the U.S. Botanical Gardens. There were banana trees, palm fronds, poinsettias in their (semi) natural state. There was air so thick you practically had to push it aside, a heavy curtain on a breezeless August afternoon. 

On frigid winter days, the place is  a welcome antidote, but yesterday it was 60 degrees outside and the tropics were … a  little too close for comfort. 

2023!

2023!

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The new year padded in on little cat feet, like the fog in Sandburg’s poem. It swirled in with the firework smoke that clouded my view of the Christmas lights extravaganza behind us. 

It rang in on the Westminster chimes of the mantel clock, working again for the first time in decades. 

And now, almost nine hours into 2023, we’re having a peach of a morning, sun-softened, bright with promise. 

Happy New Year!

Worth It

Worth It

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What a people-filled holiday season it’s been, visiting with family from near and far. After the presents are opened, the leftovers consumed and the last dishes washed and put away, it’s the people memories that linger longest. 

The gift that hit the mark, when you weren’t sure it would. The hugs we finally don’t feel guilty exchanging. The long conversations over breakfast, the long walks, too. 

At the beginning of every holiday season I experience a sort of inward groan as I look at the long list of to-dos.  But by this time every year I’m always glad I made the effort. Because behind all the cleaning and cooking, the getting and spending, there’s just one motive: to share the season with the ones I love. 

City Walks

City Walks

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We still have a few days, but New Year’s resolutions are beginning to coalesce. Or at least one of them is. 

Yesterday, I drove Celia and Matt into D.C. to save them a Metro trip. I was surprised by how excited I was to see the city spread out  beyond the river, first the Washington Monument swinging into focus and, a second or two later, the Capitol behind it. 

It was chilly enough to feel like winter but without the biting cold of recent days. Sidewalks were clogged with holiday visitors. There was a celebratory feeling in the air. 

I found a convenient spot to pull over and drop them off, and even more remarkably, was able to make a (perhaps illegal) U-turn at 12th to head home. But I couldn’t help looking for parking places on Constitution on the return trip. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk in the city instead of the suburbs? 

I didn’t do it yesterday, but a new year beckons. It’s only a matter of time. 

Stars in the Darkness

Stars in the Darkness

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“To take a walk at night in a city that has settled into silence and a darkness that has become far too rare is to return to something precious, something lost for so long you’ve forgotten to miss it.”

— Margaret Renkl, Graceland, at Last

Thus does Renkl describe the days after tornadoes ripped through Nashville in March 2020, bringing the city, already Covid-bound, to its knees.

Or did it? It was a lovely, early spring that year, as it was here, gentle and rainy, and neighborliness was flourishing along with the flowers. People lingered outside because there was only darkness to go home to — and they could look up and see the stars.

But then the power company arrived, and life was back to normal. It was something to celebrate, but I picked up on a gentle melancholy in Renkl’s description. There is something to be said for stepping out of the routine, as long as you don’t step too far. Because once the lights came on … the stars went out.

(Photo: Wikipedia)

Preserving the Cheer

Preserving the Cheer

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I just watered the Christmas tree, able to reach the stand now that gifts are opened. At this point a few needles are beginning to litter the red felt skirt, but the tree has at least another week to grace the living room.

When I worked full-time, the week between Christmas and New Years Day was all about relaxation. It still is, but now the focus is more on preserving the holiday spirit as long as possible — not always easy in a December 25th-centric world.

So we watched “Elf” last night and are still nibbling on sugared star and candy-cane cookies. The egg nog is flowing freely and stockings (mostly empty) hang from the mantel.

It’s not December 20th … but it’s not January 2nd, either.

(A poinsettia catches the morning light.)