Dec 24, 2023·edited Dec 24, 2023Liked by Holly Huitt, Carmen Radley
Light in the darkness . . . when I read this prompt, I immediately thought of my daughter Anjelica's darkest days at Memorial Sloan Kettering. A very bright ray of light showed up at the door to her room one day in the form of a large, rotund Dominican Friar named Father John. I had reached out to the chaplaincy to see if there were any priests that could come by and pray with Anjelica. Father John was a priest and more; in just a short few weeks he became a dear friend and the best light that could have shown on my daughter. Anjelica loved the Grateful Dead and went to many of their concerts. In a prior life, Father John was a music lover himself, a disc jockey and radio personality. He said over the course of his life he attended no less than 30 Grateful Dead concerts! We were tickled. Anjelica actually giggled and her eyes lit up. Even better, Father John loved a good beer (Anjelica was a craft beer brewer), and personally knew Oteil Burbridge, the bass guitarist for Dead & Co. The highlight of Father John's visits was one day he showed up with his iPhone and asked Anjelica if she wanted to Facetime with Oteil. I wept as Anjelica opened her eyes wide, sat up in bed and smiled so big and so beautifully. She tried her best to have a conversation with Oteil, waving her hands around in an animated fashion, excitedly chatting away. The very best part of all of this is that Anjelica, who was constantly terrified because she was dying and knew it, opened her heart to Father John and allowed all his shining light, laughter, spiritual wisdom and guidance comfort her during those last darkest days. Thank you, Father John, for having been such a bright light for us in such a time of deep darkness.
My adult children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, all live far away from where I now live in a very rural area of Montana. The winters are beautiful, but long, and travel can be very difficult and even risky since the airport to anywhere is only accessible by driving through what is sometimes a very snowy and icy canyon. We even have a Facebook page to check in on how the road is before setting out. So this Christmas has found me more nostalgic than usual, and I feel somewhat forlorn. But the light for me has been that since moving to this small town, I've made many friends. We've been to a Hanukkah dinner and a Christmas party. We'll be attending a Christmas Eve service this afternoon at a tiny 100 year old Episcopal church and then going to another neighbor's for a really fun game. Tomorrow we'll rise and have our traditional cinnamon roll and bacon breakfast and then later, with a fire in the fireplace and the lights lit on the tree, four wonderful friends will be joining us for Christmas dinner. Oh...and did I tell you it snowed yesterday? We have a white Christmas after all. If there's one thing I've learned and read about here, we are all learning that both feelings can exist at the same time...sadness and joy. And the lights of a Christmas tree against the darkness of night or early morning can lift our spirits and give us hope...even when things aren't perfect.
Suleika and Hollen, you are both speaking to my core. I once spent a Christmas, all alone. My then husband was living with his girlfriend, I had the flu and my family left me a bag of groceries at my door, the Christmas tree I had purchased for nine dollars had dropped most of the needles and I sobbed to a point that bypassed any sadness I had felt before. Then, I decided (this is before cable) to turn on PBS. Anne of Green Gables was on. I watched all night, cried, laughed, escaped and let the story take me away. Anne was my light in the dark and the memory of that Christmas, stays with me as a reminder to look for light when in the darkness.
After our final concert in the old part of Jerusalem, held in the lovely courtyard of an old church, we stood on a street corner waiting for our bus to carry us back to Ramallah, Palestine. This was in 2016. I had just completed a two week visit to Palestine. We played music in various cities of Palestine. Standing on this street corner, amazed that I was standing there, savouring the memories of two weeks of music, kindness, and generosity, I was mesmerised by the light and golden glow of the Sunset igniting the ancient walls of Jerusalem. What wisdom radiates from the ancient Sun. Human foibles, mine included, melted beneath the power of this elder statesman of the universe, the Sun. We humans could learn so much from the unconditional warmth and majesty of the Sun’s light. What a gift. 🏮
I love my Sunday mornings with Isolation Journals and many collective souls around the world coming together with love which to me defines light together. Blessings 🎄.
I got married on Christmas Eve, lots of great, light filled memories there, and each Christmas I put up lights on my balcony and in my home beginning on Halloween. My apartment faces a courtyard and right now only one other apartment has lights on their balcony. It’s very dark outside at 5pm and our courtyard is completely dark accept for the lights on my balcony and one other. There’s so much darkness in our country and in the world that my little lights bring me joy and keep blessing me along with India Arie’s song “ I am light, I am light.” And bless you Suleika, Jon and Holly for bringing so much light into the world. “I love you even if I don’t know you.”
Immediately as I read the words of Down with Darkness, I thought of the poem I posted on Instagram this week. I’m unable to post “normal life” things there as I witness the genocide in Gaza. Instead I find myself writing short poems in the notes app on my phone, and screenshotting them to use as a post. Here is the one I wrote about joy and darkness:
We’re spending our last Christmas in Saskatchewan. Every year we make the long flights from Brooklyn to Regina to spend Christmas with my mother-in-law. The days are particularly short up here. And the brief time that the sun is up, it just sort of dangles blindingly right in your eyes and then scoots back down. This year my husband went up early- as soon as we heard that his mother had advanced ovarian cancer, and I flew up with our teenage son just after his school let out for winter break. My husband rented a cello and he and our son have been taking turns playing cello for my mother-in-law daily in the hospice center. They plan to wheel in a piano today so I can play for her too. So that’s what we’re trying to do this year- bring light into the dark and help her pass in peace and love. I’ve been doing my best to bring light into my family’s darkness, so there are a few extra splurged presents for my husband, and I’m paying extra attention to my son and talking through his emotions, and joking around with him in mundane times like we do. It’s taking a break to go catch the latest Godzilla movie with them, or giving myself grace if not everything is perfect.
But on another note, and speaking of perfect- Suleika, I think we need to see that giant tinsel tree because your mantel is gorgeous, and Holly, I am an ugly public cryer too. I hate it! But can’t be helped.
Merry Christmas & a very Happy New Year everyone! May the light of the season shine upon you and your beloveds, including your fur babies. May the season’s promise find a place to alight in your life - may you discern it and reach for its transformative potential in your life - whatever it might be and from the various traditions within which your life abides.
How lovely that your family is in town for the holidays, Suleika! I'm still awestruck by American Symphony. The story and music are embedded in my heart.
Holly, I always love your writing, and your babies are precious!
”In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.“
John 1:4-5
God’s light meets me in the darkest recesses of my soul, waiting to minister to me there. It's the same light that led me to pray for Suleika and Jon when she announced her relapse. It is the flicker of light in Gaza and promise in Israel. It is the light that lives within us and transcends darkness. Christ is the light that pierces the darkness and fills us with faith, love, and hope.🙏🏾
I just learned that Cleo spells her name with an “e” not an “o.” Sweet Cleo, sweet street lady Cleo. She hangs outside our local Whole Foods, or beside a Starbucks a few streets over. She never asks for anything. Cleo is busy having a conversation with the invisible. But she doesn’t mind an interruption. I’ll ask her if she needs some groceries when I’m shopping. “Oh no dear, I’ve everything I need. Thank you though.” Or sometimes… “Oh that would be lovely, I’d love some fruit.” I never thought to ask her name until recently.
I’m reading “How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen" by David Brooks. I’ve felt invisible in my life. It’s a horrible feeling. A lonely place. I’m grateful I haven’t felt it in a long while. But this book got me thinking about Cleo. She clearly suffers from some kind of delusional illness. Thankfully, I don’t think she battles any addictions - just phantoms only she can see.
This past week she was in her spot near Starbucks, in a recess that offered little or no protection from Toronto’s wind and chill. And she wasn’t talking. I asked her if she would like something to eat. “Oh I’m very hungry.” I asked what she felt like eating. We were close to many restaurants and cafes. It was hard for her to decide. She had rules about not eating out of bowls, wraps were no good, nothing with milk. She finally settled on an egg white breakfast sandwich from Starbucks and because she mentioned potatoes, I got her their potato scone too. When I gave it to her, I introduced myself and she told me her name. Cleo. But I didn’t think to ask how she spelled it (until our next encounter). I also gave her some money because I might not see her for a couple of days, and it was the first time she said she was hungry. She graciously thanked me. I don’t think she would ever ask anyone for anything. Bless her.
Two days later, she was in her Starbucks spot. She seemed in a happier mood. “Hi Cleo, how are you doing?” She responded “The days’ almost done, they should finish up soon and then I can go home. I can tell by where the sun is. Are you with building security too?” I realized she thinks she’s overseeing a construction project that’s underway across the street. I don’t think she remembered me, certainly not my name, so I offered it again and asked how she spelled hers. With an “e” like the singer, Cleo Lane.
I then took the time to really look at her. Her tattered coat, the rolls of towels wrapped around her torso for added insulation, some sturdy black rubber boots, her wool hat and two pairs of broken glasses askew on her face, each pair missing a lens. Her age? Maybe 40 going on 70? Her soul is old, that’s for sure.
Cleo is very articulate, clearly educated. I asked her what she was doing for Christmas. “That was a few days ago dear.” I told her it was coming up. She said, “Oh I won’t be doing much then.” I asked if there was something she would like from Santa. A new coat? “Oh no, that would just weigh me down. I have a good coat and a lovely soft blanket I can wrap around myself, if it gets colder. No, I would just like this project to be finished.” I asked if she was hungry. “No dear, I have plenty to eat.” I convinced her let me get her a coffee, “One sugar, no milk! Thank you dear.”
“Do you have somewhere warm to go tonight, when you’re done?” She said she lived just around the corner. On a vent? In an alleyway? It’s prime real estate, so I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a condo to go to.
Cleo is now visible to me. I can’t unsee her. I want to know her story. I will keep building a rapport with her. I’d love to help her find her family. Find her shelter. Get her proper glasses. But I have to go at her pace. And I have to educate myself for her safety, and mine too. It’s got me thinking about our homeless situation. I wonder what would happen if everyone who could, adopted a friend on the street. Even if it’s only to see them and let them feel seen, to acknowledge them by name - Cleo.
Thank you for today’s prompt! (I'm a fellow crier Hollynn, you are not alone.)
Until last week, I had never heard of Jon Baptiste or Suleika but someone recommended their documentary to me, after which I bought Suleika's beautiful book, read it twice and joined this group.
I have seldom had a Christmas that truly felt holy. There have been a few but mostly, I am left feeling empty by all the rush, the pressure to buy gifts and send out cards and essentially, be out of sync with the natural order of things....the trees sleeping skeletons, the hibernating animals, the quiet in the dark nights. But this year, my heart was opened when I heard Jon singing Butterfly. What a stunning love song. I have had it playing on repeat all week and it has made the traffic jams, the crowded sidewalks, the question of gifts so much softer and lighter, just like that butterfly flying home.
I’ve also been in a contemplative place this week as I have been reflecting on this year...chemo, radiation, surgery and then to be told again more chemo. Now I will start a new targeted therapy with difficult, if not debilitating, side effects. This week has also been my in between of no meds as I am set to start on Tuesday. So last night my husband and I made a fire, lit some candles, tore off half a loaf of fresh bread, olive oil brought to us from Cypress and homemade Labneh with olive tapenade we bought from a Palestinian woman at the farmers market and a glass of wine. With my standard poodle tucked closely in the curve of my side, we just watched the fire and talked. At a silent moment I thought about how I was recently asked “what is the one thing you learned this year with all you have been through?” My reply “that my husband is an even greater person than I already thought he was.” I looked over and knew that even with the fire burning and the candles flickering it’s him, he’s my light.
Suleika, you sound so fulfilled and happy! Your fireplace is just beautiful.
I am very interested in learning more about these leckerli cookies!
Holly- I understand about what you mean about crying at the holidays. So much to remember in the present, and in the past around the holidays, it can be very emotional!
Hugs to all of you at isolation journals ! This is such a beautiful space. You all do an amazing job! Merry Christmas 🎄🎁 ❤️
This time of year is problematic for me. I used to feel the joy of the holidays without question. I saw the light, the brilliance of Christmas, with all its physical and spiritual manifestations, and was moved by it. Now I have seen too much of suffering, and I’ve become this grouchy, grinch-y dissatisfied little grump, who wants to close my eyes to it and be spared the complex feelings the holidays bring.
But there is no escape, so what to do? Be the light, as the children sing. Make others happy. If I can’t find the perfect gifts, just do what I can and give what I can with love. If I can’t bring myself to bake a multitude of perfectly beautiful Christmas cookies to give away, like some of my neighbors do, find other ways to share food throughout the year—vegetables from my garden or soup for someone who’s sick. Take time to smile and to listen, to see my friends and family and share good conversation, without burdening them with my angst. If I can’t manage the surge of positive emotions that seem a requirement for this time of year, forgive myself and look for ways to feel positive the rest of the year. Take care of myself and my fragile emotional state, but be someone others enjoy being around.
That’s my challenge, and I thank you for the reminder today.
A few years after moving out on my own, I realized that part of what seemed to be missing in my life was a multi-generational community. Most of the people I knew or regularly engaged with in some way were my age, or otherwise, my boss. But I had grown up in a household of artists, where we kids stayed at the table for dinner parties and even went out for tea or dessert with adopted aunts and uncles without our parents. We visited them when they were sick, and hosted them when they stopped by. Without the wisdom and stories of these elders, my life as a 20-something felt flat.
I’ve moved a lot since then, so my commitments to one organization or volunteer effort are often short lived. But when I can’t be a part of something steady, I have retained that the essential exchange that lights up my days is one I can offer anywhere, anytime. It’s a smile with a stranger, a friendly compliment to a cashier, a brief joke with a fellow passenger about something you’ve just seen together while waiting for the bus, and buying an extra something on your grocery list so you can offer it to the person begging outside. Tending to these little light-up moments makes the light of who I want to be in this world burn stronger and steadier in the darkest times.
Happy holidays Holly, Suleika and Carmen! Thank you for all that share with us here :)
Light in the darkness . . . when I read this prompt, I immediately thought of my daughter Anjelica's darkest days at Memorial Sloan Kettering. A very bright ray of light showed up at the door to her room one day in the form of a large, rotund Dominican Friar named Father John. I had reached out to the chaplaincy to see if there were any priests that could come by and pray with Anjelica. Father John was a priest and more; in just a short few weeks he became a dear friend and the best light that could have shown on my daughter. Anjelica loved the Grateful Dead and went to many of their concerts. In a prior life, Father John was a music lover himself, a disc jockey and radio personality. He said over the course of his life he attended no less than 30 Grateful Dead concerts! We were tickled. Anjelica actually giggled and her eyes lit up. Even better, Father John loved a good beer (Anjelica was a craft beer brewer), and personally knew Oteil Burbridge, the bass guitarist for Dead & Co. The highlight of Father John's visits was one day he showed up with his iPhone and asked Anjelica if she wanted to Facetime with Oteil. I wept as Anjelica opened her eyes wide, sat up in bed and smiled so big and so beautifully. She tried her best to have a conversation with Oteil, waving her hands around in an animated fashion, excitedly chatting away. The very best part of all of this is that Anjelica, who was constantly terrified because she was dying and knew it, opened her heart to Father John and allowed all his shining light, laughter, spiritual wisdom and guidance comfort her during those last darkest days. Thank you, Father John, for having been such a bright light for us in such a time of deep darkness.
My adult children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, all live far away from where I now live in a very rural area of Montana. The winters are beautiful, but long, and travel can be very difficult and even risky since the airport to anywhere is only accessible by driving through what is sometimes a very snowy and icy canyon. We even have a Facebook page to check in on how the road is before setting out. So this Christmas has found me more nostalgic than usual, and I feel somewhat forlorn. But the light for me has been that since moving to this small town, I've made many friends. We've been to a Hanukkah dinner and a Christmas party. We'll be attending a Christmas Eve service this afternoon at a tiny 100 year old Episcopal church and then going to another neighbor's for a really fun game. Tomorrow we'll rise and have our traditional cinnamon roll and bacon breakfast and then later, with a fire in the fireplace and the lights lit on the tree, four wonderful friends will be joining us for Christmas dinner. Oh...and did I tell you it snowed yesterday? We have a white Christmas after all. If there's one thing I've learned and read about here, we are all learning that both feelings can exist at the same time...sadness and joy. And the lights of a Christmas tree against the darkness of night or early morning can lift our spirits and give us hope...even when things aren't perfect.
Suleika and Hollen, you are both speaking to my core. I once spent a Christmas, all alone. My then husband was living with his girlfriend, I had the flu and my family left me a bag of groceries at my door, the Christmas tree I had purchased for nine dollars had dropped most of the needles and I sobbed to a point that bypassed any sadness I had felt before. Then, I decided (this is before cable) to turn on PBS. Anne of Green Gables was on. I watched all night, cried, laughed, escaped and let the story take me away. Anne was my light in the dark and the memory of that Christmas, stays with me as a reminder to look for light when in the darkness.
After our final concert in the old part of Jerusalem, held in the lovely courtyard of an old church, we stood on a street corner waiting for our bus to carry us back to Ramallah, Palestine. This was in 2016. I had just completed a two week visit to Palestine. We played music in various cities of Palestine. Standing on this street corner, amazed that I was standing there, savouring the memories of two weeks of music, kindness, and generosity, I was mesmerised by the light and golden glow of the Sunset igniting the ancient walls of Jerusalem. What wisdom radiates from the ancient Sun. Human foibles, mine included, melted beneath the power of this elder statesman of the universe, the Sun. We humans could learn so much from the unconditional warmth and majesty of the Sun’s light. What a gift. 🏮
I love my Sunday mornings with Isolation Journals and many collective souls around the world coming together with love which to me defines light together. Blessings 🎄.
I got married on Christmas Eve, lots of great, light filled memories there, and each Christmas I put up lights on my balcony and in my home beginning on Halloween. My apartment faces a courtyard and right now only one other apartment has lights on their balcony. It’s very dark outside at 5pm and our courtyard is completely dark accept for the lights on my balcony and one other. There’s so much darkness in our country and in the world that my little lights bring me joy and keep blessing me along with India Arie’s song “ I am light, I am light.” And bless you Suleika, Jon and Holly for bringing so much light into the world. “I love you even if I don’t know you.”
Immediately as I read the words of Down with Darkness, I thought of the poem I posted on Instagram this week. I’m unable to post “normal life” things there as I witness the genocide in Gaza. Instead I find myself writing short poems in the notes app on my phone, and screenshotting them to use as a post. Here is the one I wrote about joy and darkness:
Mo(u)rning
Each morning I go out
and look for joy in the dark.
And the joy inside of me speaks.
I tell it quiet,
the world is wailing.
Ah, says the joy.
It is my time.
Release me.
I am needed.
Each morning I go out
and look for joy in the dark.
We’re spending our last Christmas in Saskatchewan. Every year we make the long flights from Brooklyn to Regina to spend Christmas with my mother-in-law. The days are particularly short up here. And the brief time that the sun is up, it just sort of dangles blindingly right in your eyes and then scoots back down. This year my husband went up early- as soon as we heard that his mother had advanced ovarian cancer, and I flew up with our teenage son just after his school let out for winter break. My husband rented a cello and he and our son have been taking turns playing cello for my mother-in-law daily in the hospice center. They plan to wheel in a piano today so I can play for her too. So that’s what we’re trying to do this year- bring light into the dark and help her pass in peace and love. I’ve been doing my best to bring light into my family’s darkness, so there are a few extra splurged presents for my husband, and I’m paying extra attention to my son and talking through his emotions, and joking around with him in mundane times like we do. It’s taking a break to go catch the latest Godzilla movie with them, or giving myself grace if not everything is perfect.
But on another note, and speaking of perfect- Suleika, I think we need to see that giant tinsel tree because your mantel is gorgeous, and Holly, I am an ugly public cryer too. I hate it! But can’t be helped.
Merry Christmas & a very Happy New Year everyone! May the light of the season shine upon you and your beloveds, including your fur babies. May the season’s promise find a place to alight in your life - may you discern it and reach for its transformative potential in your life - whatever it might be and from the various traditions within which your life abides.
Suleika,
How lovely that your family is in town for the holidays, Suleika! I'm still awestruck by American Symphony. The story and music are embedded in my heart.
Holly, I always love your writing, and your babies are precious!
”In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.“
John 1:4-5
God’s light meets me in the darkest recesses of my soul, waiting to minister to me there. It's the same light that led me to pray for Suleika and Jon when she announced her relapse. It is the flicker of light in Gaza and promise in Israel. It is the light that lives within us and transcends darkness. Christ is the light that pierces the darkness and fills us with faith, love, and hope.🙏🏾
I just learned that Cleo spells her name with an “e” not an “o.” Sweet Cleo, sweet street lady Cleo. She hangs outside our local Whole Foods, or beside a Starbucks a few streets over. She never asks for anything. Cleo is busy having a conversation with the invisible. But she doesn’t mind an interruption. I’ll ask her if she needs some groceries when I’m shopping. “Oh no dear, I’ve everything I need. Thank you though.” Or sometimes… “Oh that would be lovely, I’d love some fruit.” I never thought to ask her name until recently.
I’m reading “How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen" by David Brooks. I’ve felt invisible in my life. It’s a horrible feeling. A lonely place. I’m grateful I haven’t felt it in a long while. But this book got me thinking about Cleo. She clearly suffers from some kind of delusional illness. Thankfully, I don’t think she battles any addictions - just phantoms only she can see.
This past week she was in her spot near Starbucks, in a recess that offered little or no protection from Toronto’s wind and chill. And she wasn’t talking. I asked her if she would like something to eat. “Oh I’m very hungry.” I asked what she felt like eating. We were close to many restaurants and cafes. It was hard for her to decide. She had rules about not eating out of bowls, wraps were no good, nothing with milk. She finally settled on an egg white breakfast sandwich from Starbucks and because she mentioned potatoes, I got her their potato scone too. When I gave it to her, I introduced myself and she told me her name. Cleo. But I didn’t think to ask how she spelled it (until our next encounter). I also gave her some money because I might not see her for a couple of days, and it was the first time she said she was hungry. She graciously thanked me. I don’t think she would ever ask anyone for anything. Bless her.
Two days later, she was in her Starbucks spot. She seemed in a happier mood. “Hi Cleo, how are you doing?” She responded “The days’ almost done, they should finish up soon and then I can go home. I can tell by where the sun is. Are you with building security too?” I realized she thinks she’s overseeing a construction project that’s underway across the street. I don’t think she remembered me, certainly not my name, so I offered it again and asked how she spelled hers. With an “e” like the singer, Cleo Lane.
I then took the time to really look at her. Her tattered coat, the rolls of towels wrapped around her torso for added insulation, some sturdy black rubber boots, her wool hat and two pairs of broken glasses askew on her face, each pair missing a lens. Her age? Maybe 40 going on 70? Her soul is old, that’s for sure.
Cleo is very articulate, clearly educated. I asked her what she was doing for Christmas. “That was a few days ago dear.” I told her it was coming up. She said, “Oh I won’t be doing much then.” I asked if there was something she would like from Santa. A new coat? “Oh no, that would just weigh me down. I have a good coat and a lovely soft blanket I can wrap around myself, if it gets colder. No, I would just like this project to be finished.” I asked if she was hungry. “No dear, I have plenty to eat.” I convinced her let me get her a coffee, “One sugar, no milk! Thank you dear.”
“Do you have somewhere warm to go tonight, when you’re done?” She said she lived just around the corner. On a vent? In an alleyway? It’s prime real estate, so I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a condo to go to.
Cleo is now visible to me. I can’t unsee her. I want to know her story. I will keep building a rapport with her. I’d love to help her find her family. Find her shelter. Get her proper glasses. But I have to go at her pace. And I have to educate myself for her safety, and mine too. It’s got me thinking about our homeless situation. I wonder what would happen if everyone who could, adopted a friend on the street. Even if it’s only to see them and let them feel seen, to acknowledge them by name - Cleo.
Thank you for today’s prompt! (I'm a fellow crier Hollynn, you are not alone.)
Until last week, I had never heard of Jon Baptiste or Suleika but someone recommended their documentary to me, after which I bought Suleika's beautiful book, read it twice and joined this group.
I have seldom had a Christmas that truly felt holy. There have been a few but mostly, I am left feeling empty by all the rush, the pressure to buy gifts and send out cards and essentially, be out of sync with the natural order of things....the trees sleeping skeletons, the hibernating animals, the quiet in the dark nights. But this year, my heart was opened when I heard Jon singing Butterfly. What a stunning love song. I have had it playing on repeat all week and it has made the traffic jams, the crowded sidewalks, the question of gifts so much softer and lighter, just like that butterfly flying home.
I’ve also been in a contemplative place this week as I have been reflecting on this year...chemo, radiation, surgery and then to be told again more chemo. Now I will start a new targeted therapy with difficult, if not debilitating, side effects. This week has also been my in between of no meds as I am set to start on Tuesday. So last night my husband and I made a fire, lit some candles, tore off half a loaf of fresh bread, olive oil brought to us from Cypress and homemade Labneh with olive tapenade we bought from a Palestinian woman at the farmers market and a glass of wine. With my standard poodle tucked closely in the curve of my side, we just watched the fire and talked. At a silent moment I thought about how I was recently asked “what is the one thing you learned this year with all you have been through?” My reply “that my husband is an even greater person than I already thought he was.” I looked over and knew that even with the fire burning and the candles flickering it’s him, he’s my light.
Also, I too am a crier, so I did.
Suleika, you sound so fulfilled and happy! Your fireplace is just beautiful.
I am very interested in learning more about these leckerli cookies!
Holly- I understand about what you mean about crying at the holidays. So much to remember in the present, and in the past around the holidays, it can be very emotional!
Hugs to all of you at isolation journals ! This is such a beautiful space. You all do an amazing job! Merry Christmas 🎄🎁 ❤️
This time of year is problematic for me. I used to feel the joy of the holidays without question. I saw the light, the brilliance of Christmas, with all its physical and spiritual manifestations, and was moved by it. Now I have seen too much of suffering, and I’ve become this grouchy, grinch-y dissatisfied little grump, who wants to close my eyes to it and be spared the complex feelings the holidays bring.
But there is no escape, so what to do? Be the light, as the children sing. Make others happy. If I can’t find the perfect gifts, just do what I can and give what I can with love. If I can’t bring myself to bake a multitude of perfectly beautiful Christmas cookies to give away, like some of my neighbors do, find other ways to share food throughout the year—vegetables from my garden or soup for someone who’s sick. Take time to smile and to listen, to see my friends and family and share good conversation, without burdening them with my angst. If I can’t manage the surge of positive emotions that seem a requirement for this time of year, forgive myself and look for ways to feel positive the rest of the year. Take care of myself and my fragile emotional state, but be someone others enjoy being around.
That’s my challenge, and I thank you for the reminder today.
A few years after moving out on my own, I realized that part of what seemed to be missing in my life was a multi-generational community. Most of the people I knew or regularly engaged with in some way were my age, or otherwise, my boss. But I had grown up in a household of artists, where we kids stayed at the table for dinner parties and even went out for tea or dessert with adopted aunts and uncles without our parents. We visited them when they were sick, and hosted them when they stopped by. Without the wisdom and stories of these elders, my life as a 20-something felt flat.
I’ve moved a lot since then, so my commitments to one organization or volunteer effort are often short lived. But when I can’t be a part of something steady, I have retained that the essential exchange that lights up my days is one I can offer anywhere, anytime. It’s a smile with a stranger, a friendly compliment to a cashier, a brief joke with a fellow passenger about something you’ve just seen together while waiting for the bus, and buying an extra something on your grocery list so you can offer it to the person begging outside. Tending to these little light-up moments makes the light of who I want to be in this world burn stronger and steadier in the darkest times.
Happy holidays Holly, Suleika and Carmen! Thank you for all that share with us here :)