12.27.2011
santa claus came to town.
Tomorrow Hannah and I will drive the fourteen hours back to North Carolina, which in and of itself sounds a little daunting, but which on the heels of one of the best Christmases ever isn't really all that bad. In a few days I'll construct some 2012 resolutions. I'll post about the books I read this year and construct some new healthy living plan. I'll probably clean out my closets (ew) and make some new goals about savings and 401-ks and stuff like that, but for now, feast your eyes on this.....
12.17.2011
this december.
This December, though full of travels and out of the ordinary people and events, has not moved too quickly. It's remarkable because life was seeming to take on this sprinting quality for a while there in September and October, but has now graciously slowed down.
At the get-go, the first weekend of this month, two dear friends from Richmond came down to visit. Allison and I spent 28 of the 36 hours she was here talking, which to Mark is wholly phenomenal, and Graham and Mark played games, both physical and electronic, built fires and wrestled Sidney. Their visit was a gust of fresh wind to usher in the season. Then last weekend the entire Ficker family gathered in Greenwich, Connecticut for that funeral I alluded to a post ago. Where I had expected great sadness and stress, I instead found joy, memories and, surprisingly, fun. The five of us, plus William (Hannah’s baby), explored the town where dad grew up, buried the ashes of my Grampa and memorialized his life. We drove out to the Sound where the ruins of an old mansion in which my father's family and twelve other war veterans and their families lived in the forties and fifties, but which is now only the skeletal stones because it burned to the ground in sixty. I'm fascinated by the history, the passage of a great deal of time even though I still view my father as young. We followed it up with a three-hour family dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town, after which we drove down into the city, across the river and through the north end, all the way into Rockefeller Center where we saw the colossal tree, onto Broadway and into Times Square. My brother drove—strange, sudden flashes of his adulthood still disarm me—and carried us eventually to Queens where we stayed another night and flew out early Sunday. Somehow, a miracle of the season, the weekend turned into the most dear, memorable weekend for the five of us, a weekend that stitched us together in a way that is increasingly rare as we grow up and live apart.
Mark and I have been listening to Christmas music for the past few weeks, from my iPhone, the radio, his record player. I ordered George Winston’s album .December. on record, and he ordered Mainheim Steamroller, and we’ve been laughing for a few days because to him, G.W. is just some sappy piano ballads, and to me Manheim is like Christmas Techno. We agree on the unsurpassing greatess of Amy Grant’s albums .Tenessee Christmas. and .Home for Christmas., and I’ve slowly converted him to a Sara McLachlan .Wintersong. fan (“River” is my favorite.) I work with this one woman, she's precious, just turned 55. We were bringing patients back to be x-rayed on Thursday and the Christmas Muzak station was coming out of the speakers in the corners of the office. She looked at me and said, "Christmas music is sad." As I have transitioned from child to adult, it's like I've been granted access to the Adult Club where you learn things like flying is more a hassle than fun, wine and coffee are fabulous in their bitterness, and that the holidays are, in many ways, sad. She said, "this is the hardest time of the year because I miss my grandmother, I want her here with me. And I want everyone to be together--my children, my grandchildren, but they cannot be." I have spent a great deal of time contemplating the two sides of my favorite time of year, adjusting to clear enough vision to see this sadness that even sometimes overpowers the joy. It is tempting to box up my own sadness for the month, stow it away with the things I removed from the mantle over the fireplace to be replaced by my nativity, candles and greenery, but I think maybe that makes it a lot harder to enjoy the JOY of the season. Does that even make sense?
My sister was talking about Mary a few weeks ago, how she must have been pretty exhausted by the time Jesus was ready to be born. I started reading the gospel of Luke, slowly, over these last weeks, about Mary and Elizabeth. How Mary didn't want a baby, and she was given Jesus. And all Elizabeth wanted was a baby, and she finally got John. And how they would have to watch them walk through this life, die brutally and young, sons that were never really theirs to begin with. There was a lot of sadness there for them I imagine. I bet there were times that those two girls wished they would've just had normal, little kids. But they were given something FAR greater. Hannah said that maybe we ought to approach the season of Christmas with a deeper preparation for the sadness, and even though I don't find that overly appealing, I think she's right. And I think my dad's been trying to teach me that for years... Wisdom comes with age.
And still, this is our hope:
For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder:
and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness
from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this.
Isaiah the prophet, chapter nine.
At the get-go, the first weekend of this month, two dear friends from Richmond came down to visit. Allison and I spent 28 of the 36 hours she was here talking, which to Mark is wholly phenomenal, and Graham and Mark played games, both physical and electronic, built fires and wrestled Sidney. Their visit was a gust of fresh wind to usher in the season. Then last weekend the entire Ficker family gathered in Greenwich, Connecticut for that funeral I alluded to a post ago. Where I had expected great sadness and stress, I instead found joy, memories and, surprisingly, fun. The five of us, plus William (Hannah’s baby), explored the town where dad grew up, buried the ashes of my Grampa and memorialized his life. We drove out to the Sound where the ruins of an old mansion in which my father's family and twelve other war veterans and their families lived in the forties and fifties, but which is now only the skeletal stones because it burned to the ground in sixty. I'm fascinated by the history, the passage of a great deal of time even though I still view my father as young. We followed it up with a three-hour family dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town, after which we drove down into the city, across the river and through the north end, all the way into Rockefeller Center where we saw the colossal tree, onto Broadway and into Times Square. My brother drove—strange, sudden flashes of his adulthood still disarm me—and carried us eventually to Queens where we stayed another night and flew out early Sunday. Somehow, a miracle of the season, the weekend turned into the most dear, memorable weekend for the five of us, a weekend that stitched us together in a way that is increasingly rare as we grow up and live apart.
Mark and I have been listening to Christmas music for the past few weeks, from my iPhone, the radio, his record player. I ordered George Winston’s album .December. on record, and he ordered Mainheim Steamroller, and we’ve been laughing for a few days because to him, G.W. is just some sappy piano ballads, and to me Manheim is like Christmas Techno. We agree on the unsurpassing greatess of Amy Grant’s albums .Tenessee Christmas. and .Home for Christmas., and I’ve slowly converted him to a Sara McLachlan .Wintersong. fan (“River” is my favorite.) I work with this one woman, she's precious, just turned 55. We were bringing patients back to be x-rayed on Thursday and the Christmas Muzak station was coming out of the speakers in the corners of the office. She looked at me and said, "Christmas music is sad." As I have transitioned from child to adult, it's like I've been granted access to the Adult Club where you learn things like flying is more a hassle than fun, wine and coffee are fabulous in their bitterness, and that the holidays are, in many ways, sad. She said, "this is the hardest time of the year because I miss my grandmother, I want her here with me. And I want everyone to be together--my children, my grandchildren, but they cannot be." I have spent a great deal of time contemplating the two sides of my favorite time of year, adjusting to clear enough vision to see this sadness that even sometimes overpowers the joy. It is tempting to box up my own sadness for the month, stow it away with the things I removed from the mantle over the fireplace to be replaced by my nativity, candles and greenery, but I think maybe that makes it a lot harder to enjoy the JOY of the season. Does that even make sense?
My sister was talking about Mary a few weeks ago, how she must have been pretty exhausted by the time Jesus was ready to be born. I started reading the gospel of Luke, slowly, over these last weeks, about Mary and Elizabeth. How Mary didn't want a baby, and she was given Jesus. And all Elizabeth wanted was a baby, and she finally got John. And how they would have to watch them walk through this life, die brutally and young, sons that were never really theirs to begin with. There was a lot of sadness there for them I imagine. I bet there were times that those two girls wished they would've just had normal, little kids. But they were given something FAR greater. Hannah said that maybe we ought to approach the season of Christmas with a deeper preparation for the sadness, and even though I don't find that overly appealing, I think she's right. And I think my dad's been trying to teach me that for years... Wisdom comes with age.
And still, this is our hope:
For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder:
and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness
from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this.
Isaiah the prophet, chapter nine.
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