Minimalist Manger
At last weekend’s Candlelight Walking Tour, I witnessed something subtly striking.
Two people that I know, both a bit older than me, members of the same choir, were performing with the choir as a part of the tour. The concert was wonderful, the moment special in the way that the holidays are often special in our little town. Talented people sharing their talents to a group of people who feel privileged to witness it.
Both of these people I was watching sing in this moment had experienced the loss of a loved one not long ago. For each of them, this is the first Christmas without those loved ones. Yet there they were, singing beautifully, joyful songs of the season. If you didn’t know them, you would have no idea how they might be feeling in that moment. To be fair, even I don’t really know what they were feeling. But I know they were there, actively engaging in that wonderful communal moment, not long after suffering great losses. It was beautiful, and poignant.
The term “the holidays” conjures so many emotional memories. Christmas was magical in my youth, kind of boring in my teens and young adulthood, then re-animated when I had the chance to experience it vicariously through my children. Today the holidays function as a great time of reunion for family and friends, with a thin but growing veneer of bittersweet remembrances of those who are no longer here to share these times with us.
Life and food are similar, in that both use the full range of flavors in order to be fully realized. The sweet is nice, but especially so when balanced with the bitter. Salty moments born from extra effort are balanced by the savory umami interludes, where everything just feels right. We need it all, though we wouldn’t always seek some of it out. That’s OK. Life delivers it to us, whether we want it or not. The only question is: How are you going to incorporate it into the recipe of your life? I aim to be like those choir members who, although no doubt hurting, lean into the season, understanding that joy and sorrow can operate together and that, if we live and love long enough, our human hearts learn to hold both.
Lori and I have been discussing what to get the boys for Christmas. The more we talked, the more clear it became that what they needed most, in addition to just being home and nurtured by us, was cold, hard, cash. So, Christmas morning, as we are eating breakfast casserole, sipping fresh-squeezed orange juice and freshly brewed dark coffee, we’ll have a few small gifts for them to open, and their bank balances will get a little love.
They don’t need more “stuff.” Neither do we. We are in Marie Kondo purge/sort/reorganize mode, whenever we can muster the time and energy. No, this year we’re going to hang out together, eat well, read books, get plenty of sleep, and nibble on some cookies. I am primed and ready to enjoy the holidays. We’re keeping things simple this year.
Sunday Supper
This Mushroom Stew is a hearty cool weather menu item that Lori and I enjoyed earlier this week. Pairing it with this Green Goddess Chopped Salad would work wonderfully.
Sunday Music
This Sunday I share with you an NPR Tiny Desk performance by the Italian composer and pianist, Ludovico Einaudi. It is a lovely listen - enjoy!
Have a great week ahead! Offer support to others. Make good use of this day. And let me know how I can help.
Peace & Love,
Neal