My Christmas was one in which I was loved, and supported, and given the time and space to be alone to read and reflect. I stayed at Maresfield Lodge in Hampstead, where an old schoolfriend (known her since we were 11) has lived for over 50 years.
The Entrance Hall set the stage for the best Christmas I've had in years.
At first, Alf settled in extremely well. His crate was given a cosy corner in the kitchen and he treated it as his den, somewhere he felt safe.
He met one tankful of fish that is in the lounge - a space used for watching TV and informal socialising. He lost interest when the light in the tank was off.
Christmas Eve began with lighting the Advent candles and placng the baby in the Nativity scene, while singing Gaudete. I haven't done that for decades - it was wonderful.
Christmas Eve meal was traditional - the fish was lovely seabass.
Alf had a little taste. He thinks it was one of the fishes he'd greeted earlier in the day.
An entry in Marie's Blog noted Ship’s Dog Alf and Cabin Girl Pat piped on board and settle in cabins. Gaudete sang at dusk before the crib.
Alf slept happily on the sofa behind the Christmas Table until corks were popped and crackers pulled on Christmas Day. That was the beginning of his anxiety of being in the house.
We'd been askked not to bring gifts to the Christmas table, but readings or poems instead. My contribution on Christmas Day was mentioned in Marie's Blog
Only two disasters at Christmas lunch this year! First, decided to go for walk in Regents Park, so timed oven to switch on while we were out. Didn’t work so dinner time half hour late. Not so bad.Cabin Girl had provided fizz. Ship’s Chandler opend same with great care but it fountained everywhere. Know not why. Anyhow, still enjoyed with bird . Great anxiety about pud as oats added instead of flour. Chandler read passage from Christmas Carol where Mrs Cratchit is fretting about pud to sooth nerves. All ship’s crew were generous in praise of galley slave, so no more worries. Excellent readings from all crew. Cabin Girl’s excellent contribution is this week’s poem for ye all to enjoy.
How the Light Comes by Jan Richardson.
I cannot tell you
how the light comes.
What I know
is that it is more ancient
than imagining.
That it travels
across an astounding expanse
to reach us.
That it loves
searching out what is hidden,
what is lost,
what is forgotten
or in peril
or in pain.
That it has a fondness
for the body,
for finding its way
toward flesh,
for tracing the edges
of form,
for shining forth
through the eye,
the hand,
the heart.
I cannot tell you
how the light comes,
but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
into the deepest dark
that enfolds you,
though it may seem
long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape you did not foresee.
And so
may we this day
turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces
to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies
to follow the arc it makes.
May we open
and open more
and open still
to the blessed light
that comes.
 |
| Christmas Day meal |
The Christmas Candle was lit, the wine flowed, and the conversation ranged over past decades and present concerns. For me, it was light years' away from the lonely Christmas Day of 2019/2020.
After just one glass of a rather lovely Champagne, I slept until almost 11am on Boxing Day. Marie's Blog for the day noted.
Ship’s Dog had early morning tour of the Analytic moorings round and about. The Tavistock with wonderful statue of Freud( Not to be peed on), The Institute of Group Analysis, The Jungian Association, etc etc. Ship’s Dog fascinated by everything.
Boxing Day was very laid back. I am reading "When your Soulmate Dies" by Alan D. Wolfell. I showed it to Tony (another old friend from childhood) who lost his Partner just last week. He was offered, but declined, counselling support, and said he was alright. Ann had been suffering from Altzheimers for two years and had been in a nursing home. Tony said he had already lost her before she died. We agreed that we were grieving in different ways, and I know that Tony has family and close friends where he lives in Manchester. I, on the other hand, am travelling from grief, to mourning.
The book is full of words that are helping me through the next part of my journey. Your heart has been broken in two by the death of your soulmate. Through mouring, you are working on stitching it back together.
A great deal of healing and progress was made in the short time I spent with friends at Maresfield Lodge. They allowed me the time and space to read and reflect, as well as join in with traditional rituals. Knowing I am an atheist, their generosity and open-heartedness welcomed me. They are wholehearted people.
Your goal is wholeheartedness. Wholehearted people develop the skills of living in the moment and positivity. They find beauty and meaning in the imperfection of humanity doing and being and loving the best it can. from When your Soulmate Dies" by Alan D. Wolfell.
Marie's Blog concluded yesterday Speeding on through week. Sadly Cabin Girl and Ship’s Dog sailed away in massive cruiser back to the most noble town of Hitchin.
Marie and Marie wish to return to Hitchin to see places that were closed the last time they visited me (It was a Thursday and Covid has affected the opening of many public venues, including the Church.) Hopefully, that will happen before our planned Retreat to Southwold in March.
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