I'm sorry you've been sick, Max! And I'm very sorry about Amal's visit. I am so angry and frustrated and sad but mostly I feel for her.
To your question: every year, I return to food for comfort; and to late nights, for questioning. What dwells in the depths of these dark nights? It feels a fitting question now, even as we mix strangely sunny and warm days with long dark nights and another wave of the pandemic. I find reflecting on the darkness helps me focus on the light when it comes at last.
Much love to you and yours. I wish you a quick recovery and as happy holidays as we can have -- it sounds like you're already well on your way with that great reading list :)
I'm sorry you've been ill, and I'm so very sorry about Amal's visit. Your garden gnome analogy is extremely charming and also evocative of an unpleasant experience. I hope you feel better soon.
Here in California (I'm in the Bay Area) it has finally been wet. We are house-hunting, and have been out looking at places in the rain on 2 of the 3 actually rainy days I remember so far this season; one was a storm in October that broke the previous 19-century record for rainfall in a single day in Sacramento and the others were the 'atmospheric river' this past week. I saw a graph the other day showing that this year is already one of the wettest in decades, which I haven't confirmed but feels alarming to me because it is such a glorious example of that pendulum effect -- we are getting an average that looks alright but what we're actually getting is feast and famine, a year with both drought and flood and not the steady balance that nurtures the land and aquifers.
I am finding myself interested in doing seasonal rereads this year; mine are The Dark Is Rising and Sing For The Coming Of The Longest Night (which is a charming novella I highly recommend if you've not read it, by Iona Datt Sharma & Katherine Fabian) and Tolkien's Father Christmas Letters. My parents inadvertantly exchanged inscribed copies of that last one year in their courtship/early marriage, which is possibly the most charming thing I know about their relationship, and I wanted to get it for my current partner our first year together and was delighted when it was magically waiting for me tucked on the shelf at my local used bookstore; I don't think I've ever seen a copy for sale in person otherwise.
All three of those are about comfort, about warmth & light in the darkness (the first two more directly, of course). Thinking about that brings to mind the song The Atheist Christmas Carol by Vienna Teng, which is absolutely gorgeous and pairs extremely well with Sing For The Coming Of The Longest Night thematically, I think. I've recently found some nonalcohol wine which is actually very good, and I think I might mull it and sink into those expressions of comfort.
(Historically I also rewatch The Lion In Winter, but I think maybe this year doesn't need that sharpness. This is a time to lean into gentleness.)
I'm sorry you've been sick, Max! And I'm very sorry about Amal's visit. I am so angry and frustrated and sad but mostly I feel for her.
To your question: every year, I return to food for comfort; and to late nights, for questioning. What dwells in the depths of these dark nights? It feels a fitting question now, even as we mix strangely sunny and warm days with long dark nights and another wave of the pandemic. I find reflecting on the darkness helps me focus on the light when it comes at last.
Much love to you and yours. I wish you a quick recovery and as happy holidays as we can have -- it sounds like you're already well on your way with that great reading list :)
I'm sorry you've been ill, and I'm so very sorry about Amal's visit. Your garden gnome analogy is extremely charming and also evocative of an unpleasant experience. I hope you feel better soon.
Here in California (I'm in the Bay Area) it has finally been wet. We are house-hunting, and have been out looking at places in the rain on 2 of the 3 actually rainy days I remember so far this season; one was a storm in October that broke the previous 19-century record for rainfall in a single day in Sacramento and the others were the 'atmospheric river' this past week. I saw a graph the other day showing that this year is already one of the wettest in decades, which I haven't confirmed but feels alarming to me because it is such a glorious example of that pendulum effect -- we are getting an average that looks alright but what we're actually getting is feast and famine, a year with both drought and flood and not the steady balance that nurtures the land and aquifers.
I am finding myself interested in doing seasonal rereads this year; mine are The Dark Is Rising and Sing For The Coming Of The Longest Night (which is a charming novella I highly recommend if you've not read it, by Iona Datt Sharma & Katherine Fabian) and Tolkien's Father Christmas Letters. My parents inadvertantly exchanged inscribed copies of that last one year in their courtship/early marriage, which is possibly the most charming thing I know about their relationship, and I wanted to get it for my current partner our first year together and was delighted when it was magically waiting for me tucked on the shelf at my local used bookstore; I don't think I've ever seen a copy for sale in person otherwise.
All three of those are about comfort, about warmth & light in the darkness (the first two more directly, of course). Thinking about that brings to mind the song The Atheist Christmas Carol by Vienna Teng, which is absolutely gorgeous and pairs extremely well with Sing For The Coming Of The Longest Night thematically, I think. I've recently found some nonalcohol wine which is actually very good, and I think I might mull it and sink into those expressions of comfort.
(Historically I also rewatch The Lion In Winter, but I think maybe this year doesn't need that sharpness. This is a time to lean into gentleness.)