Top Two

Two favorite photos from last week's celebrations:

Because LOOK AT THAT FACE. Also, Christmas Eve with extended family = one of my favorite nights of the year.

Because our niece & nephew are examples of gratitude for Alice. Also, TODDLER JOY.

Hope your holiday was full to the brim of coziness and joy.

the innkeeper

The following Christmas monologue comes from “The Birth”, one of Frederick Buechner’s sermons at the Philip Exeter School and published in “Secrets in the Dark.”

And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. -LUKE 2:7

"That was a long, long time ago," said the Innkeeper, "and a long, long way away. But the memories of men are also long, and nobody has forgotten anything about my own sad, queer part in it all unless maybe they have forgotten the truth about it. But you can never blame people for forgetting the truth because it is, after all, such a subtle and evasive commodity. In fact, all that distinguishes a truth from a lie may finally be no more than just the flutter of an eyelid or the tone of a voice. If I were to say, 'I BELIEVE!' that would be a lie, but if I were to say, 'I believe ...,' that might be the truth. So I do not blame posterity for forgetting the subtleties and making me out to be the black villain of the piece - the heartless one who said, 'No room! No room!' I'll even grant you that a kind of villainy may be part of the truth. But if you want to speak the whole truth, then you will have to call me a villain with a catch in your voice, at least a tremor, a hesitation maybe, with even the glitter of almost a tear in your eye. Because nothing is entirely black, you know. Not even the human heart.

"I speak to you as men of the world," said the Innkeeper. "Not as idealists, but as realists. Do you know what it is like to run an inn - to run a business, a family, to run anything in this world for that matter, even your own life? It is like being lost in a forest of a million trees," said the Innkeeper, "and each tree is a thing to be done. Is there fresh linen on all the beds? Did the children put on their coats before they went out? Has the letter been written, the book read? Is there money enough left in the bank? Today we have food in our bellies and clothes on our backs, but what can we do to make sure that we will have them still tomorrow? A million trees. A million things.

"Until finally we have eyes for nothing else, and whatever we see turns into a thing. The sparrow lying in the dust at your feet - just a thing to be kicked out of the way, not the mystery of death. The calling of children outside your window - just a distraction, an irrelevance, not life, not the wildest miracle of them all. That whispering in the air that comes sudden and soft from nowhere - only the wind, the wind ...

"Of course I remember very well the evening they arrived. I was working on my accounts and looked up just in time to see the woman coming through the door. She walked in that slow, heavy-footed way that women have in the last months, as though they are walking in a dream or at the bottom of the sea. Her husband stood a little behind her - a tongue-tied, helpless kind of man, I thought. I cannot remember either of them saying anything, although I suppose some words must have passed. But at least it was mostly silence. The clumsy silence of the poor. You know what I mean. It was clear enough what they wanted.

"The stars had come out. I remember the stars perfectly though I don't know why I should, sitting inside as I was. And my wife's cat jumped up onto the table where I was sitting. I had not stood up, of course. There was mainly just silence. Then it happened much in the way that you have heard. I did not lie about there being no room left - there really was none - though perhaps if there had been a room, I might have lied. As much for their sakes as for the sake of the inn. Their kind would have felt more at home in a stable, that's all, and I do not mean that unkindly either. God knows.

"Later that night, when the baby came, I was not there," the Innkeeper said. "I was lost in the forest somewhere, the unenchanted forest of a million trees. Fifteen steps to the cellar, and watch out for your head going down. Firewood to the left. If the fire goes out, the heart freezes. Only the wind, the wind. I speak to you as men of the world. So when the baby came, I was not around, and I saw none of it. As for what I heard - just at that moment itself of birth when nobody turns into somebody - I do not rightly know what I heard.

"But this I do know. My own true love. All your life long, you wait for your own true love to come-we all of us do-our destiny, our joy, our heart's desire. So how am I to say it, gentlemen? When he came, I missed him.

"Pray for me, brothers and sisters. Pray for the Innkeeper. Pray for me, and for us all, my own true love."

Merry Christmas Eve.

Twas one week before Christmas, and all through the home

Carols were playing, through laptop and phone.

The stockings were hung in the living room too,

And lights on the tree shined brightly, though few.

The toddler ran giggling from place to place, 

While her parents took in a quiet embrace. 

I'll stop there. The original "Twas the night before Christmas..." poem is far longer than my parody, but you get the idea. We're ready for next week's big shebang and feeling cozy in anticipation. I've been turning on the tree lights as soon as I wake up- dreary days call for twinkling lights all the day through- and I whipped together a Christmas stocking for Alice yesterday morning, so our whole little family is rightfully represented this year. For now, there is a little girl waking up from her nap and the mail just arrived (more holiday greetings, I hope). I hope you're enjoying your season of anticipation, these final days of advent.

on food poisoning and borscht

Jake was hit harder than I was. My uncle reminded me that is most likely because Jake ate more than I did. Fair enough. Jake ate about twice as much as I did and I think it is true to say he was in twice as much pain from the food poisoning. He took about twice as much time to recover. He spent at least twice as much time in the bathroom.

Food poisoning is certainly a result of the fall of man. We can all agree on that, yes?

So, sadly, Jake did not make it to the Ukrainian Christmas celebration for which I had been counting down days and enjoying the little knot of excitement in my throat in anticipation of Alice's first blessing. Instead, he was home in bed, nursing an empty, ache-y body back to health. My dad drove 2 hours each way to transport Alice and me to dinner- I was still too weak to make the drive solo- and then I caught a sleepy ride home with my sister's family. By the time I stumbled into our home at midnight I was shakey and beyond fatigued. I don't remember much of the celebration, but I am still grateful to have been a part of it. It was worth every moment of backseat nausea and dizzied conversation.

You can't keep our family apart- food poisoning, illness, divorce, even death. We are a unified force of nature, spanning generations and propelling the honest truth that love prevails and laughter heals. My dad made a toast in Ukrainian. My cousin's toddler sons provided the soundtrack for the evening- sweet, feisty, funny voices. Alice did her highchair dance and listened intently as my mom read her blessing. Her first blessing:

Dear Alice,

It is with great joy we celebrate this first Ukrainian Christmas with you. You are a delight in every way and we are so thankful you have blessed our family by your presence.

It is our prayer that your life will be one which brings peace to the downhearted and you will have the words to build up those around you. We pray you will have a sensitive heart that is also strong and courageous. We pray you will have a heart that longs to follow righteousness and spread God's good will.

Our blessing this year is also for your parents. Parenthood has just begun and your parents have experienced both exhaustion and exhilaration. They are already endeavoring to lay a foundation for your life. In their wisdom, they know they are not doing it alone. Each one of us has a part in the building of you up, and we join hands and hearts with your mom and dad as you grow. We will choose carefully how to invest in your character and life.

Your heritage is rich and though you never got to meet Grammy, you have a piece of her in your character. The same goes for Meema and Grandpa Brown. They are part of you. You carry on their goodness. We are so grateful.

So, with this gift may your parents be reminded we are invested in the building of you up and your roots go deep. God has readied you for awesomeness!

Love, Babah and Papa

Amen.

The thanks I give will never be enough, but I'll write it anyway- thank you Babah and Papa. And not just for the leftovers, which were Jake's first post-poisoning meal aside from dry toast. This is not just a thank you for giving us the last bit of borscht, for the Ukrainian cookies Jake shamelessly ate for breakfast all week, for the compote and kutia and stuffed fish. Not even just for opening your home, filling it to bursting year after year, sharing this intimate tradition with boyfriends and boyfriend's sisters. Its not just a thank you for any of those individual things, but a for all of it and more. This is one of those "greater than the sum of its parts" situations. Bringing us together, feeding us extravagantly, speaking words of reflection and hope over the children present- it all speaks volumes to the way in which you've chosen to live and give in this life. Its big while being beautifully small too. Sitting in that tight dining room, I couldn't help but think of the journeys and stories represented and how my mom and dad have been present and generous through them. Achingly invested in them. Oh, Linda and Steve- thank you.

Merry Christmas

All photos by the dear & lovely Sarah Leaman

endless creativity

December 25 was not, by any account, the day Jesus was born. In fact, it was a popular date for pagan religions to celebrate the birth of the sun, S-U-N. Yet, since the late 6th or early 7th century- history is foggy on the matter- the Christian church has observed Advent, marking the beginning of the church calendar and establishing a season of anticipation. 

In December, days are short and light is scarce. Advent shifts the spiritual focus from this darkness to the light of Christ's humble birth. In a barn. To an unmarried teen. 

My favorite thing I've read through all the holiday hubbub this year commented on this very truth: We, each of us, bear witness to the endless creativity of a God who was entrusted to the womb of a woman (by Lisa-Jo Baker, written for She Reads Truth).

To some, the Biblical creation story sets up a paradigm in which women are the first fallen- the instigators of the fall- and this, among other things, is used to define us as necessarily submissive members of humanity. We are weak, prone to confusion and delusion. We ought not be leaders or exhibit strength. That is not what we are meant for.

But then, from his very birth, Christ throws these patriarchal assumptions aside- flips them like tables. Because if you buy into this birth story you buy into the concept of Christ, creator and savior, grown, carried and born by a woman. Labored into this world through the strength of a woman. Without an epidural. No doula in sight. 

From Christ's very birth he began to upend the scriptural and cultural perspective of everything- women, power, community. Value and identity. Truth and light.

Thank God. 

Merry Christmas!

a blessing

This weekend was "Ukrainian Christmas," which means my mostly-English mother cooked 12 courses of seriously Ukrainian food. Over 20 people filled our little dining room, sitting around tables and on chairs borrowed from our church. I sat across from my little Ukrainian grandmother, while she giggled at my brother's vaguely inappropriate comments- "Grandma, where have you been all my life?" She told us once again about growing up and eating jellied pigs feet. Unfortunately, jellied pigs feet were not on the menu for our version of Ukrainian Christmas.

What was on the menu? The food my mouth waters over for the rest of the year: stuffed cabbages, stuffed fish, mushroom gravy, braided bread, fruit compote, kutia- a sweet, grainy favorite, to remind of our ancestors-, sauerkraut with yellow peas, deep red borscht with sour cream and the pierogi we spend hours making by hand- rolling out dough to be the thickness of a pillowcase, and carefully stuffing each little dumpling with onion and potato.

By the end of the meal I sit back in my chair, hoping for my stomach to expand so I can actually finish my plate. There's no way. Its all so good and I want to keep savoring, but the food is so rich and my belly so warm. I manage to have a sliver of honey cake- the middle piece that is especially moist and sunken- and even though it'll take days to feel hungry again, it is totally worth it.

After dinner and some digestion, talking and more wine, it is time for blessings. My parents give each child one gift, with a written blessing that is read aloud to the entire party. My cousin's son, just a few weeks old, received his first blessing this year and we certainly remembered his ancestors. The grandfathers that would want this little baby to be strong and hardworking, thoughtful and faithful. Jake and I received a special blessing for our first married Christmas: "No matter how much love you have, hard times come. They often surprise us. We imagine love and faithfulness securing us in peace, and it often does, but life has a way of throwing curve balls that we can't anticipate. We may be left shaken, unsure of what went wrong...it is not about today's disappointment, but about hope for tomorrow. It is not about being perfect, but about being perfectly suited for each other. It is not about always being happy, but rather about knowing a deep contentment in knowing someone is going to stay faithful, no matter what...We pray that the reminder you receive with this blessing often brings you back to that day when your love and lives were celebrated by those who love you"

I'm always sad to have it all done. The glasses empty and the punch ring melted. The sound of the dishwasher and babies crying over getting on their pajamas. Yet, the words of the blessings still hang in the air, and linger for a while. They flutter about our minds and land when we need them as a reminder.

When I think of Ukrainian Christmas I first smell and taste and see the food in my mind's eye. Then, the true value comes to the fore- every moment is a blessing, and the blessings themselves draw attention to the deep worth of the entire evening. From pinching pierogi in the kitchen, to sitting together around long tables, the evening is full of savored moments. We are rich with family.

[photo credit: here]

the road we're on

Travel. It is the one thing we specifically kept out of Christmas growing up. One day of the year when there were no errands to run or people to see, just time spent in our pajamas, sitting together, eating together, sharing gifts.

Then, somehow, I became an adult. Between recess and black coffee, I lost the ban on Christmas travel- holiday travel in general- and now, too often, the end of a holiday means a sore lower back and a car full of my husband's mint wrappers. Last weekend was no exception. Though we did have Dallas, Dally Lama as she's been recently nicknamed, for entertainment this time around. To her chagrin she had jingle bells tied to her collar, and wore a festive sweater for much of the journey. She shared the backseat with presents, first those we were giving, and then the ones we received. Mostly, she slept in a perfect sized ball for the space she had and enjoyed the constant company.


Despite the travel, I refuse to grow weary of Christmas. I hate it when adults say they don't like Christmas because "its just not what it was when we were kids." I still adamantly love Christmas. I love the excuse to give to people dearest to me. The excuse to listen to my Sufjan Christmas albums exclusively for weeks. The excuse to dress our dog in festive canine attire. I know I shouldn't need an "excuse." I can give my family gifts any time. I can put a sweater on Dally any day of the year. But, you know what? Life is so darn busy and fast. Christmas is this speed bump to remind us of the road we're on and who we're traveling with and travel or not, I'm thankful for it.

PS: linking up with E Tells Tales

Christmas Q&A

my dad reading a Christmas story to my niece, circa 2009

1. Egg nog or hot chocolate? Hot chocolate.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Wrap. Even Santa knows that ripping off that wrapping is half the fun.

3. Colored lights or white? White. My classy aunt and uncle always had white lights on their tree, so I always feel like white lights are extra classy.

4. Do you hang mistletoe? I used to, until I lost my little, fake mistletoe a college friend gave me. I think an old apartment absorbed it.

5. When do you put your decorations up? As soon as I can justify it. This year we decorated the day after Thanksgiving. Jake asked me to restrain myself from decorating the week before Thanksgiving.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish? My mom's cinnamon buns.

7. Favorite holiday memory as a child? Opening our stockings- they were the one gift we could open as soon as we got up, and they were HUGE. I'm not kidding. My stocking would have cds and books in it, among other things, of course.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I never believed in Santa. My parents never played along, so he just wasn't on my radar as a kid. I do think Jake and I will help our kids believe in him though- growing up, Jake's dad would go all out, even stomping around on the roof, and ringing jingle bells. 

9. Snow! Love it or dread it? Love it! At first. By March I'll dread and loathe it.

10. Can you ice skate? Most definitely. I love ice skating. Jake and I went on the Boston Commons last year.

11. What tops your tree? This year, an angel ornament wearing a patchwork dress.

12. Which do you prefer: giving or receiving? Giving. I get nervous about the pressure of opening gifts and worry that I won't like it, won't know what to say or will seem ungrateful. How do I manage to make gift opening stressful?

13. Candy canes: yuck or yummy? Yuck. Mostly, yuck.

14. Favorite Christmas movie? Home Alone, White Christmas, and It's a Wonderful Life. Don't make me decide between them, I just can't.

15. What is your favorite Christmas song? Sister Winter by Sufjan Stevens. I also LOVE Sufjan's Christmas arrangement of Holy, Holy, Holy. I can't help but listen to it on repeat.

Christmas Q&A Idea from here. Merry Christmas!

its beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

I have a difficult time looking ahead when I'm in the midst of production. Its as if the performances- and all they entail- stand directly in my sightline. Whichever way I turn I have these pesky shows standing between me and real life. But, once they take their final bow I can BREATHE again.

[deep breath. deep breath.]

So, suddenly, its beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. I still have a budget to sort out, receipts to process and emails to respond to. I have props and furniture to return to another theatre and surveys to send. Marketing to prep for the New Year. But, now I can see through all that to real life- family, celebrations, presents and Linnie's cinnamon buns. Our first married Christmas!

I was proud and sad and all that yesterday, of course. The cast did beautifully and they moved me in every performance. I've got to admit though, I am always relieved when its done.

moments

"He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe is as good as dead; his eyes are closed." ~Albert Einstein

I read that quote over at Enjoying the Small Things. I got a bit teary, and thankful for moments of rapt awe. What beautiful moments. Right now I'm in the mess of tech week. Fabric to be hung. Lights to be focused. Kids to be herded from stage left to right. In the heat of that messy, work-y, madness, I am thankful for awe. Moments of brilliance onstage, in the sincerity of a child's voice. Moments of quiet in our living room, basking in the glow of our first Christmas tree. Moments together. 

enjoy your turkey

I'm taking this week off from blog world as I embrace a bit of a reprieve in Thanksgiving, and then buckle down on some intense end-of-semester, nearly-tech-week work. I hope your Thanksgiving is full of family and pie, stuffing and homemade bread. Jake and I are hosting our families for the holiday this year and we're looking forward to our apartment smelling like all the delicious cooking and baking. I am also just bubbling with excitement over the start of Christmas music and decorations. Before the Thanksgiving smells are even settled, I hope we'll have those of a rich scented Christmas tree filling our little abode.

Happy Thanksgiving from our little home to yours.