Blah blah blah, music of another old dead guy, you say? What is the point? 272 years ago a German immigrant to England, George Frideric Handel, composed his oratorio Messiah in just 24 days.
I gather all the Christmas card photos we received in the mail and slowly peruse them, an undertaking I never have time for during the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. I see smiling children, and increasingly I find myself thinking, 'Who are these kids?'
I initially started writing this post with the intent of posting it on Christmas, but since we lost the war on Christmas once again this year, I had to do all that stupid Christmas stuff like buying presents and spending time with family and friends.
As you get older, your universe (not the universe, mind you) may become even more ordered, stripped in a million small places of its magic, as if the petals of an infinitely inconceivable flower wilt away to reveal the still-beautiful-but-perhaps-less-mysterious bloom below. And so, here are my year-end wishes for you, my girls, while you still inhabit this tender space.
Maybe that's why we hold onto the Magic Garden so ferociously -- not to wax nostalgic about the magic of childhood, but to keep the magic of childhood with us through adulthood.
What if we took the American penchant for "living large" and thought of what an altruistic Santa list might look like? Here's what I wanted for Christmas and beyond.
Now that Christmas is over and I won't seem like quite so big a Scrooge by saying this, I have a confession to make: I don't really like Christmas car...
As we pulled away from the house the snow had just started to fall. Oh, boy this would be interesting I thought. A major road trip in a snow storm. I've made this drive a hundred times before.
Over the years, John said, veterans who were part of the 1914 truce often wanted to meet him. In 2010, between concerts in Virginia, John was taken to West Virginia to meet someone who wanted to hear "Christmas in the Trenches."
Last year at this time I had a new husband, new family, new home, warmly lit and replete with the visceral holiday smells of mulled cider and fresh pine. In hushed tones we reviewed the events of the day as he massaged my neck and shoulders. His hands froze when, for the first time, he felt the pea-sized knot at my throat. Last Christmas I got a lump of cancer.
As I see it, I have three choices: Follow up on that query letter to Saint Nick, cancel our plans to attend a party or get crying, cursing and cobbling.
Set a calendar reminder on November 1st to start the holiday card process. This is a great reminder to get started early so that you are not cramming at the last minute to get your cards out the door.
The problem isn't with Christmas itself -- it's actually my favorite holiday. The trouble is each year there is a bigger gap between what I want to do to celebrate Christmas and what I end up doing instead.
With all the traditions that come with this time of year, there is one in particular that my friends and I have not celebrated since we started having kids and the holidays became all about them (thanks for ruining Christmas, kids).
This year, we went to Playa del Carmen, made the varsity cross country team, and scored a gorgeous goal from 20 yards out. But really, that's not all that impressive. What's impressive is what we endured, survived, and supported each other through despite it all.
Music: Singing The holidays are always a time of music, concerts, singing. By now, the Christmas carols have been put away, but the echo of their s...