Just written another post about how to prepare for Christmas. Grant you, it won’t get the turkey bought, or the crackers pulled. But here’s another option.
Back in my teens, I came across a book called “A Formal Feeling“, by the American author Zibby Oneal. The book tells the story of Anne, coming home for Christmas from boarding school. The home she comes to is not quite home – her mother is dead, and a new stepmother is there. Traditions have changed.
Anne struggles with the changes, not just in the home, but in her father and brother, who seem happy with the new arrangements. Slowly, Anne starts to remember that not every Christmas was perfect…
For some reason, perhaps because of the way the book builds up the details of Christmas – choosing the tree, singing carols in the choir, making the adjustment from being at school to being at home all day – it became part of my preparation for Christmas for many years. Somewhat like an advent calendar, I would read a chapter a day, building up the picture of Christmas, building up the picture of Anne, and her mother.
This year, I’m starting late. 17th already. But having lost five different people this year, friends and family, somehow I hope I can use reading this book to reflect on those I want to remember. In some cases, there are shared memories of Christmases, and times after Christmas and into New Year, together. In others, I don’t know how they spent their time.
Christmas is a time of repetition. We start a way of doing things, and soon build up our own traditions, that are almost easier to keep than to question. But Christmas soon turns to New Year, and new beginnings, even if we don’t want the resolutions that might go with them.
Somehow, I trust that reading this book will help me remember the repetitions, and look for new beginnings too. And, like Anne, that it will help me tease out what I think I remember, and what else was part of those relationships.
Perhaps, one of the best presents is being able to accept life as we and others have lived it, good and bad, cut short or lived longer. The title of the book comes from an Emily Dickinson poem, which ends:
“This is the Hour of Lead-
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the snow-
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go-“