.

.

Friday, December 13, 2013

St Lucy's Day

Lucia of Syracuse (283–304), also known as Saint Lucy, or Saint Lucia (Italian Santa Lucia), was a young Christian martyr who died during the Diocletian persecution. She is venerated as a saint by the Roman CatholicAnglicanLutheran, and Orthodox Churches. She is one of seven women, apart from the Blessed Virgin Mary, commemorated by name in the traditional Canon of the Mass. Her feast day, known as Saint Lucy's Day, is celebrated in the West on 13 December. (From Wikipedia. You didn't think I was going to type it out for myself, did you?)

Sadly the Episcopal Church in the USA does not mark her day, but I take joy - together with Swedish people the world over, for she is their matron saint - in wishing you a Happy St Lucy's Day!

'Tis the Season

And it's cold. A wind chill of eleven degrees Fahrenheit, or so they say. But for the time being it's a dry cold and I can cope with such low degrees. My grandmother would say tell everyone to stop complaining and pull on another sweater. And her small house in Fishguard only had a small coal fire in the front room (which was only used when the Vicar called to visit) and a similar heater in the middle or living room.

But tomorrow the dry turns to wet and snow is forecast. Perhaps an inch or two. Maybe as much as five inches. No forecaster agrees on how this storm will affect the east end of the island so we simply wait and see.

And the more I think about it, the more I despair of those who dream of a white Christmas. But then I realise that those who do, and who compose songs to that effect, are city dwellers who generally speaking don't have to travel far to work, shop or play. And what is this Yuletide fascination with snow anyway? I blame it on the Victorians. In fact, most things snowy and sentimental about Christmas can be blamed on the Victorians. But then they did produce Charles Dickens and his Ebenezer Scrooge so they can't be all bad.

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Let there be Light(s)



A light in my winter
For spring dreams to come
Shady darkish tinter
Where my summer is from
A light in white frost
For the blossoming dreams
Those with autumn were lost
In oblivion river streams.


Each morning come glowing
With sunshine and day
Through the darkness going
To lead forthcoming way
When rose shall reddish
So lovesome in my bed
To bring in spring wish
Through their colors red.


A light in my heart
To fulfill my dark eyes
For blossoms shall start
When there are blue skies
And again summer spring
With each beauty of worth
And birds in trees to sing
Every song of new earth.

Rich but gentle words by Peter S Quinn, but my words were nothing of the kind yesterday afternoon when, having stubbed my toe on an old tree stump I hopped around only to find the exact spot that Lizzie the labrador chooses to use for her morning latrine. What was I doing?  Starting my annual, and now traditional task of putting in place thousands of outdoor lights in time for the Christmas season.  What began as a single grazing stag evolved over the years into a brilliant extravaganza.  It takes many days and much testing of cables and bulbs, but when all is wired and done it is immensely satisfying to walk up the road, look back and see the finished work.

And I tell myself – this is not just for Christmas.  It is part of December and entering winter and the approaching solstice.  An act of defiance maybe, as mornings and evenings are now dark.  And like those pagans of old, an act of hope that spring will come, eventually.  Even when I take down those lights after the Epiphany, the rite and ritual has been fulfilled.  But the images live on until it’s time for Lent – and the putting away of such pagan things!