cheering cemetery

Think I've mentioned before how odd I think it is that we celebrate a new year in January.  Spirits and landscapes are dank and chilled at this time of year; seems a bit surreal to be all rah-rah improve this and that.  People that I know are generally cranky and broke and overloaded with sugar and fats and overheated office work.  I've always preferred September as the kick-off to a new year and a fresh slate.

As I've had a flu that has left me limp and wishing me off my mental and mortal coil, decided the ending of 2009 would be an auspicious day to walk through the local cemetery.  Normally, it has stellar city viewing, but with the icy rain, not so much.  It still was a peaceful walk and provided some perspective to niggling issues in my life.

Wispy blossoms along my walk.

One of the beautiful homes in my neighborhood.

fun fence decorations

I've never done the annual Christmas letter, but in my morning journaling, realized that this has been quite the year.  A new decade of life.  Graduation from Princeton.  Driving twice across the USA this summer.  Plunging back into the professional world, as well as the dating world.  Much has transpired for me within 12 months.  Too much to attempt to capture with my flu-addled brain.

I will close by saying that I wish you much happiness in 2010; however you define it.

blue moon

two cents--one American and one Candian

and a true blue moon to end the year as well as an audition/interview for studio teaching both piano and voice students!  From an opening for which I applied last autumn.

ethereal morning

burbles of delight

a penny on the road and a lovely calendar in my mail box brought little lifts to my day

as did the pinkened sunset

a smidgen of Rainier was visible

noel, noel, now sing noel

A blurry action-shot.  Bogart loves my new blinking Santa and takes it off the tree and bats it around the flat.

Not quite the grandeur of the Macy's on 34th, but I'll take it!

My favorite glass sculpture on an intersection on the way to Cost Plus.  Which, I say crankily, was OUT of cinnamon.   Next time I'll call before I hike down there.

The massive Advent wreath at Saint Meg's.  It's maneuvered using a boat winch--been lots of fun to watch each Sunday--we place bets on which acolyte it going to take it out with the cross during a processional!

Our elegantly bedecked altar.

Another angle.

My trusty organist, warming up.

I keep trying to capture the shadow on the wall on a sunny day, but with no luck.  yet.

Whimsical swing on my afternoon stroll.  And now, having produced all these Christmas programs/moments, I am crawling into bed and taking the next two days to completely vegetate both mind and body.

simply lovely

December

by Gary Johnson

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.

on Christmas day....

Santa began right with a nice kitchen toy

On a clear day, while you may not see forever, it seems like a long vista

Mount Baker

have to capture the sunshine when it appears--shiny waters outside of Edmonds

a host with a monkey--always a good thing

a host with brand new sharp knives?  even better

beautiful table setting

tasty food

a red/green socked elf engrossed in his newest book

a grandpa and great-grandma and cat

grandma with her grandson

candles lit

and Diva II, up from her nap

at this point, my camera card said that it was full and as I didn't have my laptop or camera accouterments, I will have to wait until I get photos from others.  A good day.

And now it's time for a loooooooon winter's nap.

And down in Cali, the little Santa

roomless inns

In the thousands of details that have passed over my desktop, through my emails/texts, conversations in stairwells and foyer (foy[e] vs. foy [er]); in the baking of cookies and arranging for teas in between all the services; in the arranging of praise band, children's choir, bell choir, string quartet, adult choir, guest oboist, cantors, organist, pianist, preachers and priests, I forgot one thing.

Myself.

I have no place to sit tonight.

None.

I could go all Russian Orthodox and stand.  Somehow I doubt my stamina would last from 2 p.m. until 1 a.m.

Suppose I could hike up my choir cassock and cotta and sit on my conductor's podium; after all, they sprawl all over the floor at St. Mark's during Compline and if it works at our Cathedral, it will work for the local parish.

Ah well.  The music is prepped and will be glorious and tomorrow I shall spend a day with food and family in the hinterlands of a gorgeous island.

Merry Christmas to all, whether you're sitting or standing.

blurred busy-ness

part of the foyer

the red batch, sans jelly

and a green pan full

a few blurry yellow ones as well as the found penny o' the day

Tomorrow brings 11 straight hours of Christmas services....

light/dark

"There are two ways of spreading light; to be

the candle or the mirror that reflects it."

Edith Wharton

breathlessness

Yesterday was a long blurred cycle of:  rehearsal, church, warm-ups, church, rehearsal, rehearsal, rehearsal, caroling, cookie eating, decorating, rehearsal.  Caught my breath with a lovely long winter's walk to St. Mark's Compline service.

 

Now, I sit, staring out the window at the shortest day of the year.  It seems as though I merely blinked and it was 21 June.  As my brain is sluggish, will share another's words with you this morn:

The most ancient spiritual wisdom was centered around predictable shifts in seasonal energies.  Rituals revolved around sowing, reaping and the cycles of light and darkness.  The seasonal rhythms correlate with our bodily rhythm....Our dream life and inner life grow more insistent in the winter darkness....The old year is put to bed, one's business is finished, and the harvest of spiritual maturity is reaped as wisdom and forgiveness.