Greetings from their house to… my house?

About twenty years ago I sort of inherited these Christmas cards, typical of the 1950’s style that my in-laws and their close friends would send and receive back then. I think I’ve already purged most of what they’d saved in this category, but kept this sampling, most recently in my own basket of cards received in the current year. They weren’t sent to me, but they go on sending greetings! Just now I decided to take their picture, and I will “let them go” after this Christmas. I’m not in touch with the people who are pictured here; many of them are likely still sending their own cards, which I’m sure are nothing like these.

Back then, my parents never went to the trouble of getting anything like this printed,
but I wouldn’t be surprised if the style is familiar to some of you. As of yesterday I was sure that this year I wouldn’t have time to send any Christmas cards, but today I wrote out a few, and that made me happy.

German Advent Calendar

Open, wide-awake eyes.

“The lack of mystery in our modern life is our downfall and our poverty. A human life is worth as much as the respect it holds for the mystery. We retain the child in us to the extent that we honor the mystery. Therefore, children have open, wide-awake eyes, because they know that they are surrounded by the mystery. They are not yet finished with this world; they still don’t know how to struggle along and avoid the mystery, as we do. We destroy the mystery because we sense that here we reach the boundary of our being, because we want to be lord over everything and have it at our disposal, and that’s just what we cannot do with the mystery….

Living without mystery means knowing nothing of the mystery of our own life, nothing of the mystery of another person, nothing of the mystery of the world; it means passing over our own hidden qualities and those of others and the world. It means remaining on the surface, taking the world seriously only to the extent that it can be calculated and exploited, and not going beyond the world of calculation and exploitation. Living without mystery means not seeing the crucial processes of life at all and even denying them.”

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God is in the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas

December lights and colors.

We still haven’t had a frosty night here, and there are none in the forecast, so many of my plants are still blooming. Indoors, it seems the Thanksgiving cactus flowers are on the wane, and the Christmas ones haven’t opened. Though when I got my hair cut the other day, my hairdresser’s two Thanksgiving cactuses were blooming away, in a western window.

I found mealybugs on my orchids, I suppose because they lived out on the patio all summer, where anything could invade. But overall they are healthier for their summer outdoors, because it was easier to water and feed them. Also an inchworm chewed up a patch of leaf before I saw what was happening. I got some neem oil therapy, and new orchid bark in which to repot all the orchids, but don’t think I’ll manage to do that whole job until January, some sunny day.

Other things are more hardy and less insect-prone out of doors:

Last week at the full moon, we had nearly clear skies, so I took another moon picture from my driveway. The moon was noticeably more northerly from its summertime position, when I have more often been out there looking. I liked getting some of the Christmas lights of the neighborhood in the picture.

I ordered a lighted star to put in my upstairs window that faces the street, something like what I used to have 8-10 years ago, but now they cost three times or more as much. And this week a friend is helping me to get a cut tree in town, which I will keep in water in the garage temporarily. With the help of my grandchildren when they arrive, we should be well decorated by Christmas Eve.

2014

 

One without looks in tonight.

THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSE

One without looks in to-night
Through the curtain-chink
From the sheet of glistening white,
One without looks in to-night
As we sit and think
By the fender-brink.

We do not discern those eyes
Watching in the snow,
Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
We do not discern those eyes
Wondering, aglow,
Fourfooted, tiptoe.

-Thomas Hardy

Eyvind Earle, Deer