It is the season of reverence for light and lights, not to mention something called the light. For inspiration on this dark December eve, I’m sitting by a roaring hot fire, throwing plenty of light and warmth to guide me. The days are dark: I awake in the dark, and barely get the day’s tasks done before dark once again settles upon the land.
It is no wonder that from dark days are born celebrations of light. Hanukkah has begun for Jews around the world, an eight-day Festival of Lights celebrating the rededication of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Using the menorah, one candle is lit for each day of the holiday. Kwanzaa, a multi-day celebration for people of African descent, involves lighting the candles of the kinara.
The light of the Star of Bethlehem led the magi to the manger and the infant Jesus. In Santa Fe, New Mexico, there is a Spanish Catholic tradition of lighting farolitos, simple lanterns made with paper bags and candles, which line the walls and roofs of houses in the region.
Continue reading “The Season of Lights”
I’m writing this from my living room in an old stone house in a tiny town in the South of France, where I’ve relocated for a year. This evening I built a fire, roasted some chestnuts, and began writing to you.
Gratitude for sacrifice. It is November 11—Veterans Day, Armistice Day, Remembrance Day—and my little town put on a show that brought tears to my eyes.
The South of France saw enormous loss during World War I, the war to end all wars and the war that brought us Armistice Day. About 12 times as many men from this town died during WWI as during WWII. I missed the start of today’s event at the cemetery, but caught up when the French Tricolore was marched through town, proudly borne by several veterans. A whole parade of townspeople accompanied them to the war memorial, where young children were invited to the front of the crowd to read the names of the fallen, and the local chorus gave a rousing rendition of the French national anthem, the Marseillaise. The mayor gave a speech, as did one or two other dignitaries. I didn’t follow all the French, but I understood enough to know that both of the longer speeches gave enormous credit to the United States for entering the war and helping the Allies win.
And that is really what this is all about: a day to remember those who gave their lives to fight for their nations, and to show our gratitude for their sacrifice. The armistice to end WWI took effect in 1918, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month; here in my town, the ceremony began shortly after 11:11 in the morning (perhaps those parading vets are walking a bit more slowly these days!).
Continue reading “In Gratitude”
I had another “does this guy know me?” moment the other day, when my daily email missive from Brian Andreas had this to say:
That thing you want to do with your whole heart? Yeah, go do it. That thing you kinda want to do if it ever works out? Let it go. Free your mind for something great.
I’m relaxing on my last night with my friends Sophie and François; they’ve hosted me in Nice and Antibes so graciously for nearly a week. Tomorrow I set off on a new piece of this adventure: I have leased a car for four months, and I’ll be picking it up tomorrow at the Nice airport. I’ll drive to Bonnieux to spend one night in the town where Dale and I and a lot of people we have loved celebrated Dale’s 50th birthday ten years ago.
The next day, I’ll pick up Katie from the airport in Marseille, and we’ll drive to Nîmes for a few days’ exploration in the region. And then on Saturday, I’ll move into the house I’ve rented in Bize-Minervois!
Continue reading “From the South of France”