Beautiful! I feel more of this as I get older, miss those gone, while being aware of how fleeting the time with my children are. Thank you for this post! Happy Holidays!
A stunning piece, Alice, thank you. It always struck me that, as you say, Christmas is a thin place, where the living and the dead, the present and the past, are separated by a thin veil of time and memory. My concentration in college was on Dickens, and I loved all of the books (some more than others), but A Christmas Carol probably the most, and took my mother to see the original manuscript some years ago at The Morgan Library. I remembered that Dickens was in a workhouse as a child, and (if I recall accurately) as a result of his father being in debtor’s prison for not being able to pay back 40 pounds. It broke Dickens’ heart, and, I think, made him who he was; like Baldwin says, he tells the same stories again and again, until his stories become clearer and clearer.
I thought it was just I who felt this way at Christmas.
We were just discussing this very thing the other day - Christmas can be the most terrible of all anniversaries, a time when we re-experience grief - like it or not - over those we have lost every single year. I am a huge fan of A Christmas Carol and my boys feel the same, watching the (Alastair Sim version) faithfully each year and like myself, can quote from it on cue.
Thank you for this thoughtful, refreshing and spot-on post, I loved every bit.
I feel the same way. Thanks for writing this Alice. My Mom began A Christmas Carol every December 10th and the three of us listened to it all every year. The repetition only improved it. We went to a nice reading on the 20th at The Old Merchant’s House.
Love these musings! It brings back memories: my little cousin who drowned and was buried at the Church of the Redeemer. I was drawn to her grave over the years, even as a young child myself, thinking of how a small child's life could be snuffed out so quickly. And then playing Scrooge in our 7th grade school play - how lucky there were no boys to take the role instead of me. It gave me courage. I can still say most of the words as I watch the play each year.
How incredible that Dickens sat down and wrote this story in one day with his London house crammed to the brim with his noisy children, debtors knocking on his door, and his demanding publishers' that he must give them something immediately.
This is utterly timely, Alice, and exquisite. It's also a powerfully helpful consolation, because I imagine too many of us feel we've made some misstep feeling crushed during this holiday. You elucidate the predicament perfectly. And yes, Joyce's is the most beautiful ending ever written. Thank you for this great blessing of insight and generosity.
Beautiful! I feel more of this as I get older, miss those gone, while being aware of how fleeting the time with my children are. Thank you for this post! Happy Holidays!
Alice, this is beautiful and you are truly brilliant, but then we all knew that. 🥰 and Merry everything to you. F
A stunning piece, Alice, thank you. It always struck me that, as you say, Christmas is a thin place, where the living and the dead, the present and the past, are separated by a thin veil of time and memory. My concentration in college was on Dickens, and I loved all of the books (some more than others), but A Christmas Carol probably the most, and took my mother to see the original manuscript some years ago at The Morgan Library. I remembered that Dickens was in a workhouse as a child, and (if I recall accurately) as a result of his father being in debtor’s prison for not being able to pay back 40 pounds. It broke Dickens’ heart, and, I think, made him who he was; like Baldwin says, he tells the same stories again and again, until his stories become clearer and clearer.
I thought it was just I who felt this way at Christmas.
We were just discussing this very thing the other day - Christmas can be the most terrible of all anniversaries, a time when we re-experience grief - like it or not - over those we have lost every single year. I am a huge fan of A Christmas Carol and my boys feel the same, watching the (Alastair Sim version) faithfully each year and like myself, can quote from it on cue.
Thank you for this thoughtful, refreshing and spot-on post, I loved every bit.
God Bless us every one!
Alice, this made me cry and, especially your words at the conclusion, not so alone anymore.
Thank you for this past year of brilliant, delightful posts and wishing you wonderful holidays.
I feel the same way. Thanks for writing this Alice. My Mom began A Christmas Carol every December 10th and the three of us listened to it all every year. The repetition only improved it. We went to a nice reading on the 20th at The Old Merchant’s House.
Love these musings! It brings back memories: my little cousin who drowned and was buried at the Church of the Redeemer. I was drawn to her grave over the years, even as a young child myself, thinking of how a small child's life could be snuffed out so quickly. And then playing Scrooge in our 7th grade school play - how lucky there were no boys to take the role instead of me. It gave me courage. I can still say most of the words as I watch the play each year.
How incredible that Dickens sat down and wrote this story in one day with his London house crammed to the brim with his noisy children, debtors knocking on his door, and his demanding publishers' that he must give them something immediately.
Merry Christmas to one and all.
"All of the living should bed the dead!
Just think
how much ghosts must miss having bodies,
and how light you will feel
when you let go of yours
for a while" --Keckler
Two of my favorites!!!!
This is utterly timely, Alice, and exquisite. It's also a powerfully helpful consolation, because I imagine too many of us feel we've made some misstep feeling crushed during this holiday. You elucidate the predicament perfectly. And yes, Joyce's is the most beautiful ending ever written. Thank you for this great blessing of insight and generosity.
So powerful. This sent shivers up my spine, in a good way.