Christmas and Lux Aeterna

It was quiet today (i.e. Friday); the U-Bahn and S-Bahn refreshingly ran as planned, it did not rain (much), and it was not especially cold. At work we went ahead and tried to remain concentrated, as we exchanged the last presents before Christmas and the office was emptier because colleagues had already gone on holiday.

I was so tired at the end of the day that I almost fell asleep, standing in the U-Bahn. Theoretically I was reading more of Aristotle's Politics, i.e. about the easy transition between, or affinity of, an aristocracy and a monarchy. I could admire the hollowness of my own Christmas goodwill, too: when a seller of the street newspaper came by I donated nothing, and when I saw a woman standing at the street corner at the U-Bahn entrance asking for spare change, the same thing happened. Nor have I donated lately to any organizations that provide food, medical assistance, and shelter.

At home I revived again, did a crossword with Mama, helped demolish a gingerbread house, read news, ate a reheated piece of Georgian khatchapuri, chattered about work, and played the piano. ("In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Grieg, the arrangement of "La Vie en rose," and Granados's Spanish Dance No. 5.)

Despite the proximity to Christmas, I feel that there are cards, letters, and even a present or two that I should prepare. Whether or not I will manage to prepare over 50 handmade holiday/New Year's cards with unique motifs by January 6th remains to be seen. I don't know if I have enough material and I certainly need more cardstock.

At least we already have a tree in the Corner Room: small and endearing, if not likely to hold much of our enormous Christmas tree decoration archive.

(In the morning I dreamt about my father — I am thinking of him often. I have a photo of him on my desk in the office, and felt a little worried when, after putting the photo back into a notebook for safekeeping, I felt almost like crying when I'd forgotten and saw a few hours later that it wasn't on the desk as expected. Anyway, almost always in my dreams Papa is quiet and sad or says nothing at all; but in this one he was happy, looked at me with a smile and said, 'I have been here all along.' Then I woke up, comforted by that, my stomach still pleasantly full (to be honest) from visiting a restaurant the day before, warm and snuggly, and fully aware that I needed to get dressed and ready for the work day ahead. So life is still quite good. But lately I've been far more worried about my ability to steer ahead in moral quandaries without him as a guide. Of course Papa often had an unexpected, principled perception of a situation, or a way of reminding one to be true to one's self, that is difficult to replicate. And sometimes I do feel a chilling sense of loneliness that, to be fair, has long pre-dated his death.)