As I've been about to write, I've been watching the broadcast of this morning's mass at Mepkin Abbey. Yesterday I saw this announcement on Facebook:
I decided to check out the link, and lo and behold, suddenly I'm watching this morning's 7:30 a.m. Mass. The sound is far from perfect, but I'm forgiving of that. As I watched the monks taking communion, some of them familiar to me and some of them not, I felt tears well up. I'm so happy to see them again in this year when I've begun to wonder if any of my old approaches to spiritual sustenance would ever work again.
I had a similar feeling yesterday as I went into the building of my local public library. I was at work, looking at some of the Best Books of 2020 lists, wishing I had thought ahead to check out some compelling fiction for this holiday break. Then I realized that the libraries were re-opened, and I checked the website--I was in luck! On my way home, I stopped and got some books. On the way out of the building, I took one last look, as if I might not be allowed back for awhile. These days, it's hard to know for sure.
Once I got home in the late afternoon yesterday, my spouse and I headed over to church. He had choir rehearsal, and I had treasurer duties to take care of. When we got back, we watched Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, the stop motion classic from my childhood. I thought it was made in the 60's, but a quick search reveals that it was 1970. This show was my favorite of them all--much better than the cruelty of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer or any of those other shows based on Christmas songs. I am amazed by how I remember the songs of the show that aren't Christmas songs--I've been singing "Put One Foot in Front of Another" for years, not remembering that it came from this special.
In some ways, Thanksgiving is an easier holiday for me. I don't have as many childhood memories of Thanksgiving. I'm not constantly tripping over memories that rise up to overwhelm me. Most of them are good memories, but even good memories can give me a strange sadness. It's wrapped up in people I don't see much anymore, people who are gone, places I've been and probably won't find again, the sadness of knowing that my favorite stretch of time, that stretch between mid-September and Dec. 25, is quickly coming to a close.
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