Poor David's Advent Almanack I

It is impossible to separate sun from shadow

I am running behind schedule in my seasonal scribbling. The time between Saint Andrew’s Day and The Feast of the Epiphany is often my most reflective – and joyful - period. I am frequently leaning backward for the sources of these feelings, discovering lost folktales, religious observances distorted over time, sentimental music, memories of a small-town childhood and, of course, unusual saints.

This Advent is a little different. Saint Andrew the Apostle’s Day- 30 November for Catholic liturgists and fishing enthusiasts everywhere - is the anniversary of my father’s death one year ago. I was in Miami this year, putting on a brave face and fortifying the soul with Cuban coffee drinks. But, as those familiar with the loss of a parent or child know, grief may eventually subside, but the loss never does.

If you listen to this beautiful arrangement by Morten Lauridsen of O Magnum Mysterium, originally a nativity chant from the Middle Ages, you might get a sense of my saturnine advance into the holidays.

Resquiescat in Pace, Dad. The Matins of Christmas may not be Deck Us All With Boston Charlie, or King Wenceslas’ Feets Uneven, but they bring you back to me.

Saint Nicholas’ feast day is 6 December, when we follow the example of the Bishop of Myra of 14th century Turkey. Saint Nicholas eventually emerged in Holland, wearing a red robe, and going by the name Sinterklaas. Sinterklaas’ undocumented immigration to America’s New Amsterdam produced an anglicized name and a winter solstice reminder to be merry, kind, and generous. Early Americans quickly recognized the problematic nature of Bishop Nicholas’ traditional sidekick - Zwarte Piet - and canceled him.

However, my Biographical Angel tethers me on December 6 not to Saint Nicholas, but to the sudden death of my close childhood friend, with whom I grew up in Fairborn Ohio. In a small church cemetery in a small town in southwestern Ohio, you may still find the marker for young Thomas Wright. Saint Nicholas Day does not ever pass unobserved, again in a mixture of loss and gain, through the lens of a 10-year-old boy.

My parents said that my reaction to the tragic death of my friend altered me significantly and irreversibly. Tommy and I knew and understood one another instinctively, as if we were brothers. The taking away of this closeness without explanation ( it was eventually revealed that undiagnosed juvenile diabetes was the cause ) introduced a certain remoteness, which some have observed in my adult demeanor. Hesitancy to the formation of close bonds outside my immediate family, may be both inheritance and painful experience.

Which brings us to my next Advent arrival, Professor Peter Myers, lately of Rochester Minnesota and not by choice. Pete is my esteemed close cousin and is currently recovering from a lung transplant. A lung transplant! And this is not the result of a dissolute life, but rather an inexplicable and horrible assault on the lungs of an otherwise healthy and fit man. We were born exactly one week apart, and all of our lives have shared the same sort of instinctive closeness and temperamental similarity that can only be called brotherly. Pete is an accomplished professor, teacher and author; I am a B-list engineer and sybaritic scrivener. When he speaks or writes, Pete produces the words and thoughts I would if I had any talent at it. We were both sports-obsessed boys and he has done a better job managing the disease than me.

By every account I receive, mostly from Pete’s lovely wife Paige, there is indication of a long and tiring but full recovery. May it be thus, and may he return to “knocking down shots from the top of the key” in due course. Little does Pete know that his shots find their way 500 miles down the Mississippi and rip the nylon every time.

So it is that I run tardy on Advent tidings. In Christian theology, it is a time of preparation. And anticipation. The now mostly secular traditions of erecting and decorating trees, baking cookies and cakes, trading warm greetings and listening to Lieder, both ancient and popular, all originate in the early spread of Christianity from the Middle East to Europe. But the feelings of mystery and hope belong to believers and non-believers alike, of every variety.

The Almanack remains in hopeful anticipation of a Merry Christmas for all.