Christmas night musings and Photos of the Bluebell woods

Merry Christmas to all…

This year I have found myself meditating on the idea of Christmas Eve. The night before, the darkness… still, peaceful, expectant and full of wonder. What makes Christmas Eve so different than any other night? It seems that no child is afraid of the darkness when its coming means the gateway to a morning of long anticipated magic.

And as adults we loose faith that morning will bring the vast pleasures and magic that is promised to us, don’t we? Perhaps its that we have seen darkness prevail for far to long and in our knowing and logical minds we render hope childish. When I was child and I took long trips with the family I would ask, “how long until we get there” and the answer would not be told in hours, but in Sesame Streets. This crude form of measure was all I could understand because at that age all time seemed much longer and time itself was a very elusive idea to be grasped. But my mind could measure what I knew. How much more gargantuan is the relative knowledge of an infinite father in comparison with a child and a parent on earth. There is something about Christmas that is meant to leave us longing, wondering, expecting… at least the Christmas I want to experience. I believe we were designed to experience a wonder that takes the fear out of night. Does a child lay awake on Christmas night, in fear of the evil that normally lurks under the cover of darkness? I think what children do get is expectation. They understanding longing, but long nights become short when you find rest and fall asleep. When parents tuck their children in and say, “the sooner you sleep, the sooner the morning comes” as mine always did, it may just be because the parent is tired and is hoping the child will drift off soon so they can prepare stockings and eat the cookies left out for Santa. But to the child it’s a promise that the night is not to be feared, and it has an assurance that the dark will be killed by the light and that with the light comes all the gifts that are awaiting. And in that moment all the anticipation will be relieved, not due to the logical realization that Christmas is for kids and hope is infantile, and that waiting up in the dark to catch Mom and Dad playing Santa will free them from childhood fantasies and finally let them grow up. No… the anticipation is over when they realize that it was all they imagined, and they don’t really remember the agonizing chore of falling asleep and trusting the night to mom and dad.

Peace on earth, good will toward men… a common refrain the last few weeks. But those of us who know better, know darkness. Some have seen great darkness in their lives, or in situations they've observed. Some of us make it our lives work seeking out the ails of the world, and yes, trying to fix them… but we’re still employed… because of the darkness. Today I spent a good bit of time on the phone with Holly and Ben in Uganda, a place teaming with darkness. My heart was so burdened by their stories, and yet so lifted by my hope in them. Bombs, landmines, war, child-soldiers, slavery… so many monsters in the dark. But its not just political, grand-scale evil. Its personal, emotional and close to the heart darkness that makes me doubt the coming of day sometimes. Painful breakups reproducing unexpected tears on Christmas Eve, fear of being alone, frustration at your own bad decisions, weakness in body and will, occupation anxiety… all these things make it difficult to hope for much child-like Christmas morning magic.

And I don’t want us all to fall asleep and leave the darkness of this world alone, but I do wonder if theres an appropriate analogy where we can just rest without fear, more full of hope, even though the darkness is the same as it is every night. The thing that changes about this night for kids is their anticipation of morning, their hope. Maybe the darkness wouldn’t seem so unremitting if we could latch onto some of that. After all the man that came to supposedly bring “peace on earth and goodwill toward men” also said we should be like children. Christmas was Gods humble road to introduce a child as the messenger of hope, and later as the example of faith. We can look into darkness and not be afraid. I’ve had that experience a few times as an adult, and can vaguely remember times as a child where I thought, “I should be afraid now, but I’m not.” And I think in both cases it had something to do with an earnest sense that light was still coming. My two favorite lines in Christmas Carols are these: “Long lay the world, in sin and ever pinning till He appeared and the soul felt its worth” and “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” Pinning... hoping... believing that the darkness won’t be that long… if we just rest in the promise of morning like children on Christmas Eve.

… and to all a good night.

CARE Bear Holiday Kick-Off

The real kick-off, to use a grossly American phrase (or does it come from “football”) anyway… the kick-off to the season was in many ways a wonderful Christmas party with all the so-called “CARE Bears,” which must be the most demeaning name we could have self prescribed, but my mild objections went unheard, and I’m not that bothered what we’re called… because despite our silly, childish, 1980’s, cartoon, don’t-take-us-seriously-we’re-only-interns just think-of-fluffy-teddy-bears name, we’re fun. And due to some guilt and a complex about being a prophet of doom because in the 1980’s my favorite Care Bears were literally Grumpy and Sleepy – I don’t want to rain on anybodies fun by fussing about the name.

We had the greatest time together kicking off the big run up to Christmas by going ice skating in just about the most perfect setting. I was accused at the dinner table of being a braggart (for name dropping about travel locations and such), but I have to say that there are three truly great city ice skate locals, and this is one of them. The first is at the Városliget (City Park) in Budapest. And I mention this one first, because it’s the best (Real frozen lake, fairy tale castle, hot mineral springs a stones throw away… I shouldn’t have to go on). Then neck and neck we have New Yorks Central Park and the London Tower Bridge. I love it. Beautifully set in what was once the moat. I also have to admit that my best London mate Chris and I were there the week before enjoying the scenic skate and practicing up on our skills. If you read this Ryan, you would have loved it, and thanks to you I didn’t stink as bad. In fact, it turns out an outright bad skater from Denver, is actually moderate to intermediate in London. I love this city.

We had games of tag, and a bit of fun scooping and throwing ice. Unfortunately, in a moment of sheer madness I scooped up a handful of ice on a turn and without really thinking through my boyish antics, tossed the ice into the face of our dear intern director, Charlie Hoare. Utter disbelief was the look on both our faces when I did it, and I think he might want to hang my head on a spike from the Tower of London. Sorry…

We had a wonderful dinner together and went looking for a place to dance the night away, and found a great little free-entrance dive not far from the restaurant. We had a fun group dance to themes from Grease and Baywatch (standards in every dance club and bar I’ve set foot in this side of the pond), although I was later confronted that I had been “obviously exclusive” by two separate girls, about to different ladies. I hadn’t thought I was, but if I was asked to guess who I might have been mistakenly flirting with, I would have guess someone else anyway. Oh well, Christian dancing is a difficult art to master. I asked a couple blokes if they sensed anything, no… no foul. I did blatantly flirted with Auntie Margaret and held her hand when we were blithely told to get a buddy for the tub ride – and I didn’t do that with any of the other girls.

The only downside to the night was that I left my credit card at the bar. I didn’t have a dime on me, but Chris bought me a beer, and I thought I should return the favor, so rather than charging once, I just opened a tab. It seemed like the cool thing to do. I never do that… maybe once or twice in Egypt (name dropping again). I never spend enough to have a tab opened. I ordered two beers… two. One for me, and one for Chris. And when it came time to leave I did… I left, my credit card at the bar. And to be honest, the most embarrassing thing was going back the next day to close a tab of 5 pounds. If I had done something totally out of character like left drunk or taken a pretty girl home I would have had a good excuse to rush out and forget. But no, neither. I went home sober and alone, just a dunce who doesn’t open tabs often enough to remember how to close them. When I did go back they were doing renovations for the weekend, and the workman laughed at me when I told him what I’d done. When I returned the second time a few days later to finally collect the card – the manager snickered when I had to close the tab… big spender… I left a hefty tip to cushion my ego.

Ooo ooo ooompa loompa - and the thrill of humans

I have had the serendipitous pleasure of a couple random street encounters with some very important people in the last few weeks. The first was about two weeks ago, and as I was walking home from work I came upon a humble group of people clambering about on the sidewalk with a few policemen blocking my road home. When I attempted to avoid the crowd and pass by I was stopped and told I had to wait. The annoyance was surprising, as if whatever they were waiting for was worth blockading such a large swath of sidewalk. Surely however noteworthy the expected person(s) was they could yield one small path for commuters like myself. And just as I was about to make a dash for the gap in the crowd (as there was only about five feet blocked off) an entourage of black cars pulled up and out popped Prince Charles and Camilla. I could have spat as far as they stood (which is close because I’ve never been much good at spatting) – and I’m almost completely sure that the Prince and I might have made eye contact and exchanged smiles. It was such an odd chance run in and spurred the most fascinating and illuminating conversation about he Royals later in the evening. Its something I don’t think we get at all as Americans, and gave me a more profound respect for the Brits and insight into the cultural undertones that lend the legitimacy attributed to the Royal Family.

Much more to be said about the Royal family, but in later posts because I must move on to the truly exciting encounter I had on Friday. I had crashed late at a friends and was heading back to drop off some things before heading out for the night and a man of rather understated stature walked past. He was well dressed, very well in fact, which is unusual for a 4’4’ man. And in a moment of supreme delight I realized… I know this man. Rather, I know this true 'Blue Blooded' descendant of India's Maharajah Vinepal, best known to the common man as “Every single one of the 165 Oompa-Loompas in Tim Burtons Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." It was non-other than Gordeep Roy, known as “Deep” to his friends. I was so star struck I could only gawk, which sadly he is probably used to, but I only wish I had the presence of mind to ask for a photo op or autograph. He probably thought my chin was getting road rash because of his understated stature, but it was complete and unabashed idol worship.

I’ve realized that the excitement I get from those encounters is ridiculous, and although its normal – I mean who gets to see an Oompa Loompa beside a news stand at Victoria station – but why don’t I get that rush from every brief encounter. Why don’t I walk down the street and get overcome with exhilarating joy at the site of HUMANS. “That was a man or woman” I should shout – internally so as not to scare them – but with a sense of profound awe. After all it is amazing that every person we pass on the street is infinitely valuable, with amazing stories, emotions and dreams – as well as morning breath and dirty underwear. It’s such a challenge to be pathologically swept away with a thrill of humanity. I don’t have it yet… but I want it.

Faceless city with two faces

I have often found myself in a position of straddling two worlds, like a rodeo show cowboy with one foot on two horses. Its difficult for me to say why I find it so disquieting, but it streches me, and the lack of simplicity to fully internalize one of the worlds and make it "home" is part of it. I have heard people call London the faceless city – because its difficult to get people to look you in the eyes and smiles are rare on the streets. But it has faces, and tonight I saw two of them.

Last night after work I went along with Dr. Dave to the Parliamentary Carol service at St. Margarets chapel at Westminster. Carols are a big ordeal in England. I went to one in the Great Hall in Parliament on Monday, St. Helens in The City on Tuesday, yesterday at St Margarets and today will be attending the Westminster Chapel Carol service for all civil servants. Its really big and the more connected you are, the more caroling you do. We don’t really have a relevant equivalent in the states, and I’m enjoying this new experience. Most of the songs are familiar transatlantically but here they’re robust with pomp and ceremony – especially those on the estate. The choir last night was absolutely angelic. Their voices filled the chapel, already crowded with some of the most powerful people in the country. Scripture readings by the head of the opposition parties and speaker interspersed with Carols and Choir songs. It was lovely, albeit a touch stuffy. It was high church at Christmas, and that’s a sweet and intriguing new experience for me. But I’ve been wrestling with the different worlds that pull at me – and wrestling with the notion that ones world is “one” of the two. This world is very real – for many it’s the only world they operate in. It’s necessarily intentional. You don’t just wear a light blue tie, you agonize, scrutinize and plan every verbal and non verbal communication. You present a face that is only half yours, because its so contrived – but over time, I imagine it becomes the only way you know yourself. I don’t know where the distinguished guests went when they were ushered out before the rest of us, but likely to continue getting lost in the sea of receptions, meetings, openings, fundraisers… I slipped out the back door in my suit, tie, overcoat and black leather brief case feeling both allured by the swank, sophistication and complexity and mildly turned off by its austere reality.

On the way home I was sitting in the top floor of the bus and mulling over my place amidst the sea of smart dress and even smarter conversation and I noticed a little girl sitting two rows back. She was watching me in the dull reflection from the window, and when our eyes met I smiled – she smiled back, revealing her missing front teeth – which I then noticed matched her mothers toothless smile - and I smiled again at the likeness. She twirled her dirty pigtail and began chatting with her mom about the days happenings in a rough cockney accent. A moment later I noticed a familiar second-hand smell wafting towards me and watched as the little girls face grimaced at the smell from a man who had just lit a spliff in the back of the bus. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the disgust of the onlookers as he drew deep and blew the smoke towards the child sitting behind me. It struck me as a particularly stark contrast from the austerity and neurotic attention to others opinions from the world I had just walked out of, and maybe because of that contrast it bothered me less. I just smiled. At least he wasn't hiding anything.

Blueberry trees and Breathing Deep

Sometimes my joy gets drowned in a compulsive striving for grandiloquence, and strain towards excellence. As if every word merits “weight” at least as much as, if not more than exuberance and lightness. I’m very often stuck in the mud of my big ideas, and attempts at becoming a real heavyweight. In fact I was just thinking the other day when I returned home, that to be a person with aspirations to affect the world in positive ways, means you are on constant prowl for all the worlds ails. And you quickly find you don’t have to look far for extreme moral and social depravity. Sometimes its just too much – and what you need is a breath of fresh air. Usually fresh air sneaks through your closed door at unexpected times. Often it comes in the form of a person. Last weekend it happened just like that.

Sitting alone in my house on Friday night I made a snap decision to just stand up and walk out the door and jump on the train and head north to Harpenden. Late night dancing at the George treated by Philip and friends was just what I needed. After a nice sleep in I cooked up a quick breakfast, and spent the next four hours sitting around the kitchen table discussing in a highfalutin manner everything under the sun. As the day wore on some came and went. And when it was time to head back to London I found that three of the DTS students Alisa, Kimberly and Rene were also heading down to do… whatever came up. I joined them for the journey and was asked along for the night out. I nearly went home, but in retrospect did the best thing I could have. Because it was the most inspiriting and revivifying night since I’ve been in London. I was a bit stuck… no, not stuck, merely grounded. And I think being grounded is noble vis-à-vis responsibility, but sometimes the "grounded" analogy more appropriately corresponds to a broken plane , and that is not good.

In our first conversation I was challenged to tell them what I did for a “breath of fresh air.” For the life of me all I could think of was a series of very intense conversations. Even my downtime has very intense overtones. Now, if you are reading, and you’ve been a participant in one of those intense discussions… I love them, and thrive on them – but we all need to let the air out of the radiator sometimes to keep it hot. And to be fair, I’m intense by nature. I blame my dad, who made me this way, and my mom, who always told me it was true – inevitably creating a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We spent the early part of the evening in a great Lebanese restaurant in Soho, and then jumped to a hookah bar off Piccadilly circus with Alex, a legend, and hopefully new friend, interspersing our stops with a wonder around Soho and Oxford street. Alex bowed out and we spent the next two or three hours making our way from Parliament Square to St. Pauls Cathedral, dancing, singing and soaking up the night as we went. Epic… and so needed. Sometimes there just seems to like theres something lodged in your chest, and it breaks free and enables you to fully inhale rich moments of life uninhibited, and it makes for magical moments that can only be explained by Gods overly abundant spoiling nature.

I can’t really even pinpoint what it was about the night that was so freeing. The company had a lot to do with it. London itself was also in rare form. Each of them (or you if you read this) have an almost impish but at least legendary character. Theres seems to be enough energy and adventure in you for about ten lifetimes. Its light, refreshing and edgy. Conversation was deep without being heavy. Every beautiful detail of the evening and the city was noticed by someone, almost every crazy idea was acted on as quickly as it was proposed. Like lying down in the middle of the bank by the Thames and staring up at into trees lite up with indigo lights like florescent blueberry trees… Laughing outrageously as one passerby stopped to see if we were okay. She came over with the most concerned look to check on the “bodies strewn about in the street. But so long as you’ve got a pulse and you’re laughing its okay.” According to here friend she makes a habit of trying to "take home people off the street.”

The girls had planned on staying up all night and watching the sun rise in Hyde Park, but as the evening wore on, it became increasingly clear that the cold would either drive them home, or else some shelter was needed for the coldest hours of the night. So I found some room in the inn - even though we already had guests at my house. In fact they usurped my bed and put me on the floor – much to the amusement of my housemates who were understandably skeptical when they poked their heads in my door to say goodnight and saw three smiling female faces in my bed, but their initial uneasiness was abated when they saw my makeshift bed made up on the floor.

Sometimes I guess that kind of unexpected sequence of events can come together to simply make for an epic evening - what a great time to kick back and enjoy the blue lite trees on the south bank and have a sincerely needed breath of fresh air.

Pass at last

Today, at long last, so-called security clearance was granted this nomad of ill repute with an unconventional taste in “vacation destinations” over the course of my life, and I was bestowed a pass with all the rights, authority and privileges that lie therein. I am now free to wonder the beautiful halls of Parliament unchallenged and unaccompanied. No more slightly awkward buddy trips to the loo for me. I can come and go as I please. Still, I will miss the daily frisking ritual. It had become nice human contact and interaction on a cold winter morning.

It is a tremendous relief to be sure and I’m looking forward with great anticipation to the newfound freedom. I am especially grateful to those who helped in so many ways, either escorting me from one place to another or making frequent coffee runs on my behalf (as well as generally trying to help me avoid deportation). We conducted a formal ceremony in the office to commemorate the momentous occasion, and today I began the long road towards debt repayment for assiduous coffee purchases on colleague’s credit. In accordance with the G8 summit, I have formally requested a debt cancellation up to 80 percent to ensure that I have every fair chance to establish sustainable levels of economic growth.