The grander scale of things

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Last night I went to a Christmas concert at St John the Baptist’s. Reluctantly.  I bothered only because Daughter was performing – she was playing flute. I wouldn’t have gone otherwise, what with life being full to the brim with post-election trauma therapy, Christmas shopping, cleaning, addressing envelopes on copious Christmas cards and generally just chasing my own tail.

It was a life-saving experience (just about as I had lost my will to live). It was elevating and heart-warming. I bleated my socks off joining the choir in carol-singing. Husband had to rib me a few times to shut me up as in my enthusiasm I attempted to turn some brilliant solos into catastrophic duets.

That one short spiritual trip has made me realise that there are nasty-little, bothersome things in life that seem to dominate everything else and leave you with no space to breathe, but when you get a chance to shove them out of the way you will see the light at the end of a tunnel, and you will pump up your chest and stand tall above them. And whilst standing tall, you will see high and far – you will see that grander, better world out there. It’s all there, just obscured from sight by those nasty-little things. Just like the wood that you can’t see for the trees. It’s a question of scale and proportion.

So now the News channel is banned from the house, music CDs replaced Radio-blinking-4 in my car, I eat cake for breakfast, wear a Santa hat and burn scented candles. If the world must fall apart, it will have to do it without me. I am having a jolly this Christmas.

3 comments

  1. Good for you, Anna. Your post made me smile and nod. Particularly the bit about post-election trauma therapy. I know it’s the system we’ve always had and when things go my way, I don’t analyse too hard, but it’s a bit gutting to be faced with the winners’ triumphalism when more than half the country voted against them! Anyway, I’m refusing to think about any of it until the middle of January. That’s when the blues usually hit. In 2020 they will definitely be back, with a deeper darker midnight hue. Incidentally, I’m not the tiniest jot religious but can’t get through favourite carols or Christmas hymns without choking up.

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  2. “And whilst standing tall, you will see high and far…”
    Yesterday, I was standing on top of a wooded rise in West Somerset. To the South, Exmoor. To the North, the sea. All around me, nature, winter light, cold clear air and silence.
    “See high and far…”?
    By Jove, yes.
    A Grand and Warm Jolly Christmas to you and your family, my dearest Lady Rowan.

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