A Winter Nap

I missed a Chiropractor appointment this week. I didn’t forget I had the appointment, I forgot what day of the week it was. But really, what was I thinking scheduling anything on January 2? The week between Christmas and New Years is liminal. Even if you have to go work, time moves differently. And if you’re life is dictated by the academic calendar, it’s even more ambiguous.

“It is a weekend?”

Who knows anymore.

And it is a # ChampagneProblem. A privilege and luxury that I don’t take for granted. I did laundry to get ready for the return to school tomorrow and was puzzled where all my daughter’s dirty clothes were before I realized she’s only wore pajamas for the last two weeks.

Monday is going to be r o u g h .

God-speed to all the parents and teachers.

Growing up in steeped in Church culture I have always marked the 12 days of Christmas, or Christmastide. The maids a milking, pipers piping, and geese a laying, are the 12 days after Christmas, beginning on Christmas day and ending on January 6 with Epiphany. It’s the days between Jesus’s birth and the arrival of the Wise Ones. In some traditions Epiphany, or Three Kings Day, is celebrate with presents and special deserts, like the New Orleans King Cake. My high school boyfriend’s Catholic family celebrated by hiding a pickle ornament on the tree and whoever found it on Three Kings Day got a special present. (Though apparently that is an adaption of the American/German tradition of doing it on Christmas day.) In Anglicanism it is a season of Feasts, Feast of: St. Stephen, St. John, Pope St. Sylvester, the Feast of the Circumcision of Christ (yikes!), the Feast of the Holy Family, among many others, one celebration rolls into the next.

But really, the season of Christmastide came about in 564 CE as a way to solve an "administrative problem for the Roman Empire as it tried to coordinate the solar Julian calendar with the lunar calendars of its provinces in the east.” Ah, trying to line Christianity up with indigenous practices and religious rituals.

Meanwhile, in Germanic, Celtic, and Northern European traditions, Rauhnächte or Yule, marks the 12 days between the winter solstice on December 21 and New Year’s Day. These nights, while the daylight is returning, are still very dark and cold. In these Northern cultures work paused, floors weren't swept, doors were shut early and candles and incense were lit. It was time outside of ordinary time—a pause. People slowed down, paid attention to dreams, and let the world move around them.

One particular tradition involves writing down 13 wishes and burning one each of the 12 nights without reading it, leaving one wish that is to be your responsibility for the coming year.

Later, of course, Christianity added it’s own spin, moving the dates to be Christmas focused. But regardless of the specific dates, the origins, or the rituals, the liminality of these days feel instinctual. Rushing feels rude and naps feel obligatory. These days are for hibernating, wearing pajamas, playing with new toys, reading new books, binge watching TV shows (🏒), and be-ing. I’m late to the party with this invitation, sorry, I was too busy hibernating to sit in front of my computer. And even though many of us return to all the things tomorrow, when we gather next Sunday I hope to bring a small taste of the 13 Wishes practice with Flying Wish Paper. These aren’t resolutions or intentions, but dreams, hopes, prayers – small and messy and real.

See you on January 11.