Carolology

Around this time last year, we were shopping in Highland Park.  We were browsing for a birthday gift for Jon's mom, and I came across a card featuring two elegant birds and the single line: Birds from the woods in wondrous flight, Bethlehem seek this holy night.

Huh.  Never heard of it.  Weird.  Type into phone.  Solve this mystery later.

Solving the mystery required the acquisition of an unusual collection called Carols Old and Carols New.  It was published in 1916 by Rev. Charles L. Hutchins.  While it contains carols for all seasons, the vast majority of the 700+ pages (gads) are devoted to Christmas.  In 1917, the Harvard College Library obtained an autographed copy.  (Think he autographed all 1000 copies that went to print?  I bet he did.  Wink.)  Harvard recently made it available to Google for digital preservation.  You can download a charming--yet very large--PDF copy for yourself.

It is in the context of Nature and Winter that I would love to share this carol with you.

Whence comes this rush of wings?

"Carol of the Birds"

Whence comes this rush of wings afar,

Following straight the Noel star?

Birds from the woods in wondrous flight,

Bethlehem seek this Holy Night.

"Tell us, ye birds, why come ye here,

Into this stable, poor and drear?"

"Hast'ning we seek the newborn King,

And all our sweetest music bring."

Hark how the Greenfinch bears his part,

Philomel, too, with tender heart.

Chants from her leafy dark retreat,

Re, me, fa, sol in anthems sweet.

Angels and shepherds, birds of the sky,

Come where the Son of God doth lie.

Christ on the earth with man doth dwell,

Join in the shout, "Noel, Noel!"

There is so much to like about these verses.  The use of Philomel instead of Nightingale is one. The capitalization of Greenfinch and Philomel, as if to give them proper names, is another.  I think, however, that most important is the reference to solfège, which in this case uses the traditional "sol" instead of the more modern "so."  (Thanks, Julie Andrews.)

The solfège was originally based on Diaconus's hymn Ut queant laxis, and in it "sol" references "solve," which is Latin for "clean."  You know, like solvent.  It's quite a bit more depressing than that in the actual hymn: solve polluti.  Cleanse us of our guilt!  Who doesn't like a little Christian guilt with Christmas Eve dinner?  "Please pass the rolls.  Oh, and the guilt.  Thanks.  Pardon my reach."  For creativity's sake, we all know that the word sol--when it isn't being used as shorthand for solve, obviously--has one, beautiful meaning in so many languages.  That meaning?  Sun.

Bird migrations are an awesome sight.  The annual return of songbirds to our frozen neighborhoods is a wonderful and uplifting event.  How many years do you pop into the office after lunch and proclaim, "I just saw my first spring robin!"  Or, six months later,"The geese are on the move, winter is coming."  We still look to the sky for these signs, and they tend to be much more reliable than a) the calendar, or b) Paul Douglas's magic Doppler radar thingy.  Or whatever he calls it.

(Aside: I still kick myself for not asking Paul Douglas to dance at Jake Bowlsby's wedding.  Why?  No clue.  Just 'cause.)

I can't shake the wonder this carol gives to me.  The imagery of countless tiny songbirds rushing home, to the sun, with their sweet little songs--their own little carols!  Oh!  It cheers my heart.  Sing, they say!  Lift your heart, be of good cheer, lift your voice along with us! 

How can we resist?

23.5°

Whatever rituals you may chose to celebrate this time of year, they are all owed to this one small measurement: 23.5°. That spritz cookie you're holding right now? You can thank 23.5° for it. You can curse 23.5° later in January when you step on the scale, too.

Yesterday we observed the winter solstice, which is the shortest day, and therefore longest night, of the year. In the northern hemisphere we experience the briefest amount of daylight on this day due to the tilt of the Earth's axis, which is, of course, 23.5°. Well, 23.44° to be more accurate, but who calls a blog entry 23.44° anyways. This tilt means that observers on Earth see the sun as not rising very high into the sky, but instead persisting at a low height. Hence the name solstice, which loosely translates as "sun standing still."

You can call this stretch of festival days by many names: Saturunalia, Yule, The Long Night, Lenaea, Hanukkah, Soyal, Christmas. You may even celebrate one of the many "wonder children," or "man-gods": Osiris, Mithras, Apollo, Dionysus, Jesus.

Life depends on the natural cycle of the seasons for survival. While the monotheistic religions of the world tend to think of time as linear, it is more appropriate to think of time as cyclic. Our survival is linked to the sun, and therefore the seasons. The sowing, the growing, the reaping…and, eventually, what I like to call the pleading.

Our existence hasn't always included indoor plumbing, plasma TVs, or microwavable lunches. Imagine living in a cave. It's cold. Your ewes aren't producing milk because there aren't any lambs, your garden has retreated, you are more vulnerable to sickness, there isn't much to hunt and gather. At this point you can see the fir tree out back of the cave, some of that parasitic mistletoe creeping up the leafless oak, and if you're lucky, a bit of holly with berries. There are snowflakes and icicles and pinecones everywhere, but what good are they? Even worse, you've noticed that the days are getting mighty short, will the sun even rise tomorrow? How are you going to deal with your seasonal affective disorder if it doesn't? You question, you doubt, you worry. And just when you are at the point where you fall to the ground and cry, "AHW MY GAHWD, I am so afraid--bring the sun back, I BEG YOU!" there is a pause. The sun hovers. It is still in the sky, and it grows.

I cannot possibly emphasize how crucial an event this is to celebrate.

Rejoice, northern readers! Today the sun is born anew.

The Pen, the Ink, and the Solitude.

"As the sailor welcomes the final harbour, so does the scribe the final line."

-Manuscript of Silos Beatus

I came to calligraphy for one particular reason: loneliness.  The irony being that calligraphy is an incredibly lonely business.

Five years ago, I found myself living alone in a 1920s St. Paul apartment.  I should clarify that by "alone" I mean without the companionship of another person, as I, of course, had Jay.  We were not an unhappy twosome.  In fact, one of us was quite happy having an apartment and his mom all to himself.  However, it was during this stretch of my life that I learned the difference between being happy and not being unhappy.  You'd think the difference would be subtle.  It's not.

I pried open my mailbox one day and found the St. Paul Community Education mailing.  I thought--I need to meet some people.  I need to get out.  I need to TAKE ACTION against my loneliness, formulate a plan!  I scanned the adult classes.  Languages, no thanks.  Yoga, ballroom dancing (no partner, wail,) how to change your own oil/air filter/crap like that.  Kind of a crash course in auto care for airhead girls.  (Should have taken that in hindsight.)  Then I spotted it, at the bottom of the page.  There was a class taught by Judith Michalski, a professional calligrapher and librarian at St. Thomas University.  Her portfolio includes several pieces for the governors, and she will give a delicate eye roll when discussing her work for one former governor in particular.  She's a kind woman, and patient.  Turns out patience comes in mighty handy when you are holding a quill.

Needless to say, when I read Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love a few years later, I laughed audibly at the part where she talks about first learning Italian.  "So I signed up for classes at one of those continuing education places (otherwise known as Night School for Divorced Ladies.)"  Oh, the pain.  The pain of it all being true.

We were a ragtag bunch.  Judith was our leader.  She encouraged us to practice for an hour a day, she gave homework, and we had to hang it up each week for everyone to critique.  She was particularly fond of one guy in the class as he was an artist.  You know--a real one--not like the rest of us wannabe right brainers.  But she helped us all.  And somewhere along the way, I began to lose myself in the letters.  The quiet scratching of the pen.  I grew to love the feel of paper, the scent of it, the subtle color differences in black inks.  I got my descenders and swashes going in legible directions.  My mind was still, and I embraced loneliness as an essential element to my pursuits.

Calligraphy can be a seriously miserable business.  Your back hurts, your eyes hurt, your wrist really hurts.  I won't lie, I do welcome the final line of text.  Yet, I am oddly suited to the demands, and the confines, of the craft.

Etymology

zemja f (noun)

1. soil, earth, ground

(from Proto-Slavic http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proto-Slavic_language)

The Buzz on this Blog

To best explain why I started this blog, I offer a social buzzword: values.

I find it has been easy to follow the common path. I grew up in a home with two parents, one sister, and two dogs. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins were never strangers. I went to Sunday school, preschool, public school, college, and then to (some) graduate school. I participated a host of common activities: athletics, choir, band, prom, semester abroad, summer jobs, blind dates, honor rolls, and broken hearts. Now I am happily married with a beautiful suburban home, a rewarding career, a budding retirement account, and a loving family (still including dogs.)

There is nothing wrong with following the common path. It is rewarding, it connects us, and in many ways it is necessary to the success of both individuals and society. Yet with maturity it begins to feel more and more like...well, following. And often, for me at least, following without thinking.

Challenge and reflection are necessary for growth in any direction, and I have caught myself many times over the past few years wondering what my values are, and more importantly, how can I better live those values?

Turns out that--thankfully--my list of values is apparently endless. I value my marriage to, and love, for my husband. I value friendship. A long hike into solitude with my oldest dog is something I look forward to for weeks. I value a promise. I value Nature. Humor? Yes, I value that, too! Sarcasm is essential. I value learning, music, justice, and forgiveness. I value a good meal at a good restaurant with great friends, the intent of a handwritten letter, or how soft my youngest dog's whiskers are. Remember that board game for kids, Cootie? You'd better believe I value that! Along with used books, old photographs and a pen that writes the first time you try it. I value skipping rocks (which I am horrible at) on a hot day, or even a cold day for that matter. A good laugh and a well-timed hug are high on the values list.

When I sit and think of the many things that sustain me, I am overwhelmed by their abundance. By their honesty. By their simplicity.

I used to think I couldn't possibly have a blog, what would it be about? I didn't know. I only knew what I didn't want it to be about--the typical blogger criticisms. Loving to read my own words. Thinking that what I have to say is terribly interesting to others. Arrogantly typing away in order to feel important. Hiding in front of a laptop while my time could be better spent sorting through the closets. (I concede this one happens to be true at the moment.) So I waited until Zemja Sojourn called to me instead of the other way around.

I suspect I've been on the journey to better live my values for far longer than I have recognized. Regardless of the typical blogger criticisms listed above, I've remembered that I also value writing for no particular reason at all. I also value sharing ideas. I value journaling, but in the past have rarely set aside time to do it.

Hopefully this blog will fit into the the vision of better defining, and living, my values. I am patient enough to find out.