Muddle Through, Somehow

Well, every year, sooner or later, it has to be faced, and for this year today was the day.

This is to me the Everest of Christmas songs, the one performance against which all others are measured, and the one that never fails to hit home (hard). It's the knowledge of all that followed for the singer, and of all that's happened since first you heard it, and it's the plangent tune itself, its oddly dark lyric and ability to move almost from note to note between joy and profound regret. It's the lush MGM setting against the darkness of a December night. This year, it's the knowledge of a deeper uncertainty even than usual that next year all - or any - of our troubles will be out of sight.

But now I've sat and watched it, and now I can get on with the holiday. We're celebrating quietly this year, just the Mister and me. We'll be aware, in a Dickens sort of way, of the empty seat in the (metaphorical) poor chimney-corner, and sad because of that, but glad, too, because of all the years together that the Fates allowed. We'll raise a glass to all that's been and all that's yet to be. In the meantime, there's a busy day at home of the kind I particularly cherish, full of ordinary tasks and satisfying duties done.  And on Christmas Eve, even this gray and rainy, apprehensive Christmas Eve, that seems right now a shining star truly fit for the highest bough.