Bayside 38
As I write this week's column, the aroma of turkey rice soup is wafting through the house, reminding me of what a wonderful Thanksgiving I experienced last week. Yes, I take the turkey bones and bits of stuffing and lots of vegetables and boil it all down into a last grand finale of Thanksgiving. Unable to be with my family by blood this year, I enjoyed family by association, complete with charades after dinner, a mandolin and guitar serenade by my son and little six year old Maris, and a corny movie in the living room instead of the de rigueur football after dinner. I felt truly blessed.
Friday night I snuck out of work early, determined not to miss Art Night in Berlin. I dressed for the occasion, my customary hole-in-the knees jeans with black tights poking through, manly tweed cap perched backwards on my curls, and a velvet scarf atop my black turtleneck. I knew I had hit it right when someone asked me which paintings were mine. I skipped from store to store, drinking little plastic cups of wine and nibbling on the snacks provided. It was a cold night, but I was warmed by meeting people I knew, and watching the shopkeepers as customers stood in line to purchase items, validating their dreams of a successful downtown Berlin business.
It was more then that, though. I almost felt like I had stepped back into time, into a world where lighting was softer, buildings were brick, and neighbors knew each other by name. Every year I purchase one new Christmas ornament, and this year I found a voluptuous mermaid ensconced in a champagne glass, the perfect addition to my tree, as those that know me will attest to.
My friends Greg, Diane, and I ended up in Goober's, where I gave the local girls a run for their money on the tiny dance floor. What fun! The night ended up in fisherman Kerry's historic house, at an impromptu party hostessed by my beloved friend Pam, enjoying a cup of his famous crab chowder.
As much as I enjoyed the entire night, in retrospect I found it interesting that I began the sacred holiday season in such a raucous, merry-making way. How did we journey so far from a simple carpenter's birth in a manger, to the commercial frenzy we all experience now?
A tiny press release caught my attention as I scanned the weekly papers. St. Paul's by-the-Sea Episcopal Church was offering a candlelit labyrinth from 7-9 p.m. each Sunday until Christmas. It kept niggling at me; what was it all about?
I asked my companion to accompany me. A staunch supporter of my literary pursuits, he agreed, though his even stauncher Catholic upbringing made him a wee bit nervous. We arrived at the church about 7:30pm, and followed the hand-written signs to the labyrinth. I was struck by the empty parking lot, indeed, the emptiness of downtown Ocean City, in direct opposition to the crowded streets of Berlin just two nights before.
To walk the Labyrinth is a very personal journey, a spiritual road that is different for each that undertake it. I felt it transcended organized religion, and brought me back into the manger where the Christmas season began, some two thousand years ago. It gave me the breath to pause, to reflect, and remember what Christmas is truly about. See you next week!