Life in the Slow Lane

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I set out to buy the ingredients for the next day's holiday potluck. I zipped through Greenlife and Ingles with all the other last minute shoppers, studying my list and periodically whistling along with the piped-in carols. The feeling in the air was an odd mix of frantic and excited; shoppers rushed around with smiles alternating with grimaces. I found myself in a very jolly mood, eagerly anticipating time with good friends and grateful that the mall and walmart were nowhere near my destination list.

Waiting in the checkout line, I remembered a last minute item and assured the Man Behind Me "I would be right back." Fearing the glares of my fellow line-waiters, I ran across the store. "You could have walked downtown and back," the Man Behind Me grumbled when I returned, "at the rate this checker is going." Our gal did indeed seem to be moving at a snail's pace; she had a weary look about her. I wondered if she was sick, or sad. "It might be the best thing for us," I cheerily replied, "the Universe trying to get us all to slow it down." The Man stared at me for a minute, wondering if he should take offense at my chipper chiding. He decided not to and smiled, "Maybe you're right."

This interlude held a little more significance for me this year, since the potluck I was preparing to attend was being hosted by friends who are involved in the "Slow Food Movement"--a worldwide "eco-gastronomic" (!) membership of folks dedicated to counteracting the fast food culture by creating events and discourse around food appreciation and food justice issues.

Founded in 1989 when Italian activist Carlo Petrini protested the opening of the first MacDonald's in Rome, Slow Food has rapidly grown in recent years to 85,000 active food loving members in 132 countries. My friends had just returned from the international convention, Terra Madre, held in Turin, Italy, and were excited to share their passion with friends and family with a Slow Food Christmas feast.

My Slow Food hosts had invited us to create meals based on local foods, grown organically, with fair trade values, etc. This proved to be a interesting assignment; I admit I just take for granted that I can get bananas when I want them. What IS grown locally and in season during winter in western North Carolina? I wondered if we would be having 17 different renditions of squash casserole, so I started paying attention--talking with the produce pros at Greenlife, and rising to the challenge of finding something interesting to cook. I was delighted to find NC grown yams for my favorite holiday sweet potato pie, along with a variety of salad greens and beets to make a roasted beet and green salad with local goat cheese and Georgia pecans.

Christmas afternoon, I arrived at the common house in Pacifica, a new co-housing community in Carrboro, NC. The table overflowed with all manner of eco-gastronomic offerings: cabbage with roasted potatoes and lentils, winter leek and sausage casserole, arugula salad (grown right on the property), spicy collards, holiday cole slaw, homemade bread, and more. Feast indeed! With not a squash in sight. And in typical slow food fashion, we lingered for several hours, refilling our plates as new offerings arrived, and rambling over all manner of topics from favorite recipes to politics to discussion of whether one resident's request to install a woodstove would find consensus with his neighbors. (Sure, living in community sounds great, but then you have to deal with all the other people! But they're doing it with messy grace and authentic joy. It's amazing to witness.)

At the end of the night, we swept and cleaned and put everything back in its place in the common house, then walked the 50 yards toward home. The sky was full of stars (visible since the ambient light is minimal by design). We paused, inhaling the night, happy and full.

So, I plan to slowly enjoy the remaining 12 Days of Christmas, these waning winter days that extend like spiritual speed bumps between December 24 and January 6. These 12 days invite me to savor the year, reflecting rather than rushing pell mell into 2009.

I pray you, too, find some savoring in Slow.

Have Yourself a Grinchy Little Christmas!

"And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?"
---- Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel). How the Grinch Stole Christmas! New York: Random House, 1957

Contrary to the speculation of my extended family, I do not "hate" Christmas. Au contraire! I still revel in the sparkle of decorations, the crisp, evergreen scent of trees adorned with a history of family treasures, and--in the vicinity of little Cindy Lou Whos--the unmistakable crackle of electricity generated from the anticipation of what treasures Santa will bring this year. Yes, I still love Christmas. I even tour the neighborhood light displays while playing my Charlie Brown Christmas cd. But don't tell anybody.

But, like many adults, I have also wrestled with the pang of nostalgia and melancholy that can haunt the last days of December. As the month glides through its choral concerts and holiday craft fairs, it seems like hopefully moving toward a lush desert oasis that draws closer and yet remains always just beyond reach. The buildup is overwhelming! What Super Santa could possibly satisfy this cultural craving? God bless him.

I was in my early 30's before I finally surrendered to the reality that the traditional Christmas observance just didn't work for me. The frantic buying didn't suit my temperament or my budget. Not having kids, the Christmas morning ritual of present opening just seemed worn out and contrived. The presents are nice and thoughtful, but often didn't quite hit the mark. Besides, did we really need that L.L. Bean fleece vest or the latest teeny weeny digital camera?

So, as of 2003, I officially resigned from the ritual gift exchange. (Though my stepmom keeps sending a few presents--sigh. She says it makes her happy and I can't stop her. True.) Now new traditions and rituals have emerged, cobbled together with remnants of the old--midnight mass and carols at the Episcopal church--and unconventional--snorkeling in Key West on Christmas Day. Talk about sparkly gifts swimming around!

My favorite so far was with a group of similar-minded single friends in 2004. We decided to spend our Christmas in the North Georgia mountains, at the Len Foote Hike Inn, one of Georgia's best kept secrets. http://hike-inn.com/ Accessible only on foot (a pretty easy 5 mile hike) the rustic lodge is outfitted with double bunk rooms, hot showers, a chef on staff and comfy common areas with windows showcasing the beautiful forest. Well fed, we spent Christmas Eve doing puzzles, playing scrabble, and roasting in front of one of the wood stoves. Each person brought one gift for the group: cookies, a poem, a song, a candle, which we shared before heading off to bed. On Christmas morning, the innkeepers gently rang a gong for those who wanted to see the sunrise. Sleepy-eyed and clutching our coffee mugs, we shuffled over to join the other guests in a room with 180 degrees of windows. The golden red sun rose quietly over the Appalachians. That was it.

Merry Christmas!

It came, joyfully, without packages, boxes or bags. I think the Grinch really had it right after all.

The "ping" that connects us

I received this Advent reflection (below) in my inbox today. I wish I had written it--it so eloquently articulates what prompted me to start this blog. What a great holiday gift! I hope it speaks to you as it did to me.

Advent has always been a meaningful time in my spiritual life. A few years ago, I made the decision to opt out of the hype and pace of pre-holiday December. Advent has become a time that feels in rhythm with the reflective, quiet, waiting feel of winter.

I used to think of this season as waiting for the "birth" of Christmas to reveal itself. Now I experience it more as a sinking into what is-- knowing that Creation is constantly growing in and around me. And, in the quiet, I can hear the 'ping of connection that lets me know that all is well and more will be revealed. Blessings on your advent and this season of peace.

"Advent Readings from Iona" by Brian Woodcock & Jan Sutch Pickard, Wild Goose Publications, 2000.

Advent began in a dramatic way one year when seven potholers emerged unscathed after ten days underground, in France's largest rescue of its kind. Trapped by flooding, forty metres down, they managed to stretch their three-day supplies and survive the freezing conditions. People searching the cave system had been drilling through rocks and lowering microphones without detecting any signs of life. Two groups of people, each listening for the other in the darkness, In 'ping the other was there. Neither had known for certain, but they had kept going as if life depended on it. Which it did.

Listen! I am coming!' Saved by the listening. And by looking. And by not giving up. Real humanity is sometimes buried very deep. In our society and within ourselves. Sometimes we can only hope it is there;we cannot know for certain. But it can be found and reached, touched and healed.And, little by little, brought back to the surface.

It is possible, if there is listening. Listen from deep within. And listen on behalf of others. Whole communities can find their humanity if a few keep on listening. It is not always necessary to listen for words and instructions. To listen simply for signs of life is enough to make the connection. But those who come to our rescue will need to listen as well. For even God listens -very close to us, down in the darkest places, patiently seeking us out.Listening is our salvation. Listening, and not giving up. We are saved by a listening God.