August 23: Gloom and Mystery, Deep Black Garment, Power Outage

The Phantom slowly , gravely, silently approached.  When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.

It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save on outstretched hand.  But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.

Yes, Stave Four of A Christmas Carol is shrouded in darkness.  The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is a figure of death and foreboding, traveling with its own black atmosphere.  Scrooge bends his knee to this spirit, bowing to the power and mystery of the future.

With that kind of introduction, I have probably set any reader up for a pretty depressing post.  This post is not going to be depressing.  The only reason I chose the above passage was its emphasis on darkness.

This morning, we had a power outage at our house.  I woke up to the sound of my son crying in his crib.  "It's daaaaark," he kept saying.  I tried to be sympathetic:  "The electricity is off, buddy.  Just close your eyes and go back to sleep."  He didn't follow my instructions.

"It's daaaaark."

"I can't do anything about it, buddy.  Go to sleep."

"It's daaaaaaark."

"I know, I know.

"Turn on the wights."

I sighed.  "I can't."

He whined, a sound that reminded of his sleepless bottle nights.

I wanted to tell him to embrace the darkness, to get down on his knee to it, like Scrooge does.  Then, I realized he was only three-years-old.  He probably wouldn't understand death and the future and middle-aged angst.  Instead, I settled for trying to be reassuring as the clock ticked down to the time I had to get up to get ready for work.

Saint Marty is tired.  He's been up since 2:30 a.m.  He wants somebody to turn off the wights.

It's daaaaaaark

May 1: The Kind Hand, Change of Heart, Summer Schedule

The kind hand trembled.

Any person reading the above sentence, knowing that it comes from A Christmas Carol, could choose from a whole bevy of characters to whom this kind hand may belong.  Bob Cratchit.  Tiny Tim.  Any of the Cratchits, really.  Fred the nephew.  Fezziwig.  Belle, Scrooge's former fiance.  Fan, Scrooge's sister.  Not a single person would guess the actual owner of that hand. 

That hand belongs to...(insert drum roll here)

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.  Yes, the phantom whom Dickens describes as being silent and grave.  When this Ghost first appears, Dickens writes, "...in the very air through which the Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery."  There isn't a whole lot of kindness to be found in this manifestation at the beginning of Stave Four.  But, by the end of the chapter, the Ghost's hand, as Scrooge pleads for his life and future, begins to shake and tremble.   Kindness breaks through the gloom and mystery.

Today, things change for me.  I officially enter my summer schedule.  No more leaving one job to go teach.  No lessons to plan.  No quizzes to grade.  Just the medical office.  All day.  I'm looking forward to the change.  Yes, I just used the phrase "looking forward to" and "change" in the same sentence.  I'm not off my meds, and I haven't snapped under the pressure of finals week.  This is a change I expect every year.  I'm ready for it.

That is why the hand of the future, for me, is "kind" this morning.  It's pointed to May and June.  To summer and heat.  To swimming and 90-degree afternoons.  To long dusks and trips to the local ice cream parlor.  It's a future I know.  It's a future I'm comfortable with, for the most part.

Saint Marty hasn't had a change of heart about change.  He still hates it.  Saint Marty's just looking forward to a little sunshine.

I wanna hold your hand...