A Christmas card that comes late is better than an email greeting that arrives on time.
I had lunch in Delray Beach the other day, at a restaurant near the FEC tracks. A Brightline train rushed past, its once lovely, two-tone cars covered completely in advertising. About twenty minutes later a freight train appeared, its lower reaches bright with graffiti. For the next few minutes I sat there musing on man’s irrepressible desire to deface things.
Trinity Cathedral looked different last night for the service of Lessons and Carols – the pews were gone, replaced by folding chairs – and it sounded different, the reduction in hard surfaces making the music, according to one choir member afterwards, sound “more alive.”
The service began traditionally, with the beautiful “Once in Royal David’s City,” and then threw in some surprises: a few of the lessons were read in Spanish, and one of the carols was Polish, with the first verse sung in Polish. (This constituted the first time I have sung better than the rest of the congregation.) One carol I had never heard before, by Judith Weir, carried the words of William Blake:
The Angel that presided o’er my birth said,
Little Creature form’d of Joy and Mirth,
Go Love without the help of anything on Earth.
I got my COVID booster on Monday, and though the man who administered it downplayed the possibility of side effects, I spent most of yesterday in bed, a large part of it asleep. Of course, for a mild hypochondriac, it was the very best kind of malaise.
As someone who wears glasses, I’m happy to see how few Halloween costumes these days make use of masks.
Years ago in San Miguel de Allende I awoke from a nap and found an email from my then editor containing a glowing blurb for my new book from Paul Theroux. Now, whenever I wake up from a nap, I check my inbox with a sense of expectation.