Every year on the first Sunday of Advent, Andreas & I create a wreath, and then later that day we light the first candle, at supper-time. Over the next three Sundays, we light one more candle to join the first, and then the second, the third, and the fourth. On Christmas Day, the final candle in the middle is also lit. By then, the candle that kicked off the season has usually burnt down to not much more than a stub, but the light in the centre is now the one that burns bright. Not a bad metaphor.
|Boughs scavenged from local trees that needed pruning.|
|30 years old, and hokey as heck - but it is ours.|
|Chris, on piano, sheepdogged us through it all once again - in spite of a sudden onset of what turned out to be strep throat. Ah, yes. Tis the Season for flu and such ....|
|A sign of our nomadic but digitally connected times - one family contingent was Skyped in from Prince George. Occasionally, the baby appeared thunderstruck. Understandable.|