Advent

It is Advent (of which I've written before in my "If I Can" blog - December 1, 2009) and this year in my waiting I find myself not merely waiting, but anticipating and moving forward.

I'm trying to learn to be more mindful and it stands to reason that the season of waiting - Advent - would be good practice. But there must be something I'm mindful of. If I am waiting, I am mindful of what is to come. But if I am being mindful of what is to come, then I am anticipating, thus the mindfulness and forward movement. What can I do now in anticipation while I wait for the future?

Before moving to Germany I decided to make my time here a time of conclusions. Specifically of several stories (novels, really) that I've been writing for years. Then fate kindly stepped in (which it rarely does in a kindly manner) and, when I asked Douglas what he wanted for his birthday, he answered, "I want you to finish one of your stories to the point you can send it to an editor. It doesn't have to be by this birthday, just before we leave Germany."

I love Douglas.

So, while I wait, as I anticipate, I sit and make forward progress (page 50 something as I write - feel free to check up on that page number from time to time) on one of my novels.

But it's Advent and Advent is the time during which we wait for Christmas.

A scene from the Marienplatz Christmas Market - the largest in Munich

These years, Christmas brings memories to me. Memories of anticipation because, as a child, it always felt as though I were waiting for something.

For instance, I always knew something good was about to happen when I noticed that my mother had set out butter to soften. Would it go in candy or cookies?

And my father would get a certain look on his face as he strolled into my room shaking car keys. I knew he wanted company on an errand and he was in one of those moods - maybe we'd stop for candy (don't tell mom).

The sight of the UPS (or FedEX, DHL, whichever) truck stopping in front of our house always caused excitement - read anticipation. The bigger the box the more excitement.

Here in Munich I've started a new practice. Just before Douglas comes home, I turn off most of the lights in the apartment and light a single candle in the entryway. I hope it looks gentle, soft, relaxing and welcoming. I hope it tells him that he's home now and no longer needs to work. I hope it tells him that this is his time - our time.

I like how, in the Jewish faith, the Sabbath day - the day of rest - begins at sundown the evening before. They prepare. They anticipate. Sabbath, I believe, is God's way of telling us "Relax, this is your time, our time."

The Christmas market is in the square of the famous Glockenspiel, a beautiful setting.