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Belated Holiday Letter + My Word for 2024

In 2023, I definitely re-entered the post-pandemic world, traveling to different countries and states four times internationally and five times domestically. We both lost first cousins—Scott and Jenny— as well as Rob’s dear brother, Chris. We hosted our 40th anniversary party and our first house concert/fund-raiser. Both of our kids moved out-of-state, following their dreams to be a full-time professional musician (Clarke with Desert Child based in Durango, CO) and to run a nonprofit cooking school (Carolina with Marigold Cooking Collective in Eugene, OR). At home, we sang (together in the St Mark’s Singers), led prayers (Penny) and tended bees (Rob). My mother, Bernie, lives nearby and is well at 95. Life is rich and full. It’s amazing that I can still sum up a year in one paragraph.

So why has it taken so much longer than usual to come up with my word for the new year? It’s…

Paradox.

Three weeks is a long time to mull over the possibilities. One excuse is I’ve been rocking at sea a lot of that time. Ordinarily I’ve required myself to have chosen a word by now, like I’ve done for the 15 years before this one.

It’s taken longer to settle because I am uneasy about this strange idea of paradox. It doesn’t necessarily promote a comfortable feeling or direct me toward personal transformation the way most of the other words have. Instead it smacks of something that is unresolvable. It doesn’t follow the rules of logic and makes me think on a deeper level. The very thought of paradox messes with my mind.

And still, paradoxes are all around me:

*We are cruising in the lap of luxury while others starve.

*People drive cars on the beach near our cabin alongside the always exquisitely gorgeous ocean.

*I believe both interpretations of many stories even though they contradict each other.

*I feel great joy and deep grief at the same time. How can this be?

“Paradox” is such a peculiar phenomenon that I am having a hard time ending this essay. It does seem worthy of more reflection, perhaps even a year’s worth.

That said…

Happy New Year, everyone!

Love,

Penny

Rob’s brother Chris passed away earlier in the month after a long illness and two days before his 77th birthday. Our son Clarke was born in December too like his uncle (and just like Jesus 😌). We have been mourning and celebrating simultaneously.

Soon after Chris’s death I remember deeply appreciating what we do in church when we lose a loved one. For one thing, I leaned into prayer in community. I regretted that Chris’s immediate family did not have the close support of clergy, these professionals who know the traditions surrounding Life and Death.

Slowly we’re creating our own rituals. Chris’s wife enlisted the funeral home for help, and comfort too. Now that the initial sorrow of his passing and the dust of the holiday are settling, we can choose to use their obituary-memorial page…or not.

Over the years given the inherent joy and grief of extended family, we have developed our own practice: Reid Family Christmas. We had established the date when most of the locals could come before Chris died. We were hoping he’d make it, of course, but instead Brother Rick and his family from Michigan surprised us. They made plans to visit a few days before the event, staying til Christmas Eve.

Our RFC gathering was not an official memorial service, true. And yet, it was every bit as mystical. Chris’s son Elliot read a eulogy. Special readings about solstice-time and friendship were interspersed. The annual slide show, with contributions from all, included more photos and comments about Chris than about anyone else. Brothers Dan and Matt (plus recently-deceased cousin Scott) showed up too.

Who could have imagined that Rick and Rob would be the last ones standing of these five Reid boys?

As autumn has unfolded, I have thought frequently of Pilar. She stayed with us recently, for The Twelve Days of Music. Pilar is gorgeous, inside and out. Today is her birthday.

On Sunday, our choir director asked us to sing as if we were opera singers. I knew what he meant because, while she was here, Pilar accompanied opera star Soledad at a house concert in our home. Their joint visit was nothing short of magical and not unlike big international traveling for all of us. Pianist Pilar from Paris and Soprano Soledad from Santiago swept us off our feet day after day. Our century-old piano sang. And I sang on Sunday, remembering them.

Since retiring I have struggled off and on with a sense of purpose. I pace myself as friends and family age around me, wondering how I will possibly have energy to continue living and loving fully.

And then those dozen days landed relatively gently around me. Our kids, Clarke and Carolina, arrived to help. Super agent man César traveled along too. These three C’s were stellar stage and kitchen family. Mom was delighted to join in the lunch rehearsal. My sole job was to welcome and enjoy, and introduce my friends to each other. This is Bridging. This is my life’s work.

*Photo by Soledad Mayorga Maldonado

I have a recurring dream of swiping a bus then never crashing it or even getting caught. That’s why I asked Carolina to take this photo. I have no idea who the guy is. Usually the bus in my dream is much bigger and fancier. My birthday celebration was like this: Wild. Fast. Fun.

I’m glad it was only for three days.

Now I’m home again, alone in the blue room, reflecting. Calm. Super well.

And oh-so-grateful.

Bassam Aramin was interviewed yesterday on the BBC News Hour. This Palestinian spoke along with Robi Damelin, an Israeli; both parents lost their children to violence in the Middle East years ago. I met Bassam when I was there in March of this year. He told us about the Parents Circle Families Forum.

When I heard his voice on the radio, I pulled over off the road so I could safely listen to every word and weep.

This morning I heard a homily about when the child shall play over the hole of the snake, in peace (Isaiah 11:1 -9).

I nodded to God, “Ok, I will write more as you lead me.”