FINDING MY WAY HOME.......a Christmas story.

 “Out of the Darkness, Into the Light: The Time before Christmas is the Time of Light and mutual Love.”
― Sir Kristian Goldmund Aumann, 24 Days Until Christmas: 24 Christmas Poems

 A while ago, well, a few Christmases ago, I begged  my parents for an Advent Wreathe. The kind with real candles. Five candles. (1-2-3-4-5)..I used to count them. Just to make sure. 

 One candle for each : Hope/Peace/Joy/Love and Christmas day. 
(1-2-3-4-5) Fifth one was pink. I liked pink.

 I could hardly wait to light them. With my dad's matches. Back then he had taught me to roll his cigarettes and light them for him......I was five at the time. I was fascinated by matches.It was fun.  My dad was pretty cool about stuff.  My mother would just shake her head and tell him to hide the matches.

 We lit a candle each week. I got to light each candle. With my dad standing there. Then he would hide the matches . I wanted to light them all.....(no, I did NOT burn down the house)

 At the same time, there were the Christmas elves , the pixies, we had on the tree. (Years later I gave them all away. Regretted it for years after that.) They had held a place of honour on our tree. And I tossed them like orange peelings.

 Now the past few years I've spent tracking them all down. Has taken time and I searched for  hours on the internet, trying to find them. And I did. Lovely little things.I have them home again....
                            Rumpa pa pum....

 The most special ones were Hansel and Gretel. After my dad and I lit the Advent Wreathe, we would place Hansel and Gretel inside the Christmas Tree.  Near  one of the Christmas lights. We pretended it was the  Christmas Star. So they  could find their way home by following  that star, he used to tell me. I knew the story well...

 Now, years later, once again , pixies live in our Christmas Tree. Following yonder Star like they used to do.
                                                        Rumpa pa pum......

 ( though the  Drummer Pixies still are want to drum very loud )

The Christmas I turned six, I found the matches  for the Advent wreathe. They were tucked inside a teacup in the sideboard.   My dad was still sleeping, mum gone to work.  I knew how to light the wreathe. I put the wreathe in the sink. I figured I could turn on the tap if I needed to.I lit all of the candles ( 1-2-3-4-5) I still liked the Christmas Day candle.

It was pink . 

 I got Hansel and Gretel from the tree and had them dance around the wreathe in the sink. Following yonder star, so I mused. A candle toppled over. (No, I did NOT burn down the house). I did, however , singe Hansel's hat a tad. I snuffed out the candles. Except for the pink one. I let it burn for a minute or two before blowing it out. It was my favourite. 

 I returned Hansel and Gretel to the tree. So they could continue to follow the star. Hansel with his burnt hat. Gretel with a look of 
"I told you so". 

 That was my father's last Christmas. He could not speak those last few months. And so, I told HIM the story of Hansel and Gretel . Their story grew to include  climbing mountains, and forging streams,  with  the other pixies in tow. My father would watch and listen.And when it was time to put them back in the tree, he would point to Hansel's singed hat and waggle his finger at me. 

They still  follow Yonder Star, even though they've found their way home many times. That last Christmas my father handed the matches to me and let me  light the Advent wreathe, its candles of Hope, Peace, Joy and Love, (1-2-3-4-5),burnt down to almost nothing.  And I still discover myself  finding the way home again and again....

 “It is now, at Advent, that I am given the chance to suspend all expectation...and instead to revel in the mystery.”
― Jerusalem Jackson Greer, A Homemade Year

Photographs 2019