As with most traditions I have no idea where this one came from. Except that I was present and complicit. How the hell does that happen?

For me forever the holiday has extended well into January perhaps out of comfort (there is nothing quite like sitting the evening away wine in hand under the glow of twinkling lights) or perhaps it had something to do with the Epiphany. Whatever that is. But extend it did. And I was fine with that; a certain comfort/peace.

But somehow creepingly over the past several years there has been this internal campaign to shorten the joy (NOT the intent but the result nonetheless) and to, in other words, get on with it. Truly I never got it. I thought it a matter of attention span, or to mitigate the sometime sadness that can be remembered around the holidays.

I have an extraordinary Aunt - my mother’s sister/only who died several years ago. One of the great memories of this theatrical soul (among many great memories) happened at their home in New England following the burial of my grandmother - her mother; my mother’s mother. Amidst the joy of celebrating a life of a century-minus-one-day there was the sadness of missing one who had done so rather magnificently. Wait. There really was not a tearful sadness (the daughters had already) but a longing for the spirit of what made her life. Where was that in us? And I guess along with this the realization that we will, to a person, be the subject of funeral conversation ourselves one day. Personally I will not miss the certainly embarrassing (to me) banter thrown about at my own. But I certainly wish those willing to give up a days pay to attend the very best.

At any rate Carol was theatre! And the spirit she brought to the close of our meal that evening was life confirming if not altering. Not altering in the “Oh my god I have never felt that” or whatever. More confirming in the sense that it made sense. And in a way not imagined before. We have all had the experience at one time where we said (to our Self), “Gosh, I knew that, but never in that way”.

I have had a thousand meals and cleared as many tables. And while sometimes accompanied by friends, or a kid, or wife (we do the I cook you clean deal - very fair) or a cat or sometimes alone it is a fairly unimaginative mechanic - something not thought about even though the surroundings vibe pleasant. Not with Carol. And here’s the power.

At the end of the meal (and remember that she and Bobbie had just buried their mother (or perhaps because of it) while most relaxed in the post meal fog of conversation Carol rises and lungs out a hearty, “Strike the table”! How perfect. In the theatre of life why not call out production assignments to get us on the road?

Because at the end of life (or the day) we have done all that we can do. We did it well and those who saw agreed. The performance is finished yet our script’s intact for tomorrow’s interpretation. We shall start anew tomorrow. Strike the set. Strike the table. Strike the holiday.

Enjoy what you have done today. Tomorrow brings another show. Another audience. Another chance. And perhaps a deeper interpretation of the script. Characters grow.

Toni was right. Christmas lights and the everything accompanying needs to be struck on the first day following the last day they were relevant. Christmas (and all of the religiously non - but otherwise - related) is yesterday’s show in Dubuque. I laughed I cried. Great performance - but it was yesterday. Not to mention Dubuque. Welcome to today. And to your own town.

I have come to not only accept but embrace with all my being my lesson from Toni. That it is our knowledge and lessons learned which should LEAD us into the new. Not our sluggishness to release yesterday’s performance and the comfort of our “shtick” (read mind map). It is indeed time to strike and to get on with today. Be in today with the knowledge of yesterday and the anticipation of tomorrow. It is the presence of this trinity that makes today the only real day. Be in it.

Strike the old. Strike the mold. Strike the status quo. Or for at least gods sake strike the immobility.

Strike the (08) holiday (with a nod to 09). Fa la la la la la la la la later . . .

Jim
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