The Outlier

 This morning I was thinking about my fondest Irish Christmas memories. These memories are not of spectacular moments or bucket list activities. No. These memories are about remembering the peace and joy I experienced as Bill and I walked around at twilight or in the dark, in mizzle/light rain, on or just before Christmas Eve. It was quiet. Lights were sparkling. The rain fell softly or misted down. It was beautiful.

Interestingly, but possibly not surprisingly, these memories do not include people, other than Bill. Indeed, one of the things that stands out in my mind about all of these moments is the fact that there were no people around. All except one moment, that is.

It was our second Christmas in Ireland and our first in a terraced cottage with neighbors that had quickly become friends. We were having Christmas dinner together in the home of one, who I'll call Jack, although we were all in and out of our own cottages throughout the day. Joining us was Jack's brother-in-law, who I'll call Clarence. Clarence was in his 70s, had some mental health issues, and had been through a great deal. He lived in an assisted living facility and really liked his routine. He liked to be out and about, but only for a short period of time. He got anxious once he'd gone beyond his limit. Bill and I had met him and interacted with him before--he even came to our cottage for afternoon tea once by then--so he knew us and was comfortable around us. We were the newbies and he'd known the others for years. We were having a nice time, eating a delicious dinner and enjoying each other's company. After dinner, there were crackers to pull. I'd read about this tradition, but hadn't experienced it, so I was already interested. We weren't a large group--there were 6 of us--and Clarence was sitting across the table and one seat over from me, so I wasn't pulling the crackers with him, but I heard laughter and looked over at him. His face was lit up with pure joy as he laughed and laughed. He placed the paper crown on his head. He was enjoying himself so very much. His anxiety about going home was nowhere to be found. He was in the moment, delighted with it, and expressing the joy he was feeling. It was a beautiful thing to see. Clarence passed away a few years after that Christmas, but I will always remember him with his paper crown reveling in pure joy.

Oddly enough, a couple of hours after I took my trip down Festive Memory Lane, I got a message from Jack who was on his way home on a bus. He sent me a picture of a place in the town he was riding through and said it used to be a favorite of himself and Clarence. I told him I'd just been thinking about Clarence and shared the memory. His reply was simple. 'Thank you,' he said.

May we all remember that the most joy might just be found in the simplest moments and in things like a silly Christmas cracker with a funny paper crown inside. Or on a quiet walk in the mizzly dark. Or whatever it is that brings you peace and contentment. Look for them. Experience them. Embrace them. I wish for you an abundance of those moments and the happy memories they create.

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