It is dark too early now, and the sleepiness sets in as the sun goes down. As the nights grow longer and colder, we must make our own light.
I suppose this is the reason that I, though raised with the staunch belief that Christmas decorations were appropriate no earlier than the day after Thanksgiving and no later than Epiphany, have adapted to my husband's delight in setting up for Christmas pretty much as soon as Daylight Savings Time has begun. We expanded beyond just our Christmas tree this year to garland for our banister and ornaments for our front windows. Through the shades, our living room glows all night.
As we shopped for our Christmas trimmings, my husband asked whether I wanted anything special. Yes, I told him, I want candles for the windows.
This was no childhood tradition of either of ours, and I had only a vague idea of where we would even put candles. But I knew I wanted them, and I knew why.
On a foggy back road in December of 2019, sometime around 3:30 AM, I remember opening my sleep-hazed eyes to see, rising from the blackness, a two-story farmhouse. In each of its many windows glowed a single candle. It seemed almost unreal before me, a place where I like Ebenezer Scrooge might encounter ghosts and wake to believe them a dream. Yet I was awake, though barely, and for the few moments before we passed the house entirely I peered through the steamed-over windows and fixed the sight in my memory. The gleam of those faint specks of light is burned in the backs of my eyelids as though I have stared down the sun, and those candles shine before me even now.
Might not I be that light? Though I do not live on a forsaken country road, though my candles will fill only my porch windows and not each of our home's 25 windowsills, I may still set out candles. Their lights will be small, yet still they will shine. They will be beautiful, not merely for the light they provide but for the reality they represent: the light shines out of darkness, and the darkness cannot put it out.
Here's what I read, cooked, and created in the month of November.
What I Read
Confessions, St. Augustine (★★★★★)
Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners, John Bunyan (★★★★★)
Pax, Sara Pennypacker (★★★★)––reread
Pax: Journey Home, Sara Pennypacker (★★★★★)
My Calamity Jane, Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, Jodi Meadows (★★★)
I'm Glad My Mom Died, Jennette McCurdy (★★★)
This Time It's Real, Ann Liang (★★★)
If you want to hear the rationale behind my rating, head to my Goodreads for full reviews.
What I Cooked
Difficulty: ★★
Flavor: ★★★★★
Keeper: Yes
Comments: I have been scared to make my own pie crust since my best friend tried teaching me in high school and the dough ended up looking like a crumbly Germany, but I have owned the most gorgeous pie plate for several years now without using it. This pie was a beautiful moment of redemption. The crust was flaky, the filling was punchy, the topping was abundant, and the bottom was not soggy.
Difficulty: ★
Flavor: ★★★★
Keeper: Yes
Comments: Definitely needs more liquid––I added some partway through because I was worried it would dry out. It wasn't anything to write home about, per se, but it was a good, hearty stew.
Difficulty: ★
Flavor: ★★★★
Keeper: Yes
Comments: This does not need 4 shallots. It needs maybe 2.
Difficulty: ★
Flavor: ★★★
Keeper: Probs no
Comments: The ranch seasoning gave these potatoes a weird aftertaste, and the crockpot ensured that they lacked the texture needed for a good roasted potato. I did not add the cheese until right before serving; I can only imagine what a disaster area it would have been if it had been in the crockpot the whole time.
What I Created
Part of an essay
May your days be filled with beauty, and may your heart be filled with the willingness to see and give thanks for it.