Dear Readers,
By the time this issue comes out, it will be around the time of the end of year holidays. To me, those holidays are the most melancholic. This is not a criticism; it’s part of their charm. I am the most familiar with Christmas, so that is the one I am focused on. Despite the cheery, despite the merry and bright, there’s this undercurrent of sadness, of fading away. Perhaps it’s because the year is waning. Perhaps it’s the reminder that we live in a fallen world that needs saving, and there won’t be a savior this year. Perhaps it’s because it won’t feel like Christmases we had as children. Nobody cares if we’ve been good all year.
And right after Christmas is New Year’s. January is named for Janus, the Roman god of doorways. Doorways, liminal time, and thresholds are connected to the melancholy—-change feels like a downer, a breath out instead of in. Or maybe not a downer, but a letting go and ramping up all at one.
In thresholding ceremonies, traditionally, one receives gifts. That’s why we give at Bat Mitzvahs, weddings, and funerals. Something to help the hero cross over. Traditionally, there is also food.
Here, then, is a small and mighty gift to bring with you out of the old and into the new. We have fruit, aspic, late harvest apples, Christmas oranges, and so many flowers.
Whatever 2023 – oh dear! 2022 – brings, we’re off to a good start.
It’s rarely cold enough in Dallas Texas, but I’ve got a fire going.
Best,
Nadia Arioli
