"For the Time Being"

Now the house seems empty and quiet without a little baby around. Although her mood can change like lightening, she usually always wakes up in a sunny state, and early yesterday morning Amanda brought her up in bed with John and me. She was smiling, and happy to see her Grandma and Grandpa. Most of the time she would rather be held by Mommy, but she's getting used to our old grinning faces, with those funny looking things hanging off our noses.

The week between Christmas and the New Year always feels suspended in time. John is off work, and when we don't have a trip planned the week flies (and drags) by at the same time.

W.H Auden was a fine poet, and I think his poem For the Time Being really captures that "after Christmas" feel of reflection and back-to-normal life.


from, For the Time Being

Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back in their cardboard boxes-
Some have gotten broken-
And carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school.
There are enough left-overs to do, warmed up, for the rest of the week,
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, and attempted-quite unsuccessfully-to love all of our relatives,
And in general
Grossly over-estimated our powers.
Once again, as in previous years,
We have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as a agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep his word for long.
The Christmas feast is already a fading memory,
And the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all now, be far off...
But for now the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays.
The streets are much narrower than we remembered;
We had forgotten the office was as depressing as this.
For those who have seen the Child, however dimly,
However incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be,
Grew up when it opened...