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Yesterday, we went to church, Uncle Albert and I. The First Sunday of Advent, which meant there was yet another candle lit, with more to come.

Our rector Susan, the former Miss Virginia,* stared at the back of her envelope. She writes her sermons on the back of envelopes. Then she put it aside. Then she said that the candle is a sign light is coming into the darkness. The same old uninspired schist: “As the days grow shorter,” etc.

As the days grow shorter, more candles will be lit. It’s a sign so don’t expect it to be logical. But there’s a comfort in it.

     I suppose. When I get up in the morning these days, I walk through the house, turning on lights. Wasteful. I know it: I am using more than my share of the world’s energy; I’m befouling the atmosphere. I’m also trying to stay sane.

     Relatively so.

We get home, Uncle Albert and I, in time to watch Arsenal scratch out a tie with Norwich City. Only Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang seems to be getting any joy out of Arsenal football these dark days. He scores both the Gunners’ goals.

12.02.19

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 * See here.