And hope, hope stayed around, sitting in the empty chair around us...

A Christmas Harbor

Paula Robles Nettel

There they were, the bohemian and the poet, standing along the baggage conveyor belt in Stavanger Airport; I observed them from the distance, and even snapped a photo of them while my presence still passed undetected. Despite my physical weariness caused by the hectic days prior to their arrival, my Christmas guests had finally arrived and I felt relieved.  I got closer to them, hugged them both as if I had known them both equally as much.

The hours before, during and after Christmas, were for the first time in many years dominated by men, rather than the usual, which tends to be female company. I enjoyed very much observing my three male guests behaviors, and their interactions between themselves, and with the man of the house Aleksander. It slightly felt like those  university days,  a  fresh camaraderie  of people who understand each other, and that somehow, have gone and are going through similar stages in life despite their age differences and life circumstances.

Each one of them help around the house and also devoted some of their time to their interest and passions. A a sense of calm prevailed in the house during the given hours, before and just after Christmas Eve. Morten cooked and read poetry to us. He as usual, made each moment count, reminding us of the blessing of being in company.  Rune wrote poetry, played Christmas and Dylan music for us in my guitar, and many times sat in my favorite corner to read with an enviable concentration.  We all had  conversations and share common and harmonic moments of silence. I  attended my chores, after all we were expecting four guests more, including two more men.  I escaped to my thoughts, as I usually do most of the time, for  life chores and circumstances in the physical world are no impediment for me to seclude myself in the world that lives inside of me and that is so necessary for me to function.

Christmas eve became our  metaphorical manger, a shelter against all that no longer is there, all that is  far away, all that is lost or placed in an impossible distance to our realities.  Instead, that night we gave ourselves to the moment and the warmth of the company around us, and it seemed we all stirred away from melancholy.

A Happy Christmas it was, and the days after, continued to be beautiful with the gift of snow to a whimsical rainy town. And hope, hope stayed around, sitting in the empty chair around us, she came dressed in different colors, and bestowed to each and every one, the possibility of brighter days ahead, and she whispered to me: Remember the haven of hope has place for more, as long as it feeds with the love of God.

From Bergen 29.12.14