Yuletide Nights and Other Happenings

I opened the front door after bidding farewell and a happy Yuletide to the guests. The warmth of lights and indistinct chatter rushed into the night from behind me as I stood on the threshold, the sound of celebration dissipating into the chill as soon as it exited. Some might say that a winter night is no friend of festivities and merriment, hence why we gather within homes, huddled together with warm cider and rolls fresh from the oven, ideally with a steady blaze in the hearth.

I digress, but not in a way that equates me to a self-declared creature of the night. Contrasts, meeting of dichotomies, one and the other and both — I appreciate these in numerous aspects of life and art, including the simple act of leaving a party. This particular one is hosted at the house of a friend’s parents, a structure that resides essentially in the midst of several rolling fields. Their driveway isn’t large, nor is there street parking, so I’m often required to park in the field across the road.

The night, of which I write, I did just that, departing from the party and strolling up the driveway towards the country road that led towards my car. I savored the sudden silence and rush of chilled air, similarly to how I relished the heat and golden glow of entering the party, laughing as I shook a friend’s hand in the foyer and commented on the remarkable warmth emanating from his, contrasted to the corpse-like cold of mine. 

Amidst all this, the whirlwind and obligations from the holiday season, I craved a weekend, even just one day, without plans. The Saturday following the Winter Solstice, I awoke to the solitude of a friend’s apartment, for whom I was housesitting. He is a fellow individual who dislikes the holiday season, so every December he and his mom book a two-week trip to Europe, leaving before Christmas and returning on New Year's Eve. He has no pets nor anything that requires supervising during his absence, but he understands my occasional desire for a getaway, especially since I don’t currently live alone. Therefore, whenever he’s away, he offers his apartment to me, both for my leisure and for reassuring his anxiety that everything is as usual.

On a whim, influenced by a library patron returning the second book in the fantasy trilogy, I borrowed The Pariah by Anthony Ryan and, after pouring myself some coffee and situating myself on the leather chair by the window, I opened to the first page and began reading.

I remember reading somewhere, perhaps it was in a book or article or simply a fancy of my mind, of someone who memorizes their favorite first lines of books. If I began a similar habit, of which I’m now inclined, the one pictured above would be amongst the first ones committed to memory, not that I intend to kill a man, of course, but because it immediately helped set the scene, introduced the narrator, made me inquisitive to learn what follows, and was unlike other beginning sentences in fantasy novels. It did come to mind how common it is for an author to begin a fantasy book with a fight, battle, murder, or some variation therewithin. I am by no means criticizing Anthony Ryan; it accomplished precisely what he intended.

I am approaching the halfway point of The Pariah and have decided to DNF it twice before picking it back up. I am quite a mood reader, and recently I’ve wanted a fantasy novel with magic, maybe some nonhuman creatures, great storytelling, and outdoor adventures. The only reason I’ve tried quitting The Pariah is because there is very little magic and, so far, no mention of anything nonhuman. Despite this, the development and depth of each character, the fantastic writing of Ryan, and the overall plot has continually drawn me back. Oh, let’s face it, I should also list the mere fact that the narrator is a scribe, and leather writing pads, quills, and parchment are featured. 

Sometimes it’s the simple things!

One final thought I’d like to write, which occurred during the same weekend I was at my friend’s apartment, is the idea of Tarot games. On Christmas Day, I told my sister I want a repetitive hobby to do with my hands while listening to audiobooks and, knowing that she crochets and cross-stitches, asked her if she knows how to knit. Although she does not, she said we should purchase a beginner’s kit and learn. Until we do, I have been playing single player Tarot games.

I first began playing them last year when I was thinking of ways to use my cards for methods other than divination. There are numerous beautiful and unique Tarot decks, and I enjoy handling and looking at them but don’t always have a question to ask. Also, full dependency on any form of divination is unhealthy. You have to live and learn on your own, especially in witchcraft!

While I do understand if some practitioners raise their voices at the impudence I must possess to use a witchy tool in such a common way, let’s not forget that from at least the mid-15th century through today Tarot has been used as a card game in many countries. The history of Tarot, in general, is murky, but the knowledge of the use of these cards for games is unwavering. In fact, the father of my Hungarian friend owns a deck for playing Tarokk. (I need to remind myself to ask him about it next time I visit Hungary and will report back on the newsletter).

I played a game similar to Aces Up before searching online for other ideas that use Tarot or the usual 52-card decks. The one pictured above is called The Devil by D. Teuber that I found on BoardGameGeek. After a few rounds, I tweaked the rules a bit, but regardless, I still enjoy playing both The Devil and other solitaire Tarot games until I finally learn knitting.

Witchingly

— Clark