A Christmas Message

Christmas Swedish Style with St Lucia

The ceremony of Saint Lucia is an important part of the Christmas celebrations in Sweden.

The celebration seems to blend Christian and pagan traditions: on an early, dark, cold morning in the midst of December, the 13th, the young members of society come with light, music and beauty to the older members of society, as well as to the newly born. It is an ancient ceremony of rebirth and renewal, and about the existence of magic and blessings in life, even in what seems to be the darkest of times. It is also a celebration of the sun, and the human capacity of handling fire – of bending the elements after our own will, like making light in abundance in the middle of Winter. The ceremony is full of ancient symbols, like the stars (pentacles) on the pointy hats of the so called “stjärngossarna” = the star boys.

Lucia, the saint who is celebrated, is a Sicilian martyr who sacrificed her life for her beliefs, and for not having to marry a man she did not love. Traditionally, she is a fairy or a Goddess of light, coming with light and protection for the people after the night between the 12th and the 13th of December, when the dark forces were said to be specially strong.

But pagan traditions around the winter solstice have heavily inspired the current advent traditions in Sweden, as everywhere else. The Lucia procession is a pre-christian, pagan invention, some even say that it has elements from the winter solstice celebration in Scandinavia, being a ceremony which celebrates the return of light and innocence. The winter solstice is on the 21-22 of December, making it too close to the Christian Christmas, and therefor the celebration had to be moved some say.

They might be right, but the 13th of December has for a long time been seen as the night when it is easier for evil and and naughty spirits to enter the realm of humans; a night when the doors between the different dimensions where wide open. For this reason it is a tradition to wake during the night between the 12th and the 13th, to be able to avoid the spirits and not come in evils claws in ones dreams. In the morning the children and youth of the society brought light, and there was singing. Probably some bun similar to the “Lussekatt”, a bun with saffron which is served on Lucia, was served already then. The bun is formed like a pagan sun symbol.

Traditionally the Swedish Lucia should be followed by a group of what we call “tomtar”, practically little gnomes who sing songs about how they sneak into the houses of the humans at night, tasting the food and having fun. They are unfortunately missing in this years Lucia celebration on national TV,  it’s in a church this year, so they skipped the “tomtar”. They probably do not find “tomtar” church-like enough. That is really a shame.

Just like gnomes in other places, Swedish “tomtar” are known to take care of humans, as well as the animals and plants who live on the farms. They also like to play, and love to get attention. It is of course important to show your respect and gratitude to the “tomtar”, especially at winter. Many people for example put out a small portion of the Christmas porridge for the house “tomte”, to show their gratitude and to motivate the “tomtar” to help them in taking care of their home and it’s inhabitants during the coming year as well.

The relationship between the house spirits and their human family is often described as a warm and loving one in the myths and the fairytales of almost all cultures. But they can also play quite some tricks on you, if you don’t watch out and take care of what you have. Without them, life tends to get really hard if you believe in all the legends. Maybe “tomtar” are not everywhere, but I have a feeling that we are really surrounded with beings which we know very little about, who live their own lives, but who often seem to help out. I find it a bit crazy myself, but there has been so many times when I have experienced concrete proof of such help.  So my advice is, the next time you make some nice, hot food for yourself, share a small portion with the beings or spirits who help you – they will love it!




This description of the traditional activities and their meaning comes from Susan Florries (florries.wordpress.com). I was going to write something myself, but as I couldn't improve on Susan's enthusiasm and warmth, I have just quoted her words. Thank you Susan.

2012 and All That

The final post-RT appointment with Dr Ball at the end of November was a low key affair. Apart from the fact that the clinic was running 2 hours late so we were wretched by the time we got to see him (and I don’t suppose he was feeling particularly jaunty), there wasn’t really much to say. Apparently I should have had a chest x-ray, but it doesn’t matter that I hadn’t. It probably wouldn’t have shown anything, anyway.

I had a physical exam, and a chat concerning my interminable anxieties about the length of time I’m taking to recover. Dr Ball said the normal time to recover from the RT I’ve had would be between 4 and six weeks. Later he revised this to between 6 and 8 weeks.

As I write this, it’s been eight weeks, and although I’m starting to recover, I’m still not there yet. My 5-minute walk has been expanded to 15 minutes and then to 20, and I’m getting my breath back more easily afterwards: but if I try and do anything else in my day – like put the shopping away, or empty the washing machine and hang up the clothes – it’s too much. Still, I will improve, and it seems as though clinically, this adventure is finally over, bar routine check-ups. No dramatic announcements this time, like there was at the start.

Travel Hell - Cancer is expensive.

It’s hard to remember back to when I was last fit and well (but unknowingly harbouring an uninvited guest). One sunny Wednesday in April I was worrying over whether we need a new garden shed, hoping the runner beans would germinate and trying to fit in a quick visit to the GP because of an annoying cough. That evening I was admitted to hospital with a massive growth of indeterminate origin in my chest, and on the following Monday was told I (possibly) had a sarcomatiod cancer, median life expectancy 9 months.

The shock and horror was epic. It was too much to take in. I flip-flopped between denial: there had been some kind of ghastly mistake – they’d got my notes confused with some other Carol (despite the fact that I’d seen the X-ray, CT scan and ultrasound) : and being certain I was going get horribly ill and die within months. That this would be my last summer. That I was going to have to leave Godfrey all alone. It was much too much to deal with, and yet I couldn’t just let go of life and deal with my (our) emotions, there were practical things which needed sorting.

The first and most important was, who to tell? And when? Clearly while the diagnosis was still provisional there was no need to alarm anyone. Equally clearly, some people had to know: I wasn’t remotely fit for work, my brain was all over the place and I was prone to well up with tears at random moments. So I told my colleagues. Also, I had private AT clients booked, they had to be unbooked and where necessary, given an alternative practitioner’s name and number. But I wanted to keep the need-to-know group as small as possible, until I had some definite news to report.

This put me in the invidious position of lying to my other friends and family. Mum would ring from time to time, and say “How are you?” and I’d answer, “Fine, how are you?” We’d chat about normal, inconsequential things and all the time I just wanted the conversation to end, because I was fretting that I was missing a call from the hospital.

I was expecting imminent surgery followed by chemo and radiotherapy. I thought that, in the event that something were to go wrong during surgery, it wouldn’t be fair for Godfrey to have to deal with the fall out all alone. So after a few days, I told one of my brothers what was going on. Bill was a tower of strength, support and level-headedness throughout. Finally, after getting wills and powers of attorney done, and after seeing an oncologist who confirmed it was cancer, I found the strength to tell my remaining friends and family. And I started this blog, both to keep them informed and to give me a sense of control.

Did I get it right? Did I say the right thing in the right order to the right people? No doubt I could have done things better, but I was stressed. On the plus side, I’ve learned some things: life is short, good health is not guaranteed, help is there when I need it, ready meals have come on a long way in the last few years, and I am sufficiently narcissistic to write a blog.

The odd thing is, when I was in the midst of all the panic a sort of cleft opened up in my mind between the known world and the unknown: metaphysical ideas and thoughts ran around crazily in my brain. What is the purpose of life? Why are we here? Is there a God, what is the purpose of prayer, how do you distinguish between good and evil, is there a justification for animal experimentation in medicine, should I welcome Fate with a warm smile and a hug or put on full armour and fight it with all my might, what is happiness…..you get the idea. But I couldn’t deal with any of these concepts, my brain was panicky and overfull.

I realised I hadn’t seriously contemplated any of these things for decades. Been too busy. What I needed was a time when I was running around less, when I could actually give my attention to questions like these. Now, at last, I have such a time. My brain has recovered from its post-operative and post-RT fuzziness, but my body is lethargic and weary so I’m not back at work yet. I have oodles of free time. No imminent threats. I have all the leisure I could wish for.

Ironically though, the cleft seems to have healed over: without the stress hormones flooding my brain, my ability to even contemplate these big questions seems to have vanished under a layer of much more prosaic thoughts like: what is the point of democracy when all parties sign up to the same agenda once elected, and: what shall we have for tea? Without the Grim Reaper lurking nearby at the margins of my vision, it seems my ability (or desire) to focus on the big questions has faded away. Is this because I’m shallow, or because I’m human?

But of course, death hasn’t really gone away. He’s just stepped back a pace or two out of sight. He is waiting. My number will be up, today or tomorrow or thirty years from now. If there’s things I need to think, or do, or contemplate, I’d better get started.

I plan to keep the blog going, with updates as and when I have check-ups and scans and so forth, but I really hope there will be nothing else of note to report. However there are other projects I have in mind which I might publish here from time to time, once I am back to full health.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas to you all, and I wish you a happy and healthy 2013!