I'm not a fan of Christmas but host the at least century old traditional family dinner, every year. This year started to spiral when I attempted to make the pea soup with gluten free flour. What a disaster. My brother worked his culinary mojo to save it, which included using some actual flour. It wasn't my idea to use oat flour, but my niece's.
Then my niece brought out some videos of past Christmas Eve gatherings. They were full of me and my sister, who died in 2015, laughing and joking around. We were very close and I've never really gotten over my grief. I've always questioned why she was taken and I'm still here, enjoying watching her kids grow, marry, and become parents. It's a bad case of 'survivor guilt' that I can't shake. She was such an amazing sister, wife, and mother. I had a raging anxiety attack/emotional break down and sobbed for a long stretch of time. It was like 10 years of suppressed feelings exploded, all at one.
The thing that finally snapped me out of it was a visitor from a VERY ancient tradition, the Mari Lwyd (Grey Mare). It's a Welsh tradition that includes (and I know this sounds VERY creepy) someone beneath a white sheet carrying a decorated horse's skull. The Mari Lwyd knocks on the door and engages in a sort of rap battle with whomever is in the house, demanding entry, food and drink. This is followed by lots of singing, eating and drinking. I was NOT expecting this to happen but it lifted my spirits up to the stars. Of course, only a few knew about this tradition and were pretty startled but then they got in to the spirit of the tradition. I'm so immersed in my Welsh blood and try to share traditions with others in the family. Even though I've talked about the Mari Lwyd, this was the first time everyone actually participated in a tradition as old as this.
The topper was anticipating the birth of my sister's first grandson. He arrived on the 27th, and that triggered a whole new round of guilt. Since then I've just been in a funk that I'm trying hard to shake.
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