“Christmas, too, is come, which always puts a rattle into my morning skull. It is a visiting, unquiet, unquakerish season. I get more and more in love with solitude, and proportionately hampered with company.”
A sample of the inveterately
absurdist Charles Lamb. He often poked harmless fun at his Quaker friend
(Friend friend?) Bernard Barton, an aspiring poet. His letter is dated December
23, 1822. Lamb, in fact, relished the right sort of company – those gifted with
story-telling, general amusement and tippling. It’s the time of year I most
enjoy company. In no other season does it feel less obligatory, more gratuitous.
Christmas relaxes those taut emotional sphincters. It’s time to chat with the
proselytizers at the door and the neighbors who irritate you. Lamb concludes:
“The ‘compliments of the
time’ to you, should end my letter; to a Friend, I suppose, I must say the ‘sincerity
of the season’: I hope they both mean the same. With excuses for this hastily
penned note, believe me, with great respect, C. Lamb.”
With all my “sincerity of
the season,” Merry Christmas to all the readers of Anecdotal Evidence. P. Kurp.
4 comments:
Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Kurp, and thank you for all the gifts you've given us through Anecdotal Evidence this year! May 2022 be as bountiful!
Thank you for the gift of your daily posts.
Merry Christmas!
¡Feliz Navidad! Thank you, sincerely, for your daily gift.
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