Thu 23 May 2024 17.00 CESTmid the fear and uncertainty of the pandemic lockdowns a few years ago, as I walked the neighbourhood each twilight, I couldn’t help observe the little domestic quirks of people I didn’t and still don’t know.wherever I might. The early evening – like the early morning and lunchtime – walk with my dogs was part of that.
I found something about the candlelight glowing in the windows of those apartments and houses to be incredibly soothing amid all the anxiety.We started burning our own candles about the house. Every night. Yes, something about the softness of the shadowy, gently flickering yellow light was calming and reassuring. But it was more than that. It soon became something of a pattern amid the crumbled routine and then, within weeks, habitual.
And what is life, after all, without its small rituals? The little things that punctuate time, as well as bring comfort and joy – a sense of safety, perhaps – in a global village replete with violent disruption and anguish?It’s true that the older I get the more these small rituals seem to become the framework of continuity. The morning’s tea needs to be brewed in the yellow pot I bought two decades ago in another city.
Ritualistic joys, and the sense of calm and, yes, slightly indulgent personal maintenance they gift us, can spring from all sorts of places.
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