It was both, one of the worst Christmases and one of the best.
Once again, I was going to be spending a New York City, Christmas alone. My daughter who lived in Buffalo in 2011 could not make it to the city due to work obligations and commitment to her husband's family who also lived in Buffalo. My best friend had suddenly and recently passed away, other friends were with family and I was trying to "power through" unsettling and unpredictable episodes of vertigo.
True, I had my two dogs, Tina and Chance, and five cats to keep me company. But it's not exactly the same as family and friends on the most family-oriented holiday of the year.
But I had other friends, too:
The ducks and Canada geese of Central Park!
One of my favorite things to do was walk to Harlem Meer each night with my dogs and bring treats to the waterfowl. But since the summer geese had departed three months before with their babies, I hadn't seen many geese in a long time.
I missed them desperately.
The walk to Harlem Meer on Christmas Eve of 2011 with my dogs was quiet, peaceful, but lonely. There were few people around and though the skies were clear and star lit, the air was bitter cold and punishing.
Trying to feel "in the Christmas spirit" I listed to Christmas songs over my radio headphones. But Mariah Carey's pop version of "Joy to the World" as well as other, overly cheerful pop Christmas faire served only to plunge the mood further south.
"My God, she murdered an otherwise beautiful song!" I cynically thought to myself.
After a mile and half walk, I finally began to approach Harlem Meer with the only thought to quickly feed the hungry mallards and get out. Everything about this particular walk on Christmas Eve night seemed unwelcoming. From the cutting winds barreling through me to Bruce Springsteen seemingly screaming on the radio, "Santa Claus is Coming to Town."
Why did I even come here tonight of all nights? I wondered.
But as I started to descend the hill leading to Harlem Meer, I could suddenly hear the faint sound of honking in the far distance.
Could it be? I wondered. Am I imagining things?
And just at that moment, the music changed on the radio to a beautiful instrumental version of the Cristmas carol, "We Three Kings of Orient Are."
"Star of wonder, star of night.
Star of royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to thy perfect light."
And with that, the joyous, excited honking from the skies suddenly became deafening as wave after wave of migratory geese from Canada began descending and landing gracefully upon the water.
Stopped in my tracks to watch the wonder before me, tears welled and freely ran down my face. But I didn't care as there was no one around to see -- just the excited mallards scurrying up to me for food and the weary geese settling in after an exhausting journey of thousands of miles.
These were the geese who came to New York City each year to winter. They had to organize, cooperate and endure seemingly endless miles of treacherous journey and often brutal weather conditions. They would be here until March.
But how "serendipity" was it that they chose this special Christmas Eve night to arrive to their destination? How seemingly miraculous was it that they flew through the night star lit skies and landed at the precise time of the "We Three Kings" carol?
"Star of wonder, star of light
Star of royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to thy perfect light"
Even my two senior, small dogs were suddenly excited and voiced welcoming barks to the arriving geese!
I suddenly felt particularly blessed that wondrous Christmas night. All was peaceful, all was harmony and bliss. All was blessed.
I don't remember how long I stayed at the Meer trying to extend the magic and beauty. I don't remember the other songs and carols that played. At that point all was beautiful and serene; a kind of heaven on earth.
"Welcome, my beautiful geese. I have awaited you so long. You are truly God's creations!"
Walking home that special Christmas Eve night, I neither felt the cold nor wind, nor scoffed at silly pop Christmas songs over the headphones.
Finally, exiting the park and walking through Manhattan streets, I came across a large crowd of people entering St. Thomas Moore's Catholic church for Midnight Mass services. But I had already had my spiritual (and very personal) Christmas service and my heart and soul were filled to the whole of my being.
Little did I know then that "We Three Kings" would become my favorite Christmas carol and forever remind me of that special night. Nor that the geese would become for me, the special spirit animals that God wanted me to fight for, write about and protect.
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