The Day after Christmas

 

The best-laid plans of mice and man

Gang oft agley

                             --Robert Burns

That was me last night, with the best intentions of posting that I hoped everyone had as marvelous a Christmas as we did. Here at the Alter/Burton compound, Jordan worked tirelessly for days to make sure we had a great holiday—she baked, she decorated, she wrapped, she set a fine table. We truly owe her a shower of blessings for helping us keep the meaning of Christmas in this odd and strange year.

Our festivities truly began with Christmas Eve supper—a table set with red chargers, the gold-and-white china, and bright red wine goblets. We had my splurge—lobster pot pies. They were tinier than I expected but rich and good with chunks of claw meat, not the shredded you might have expected. After dinner, we took a break—I took a nap!—and we converged again at the cottage a little before eleven to be part of the candlelight service from University Christian Church.

"Attending" the candlelight service
in the cottage

Jordan lined the walk from the house to the cottage with luminaries, turned out the outdoor lights, and gave us our very own touch of Santa Fe. For several years, we used to walk Canyon Road in Santa Fe, admiring the luminaries, partaking of cider and chocolate offered by some residents, and singing heartily. I remember getting really cross with my almost-grown children once because they made a buffoonery of the carols which, to me, are so special. When I was a child, we sang traditional carols at every service during December. Not so much anymore, and I missed some—until UCC sent a 15-minute video with wonderful renditions of “The First Noel,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and even the Wassail song.

Luminaries

Christmas morning began early—Jacob may be a sophisticated fourteen-year-old, but he’s still anxious for presents. We opened stockings and some gifts while a breakfast casserole cooked, took a break for breakfast (with eggnog with real nog in it) and then returned to the tree, all in front of a nice, comforting fire. For Jacob, it was a golf and clothing Christmas—as he said, he now has a more-than-adequate supply of golf balls. Santa was good to me bringing me many of the things I wanted—comfortable clothes and warm pajamas, footlets that stray on my feet. My brother, who announced I had enough ponchos, gave me a dental WaterPik because he swears by them. Jordan’s big surprise for Christian was a sushi maker (which hasn’t arrived) and all the “fixings”—sticky rice, soy wrappers, etc.

We had Christmas happy hour on the patio with Jean—a beautiful day. And then Christmas dinner brought another of Jordan’s lovely place settings—this time green chargers and the Christmas Spode china. She cooked much of the day, fixing twice baked potatoes, corn casserole, mac and cheese. We had a smoked turkey, and more of the eggnog—and I

found I was really tired. Don’t you feel that way after a big holiday? A post-Christmas letdown.

As I write this, I am acutely aware of the people in our country and the world who are not as blessed as we are—those whose jobless benefits run out today, those who cannot make both the grocery bill and the rent, those living in refugee camps and war-torn areas throughout the world. Now, as the poem by Howard Thurman says, begins the work of Christmas: To find the lost, To heal the broken, To feed the hungry, To release the prisoner, To rebuild the nations, To bring peace among others, To make music in the heart.

I am also aware I’ve been on vacation for a bit. I’m used to “losing” most of November and December as far as any meaningful writing goes. Somehow the anticipation of Christmas and the work involved—the cooking, the wrapping, and so forth—messes with my work ethic. This year, since we were having a pared-down Christmas should have lessened the pre-holiday tension, but somehow it didn’t. It was different but still distracting. So now, for me, a couple of days to straighten the cottage, hang up the new clothes, and write the thank-you notes, and then it’s back to work.

Today, I’m counting my blessings—family, faith, the comfort of my home, the company of my dog, the blessing of meaningful work. I pray for all of us that the promise of a new administration and the hope of a vaccine bring a new year that will enable us to move beyond the trials of 2020.

God bless us, everyone!

 

The morning after

I love that morning-after-the-holiday feeling. The pressure is off, though I readily admit with Lisa preparing the feast, I was under little pressure. Maybe it’s anticipation that adds a bit of spice to the holiday—waiting for company, waiting for the meal. Anyway, that feeling is gone by morning, and I feel free to sleep late and sort of float through the day.  Early this morning, a dense fog contributed to the lazy atmosphere. It has gone now, but the day is cloudy and uninspiring.

I may not have had the hostess pressure yesterday, but I do want to protest that I did my part for the meal. Because I asked how I could help from a sitting position, I got the great privilege of peeling apples and potatoes. When Lisa plunked the bag of apples down in front of me, I asked weakly, “All those apples?” She smiled (a bit mischievously) and said, ‘Yep.” And do realize how many potatoes it takes for mashed potatoes for thirteen? I’m now even more in favor of mashing red potatoes with the skins on!

Dinner was traditional and so good—I think I forget from holiday to holiday how much I like turkey and gravy. And Lisa, despite being a Texan, made ‘northern” white-bread stuffing—my favorite dish perhaps of the whole meal. An updated version of green bean casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, pistachio salad, and rolls. All wonderful. And of course it had been preceded by bountiful appetizers—a vegetable platter, a sausage-and-cheese platter, a French onion dip, hummus, guacamole—need I go on?

I haven’t yet had a piece of apple pie. After dinner, which we ate about 3:30, I suddenly found myself alone in the dining room—I think boys had gone to watch football and the ladies to see Lisa’s parents’ new house. Turkey had worked its proverbial effect, aided by a bit of wine, and made me sleepy. Plus the a/c was running full steam, and I was freezing—my internal thermometer does not sync with the rest of this family. So, full and sleepy, I snuck off for a nap. After a bit, I was vaguely aware of the hum of conversation of many voices but too comfortable and cozy to rouse myself. Two hours later, I joined everyone, just as some guests were leaving. I’d totally missed dessert.

Among the guests was a longtime friend of Colin’s—they tended bar together in their salad days—and his wife and two teenage sons. Alirio, a native of Colombia, just retired after twenty-two years with the Border Patrol. Somehow, after my nap, I ended up at the now-clear dining table with those two—lots of catching up to do, but we also talked about everything from raising kids to politics. For at least two hours. Serious discussion, interspersed with bits of humor—no, Alirio, I did not “yell” at you all those years ago for speaking Spanish at the dinner table, when I was trying to encourage Central American students to speak English. I gently suggested.

It was the kind of sustained exchange of ideas I think you only have with people you don’t see often. I did ask once if Alirio had anything to do with immigrant caravans, and he put his head in his hands and said, “It was horrible, horrible.” After a minute, he added, “Still is.” I didn’t pursue it.

One big takeaway for me: Colin and I, though basically in agreement, look at things from different perspectives: he, once a science major and now involved in big business, looks at process and results, whereas I, after a lifetime in the humanities, focus on the human aspect of politics, as well as everything else. It was an evening that will long stick in my mind, and a thoroughly good holiday.

My hope is your holiday, whatever, wherever, and with whoever, was equally rich.