Cheer for a weary nation

 

When Jordan put up my Christmas decorations—and those inside the main house—last weekend, I thought it a bit premature. But I soon heard of others who were decorating early. To me, before Thanksgiving is early. Then I thought all that’s happened in 2020—pandemic, quarantine, impeachment, election—and the way 2020 has become a bad joke, even when people die. When the death of Sir Sean Connery was announced, someone on Facebook posted, “Thanks, 2020!” We all seem to be living in suspense—what will 2020 bring next?

The holidays begin with Thanksgiving and move on to Christmas, Hannukah, Duwali (Duwali actually comes before Thanksgiving), Kwanza,--what have I missed? They bring us bright lights and candles, seasonal music and too much good food, warmth, comfort and light. For a brief period of time, we feel that all is right with the world—a far different feeling than what we’ve had all year when all seemed wrong with the world.

As I looked at my decorations last night before unplugging the lights, I thought of the line from an old Christmas carol, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.”

For many of us, rejoicing won’t be what we want it to be. My Austin daughter posted about her anger because she should be hosting all seventeen of us at her new house (yes, she wants to show it off!) for Thanksgiving; instead, she’ll be hosting her own family—husband Brandon and sons Sawyer and Ford. The rest of us will all be with our immediate families, rather than all of us together. A major change for the Alter clan who are used to getting together at any and all excuses—all seventeen of us, loud, noisy, and happy. This year will be very different. But it is what it is, and we have no other choice. I suspect Christmas will be the same way. We will have to celebrate how we can.

We started a bit of celebration last night when neighbors came for our regular weekly happy hour. One brought dinner for all of us, to our order, from a wonderful local seafood restaurant—a fried lobster sandwich was a true treat. Another neighbor brought wine, and Jordan set out plates—real plates! And she made chocolate pie—her first ever—for dessert. I convinced her to put real whipped cream on the top. So good. We felt very festive.

Tonight, Jordan spent a lot of time on the patio, assembling a large storage “thing” she had ordered to hold things like the heater, etc. when we didn’t want to leave the out for the weather. While she was working, she got the most amazing picture of an owl sitting in a tree watching her. She said at first he was on the ground, but she disturbed him, and he flew up in the tree and then took off. She called Jacob to come sit with her and watch for the owl to return, but of course he didn’t. After all of ten minutes, Jacob said, “Bird watching is boring,” and went inside We’re not recommending him to the Audubon Society. I’ll post Jordan’s picture here, but it’s so dark I’m not sure it will reproduce.

Cheers, folks, resolve now to make your holidays as cheerful as you can. Let’s not let 2020 beat us!

Christmas is upon us

 

Jim Shores Santa

At least in my cottage, it is all of a sudden Christmas. And we haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet. I always thought you put Christmas decorations up that long weekend after Thanksgiving, when men were all watching football. Jordan has apparently not gotten that memo, and she has been busily transforming my cottage into a kind oif fairyland. She has managed that outdoor light that goes through a filter which transforms the beam into a sprinkle of a thousand tiny green pinpoints of light—and a few red dots. It used to go on at random times, like ten in the morning, but now it goes on in the evening. I love looking at it, though I’m not so sure how neighbor Jay feels about all those dots in his casita. Fortunately, he’s not there much.

Decorations have gone up inside too. I have no mantel, so the top of a lawyer’s bookcase substitutes as home for my beloved Jim Shores Santa Claus (purchased back when it was a real splurge for me). Next to him are three poinsettia candles, the most unusual I’ve ever seen, a gift though I don’t remember from whom. Pushed together, they form a beautiful pattern; apart, each is a riot of red. Woe to anyone who lights them. And next to that is a glass block with tiny multi-color lights inside. It was a carefully-made gift from a friend of Christian’s, some twenty years ago, a friend who has long since dropped out of our lives.

Santa Mac

Jordan worried about the coffee table and kept trying to put the Shores Santa there, but I insisted he has been on the bookcase the four Christmases I’ve been in the cottage. So she stole Santa Mac and put him there—Santa Mac is as you would expect a Scottish Santa but he’s bigger than you’d think. He’s wearing a kilt and a sporran and he clutches a bagpipe, though not in a position any good Scot would recognize. He’s a gift from another good friend that I do not see these days because of quarantine. Santa Mac is named after my family name of MacBain. The couch sports a bright Christmas pillow, given to me years ago by a friend after I gave a program for her book club.

On the end table by the couch is the over-size brandy snifter full of Christmas ornaments that I’ve put out for years. Now Jordan just sets it up high in my hall closet from year to year, untouched except for an occasional much-needed dusting. And next to it is my Christmas tree, a small, artificial one though this year I meant to order a real one from a company that sells authentic miniature trees. Mine now is supposed to look like a Norway pine with separate distinct branches. It doesn’t have lights because it’s too hard for me to get over there to turn them off at night.

If you were doing a circle around the living area in my cottage, you would have come to these things in order. And then you would come to my tabletop fireplace. It was chilly this morning, and I turned it on for its cheer and its heat. It makes a great addition to the room.

Remembering the origin of many of my Christmas treasures makes me a bit sad, because several have come from people who’ve moved on out of my life. I suppose that’s inevitable—people come and go from your life and only the very best stay. I used to have huge tree-trimming parties at Christmas, and as I put out my large collection of ornaments, I could tell you exactly who gave me which. And the same was true—many had moved on, a few had died, but many ornaments came from people I still treasure. I cannot tell you how much I miss those big parties! I’m ready to make lists and freeze some fruit breads and get out dishes and decide on appetizers. Always the blue cheese ball and the caviar dip and maybe this year the curry with cranberry chutney—what do you think? I am making myself nostalgic! But I can hardly fit eighty people into a 600 square foot cottage in a year of social distancing.

2020 is what it is, and we must all make the best possible of it that we can. Stay Safe, well, and full of holiday cheer!