I think we're almost ready. From my great-grandmother's quilt that only comes out for Christmas time to the tiny Italian Nativity I gave my grandmother almost fifty years ago to the plaster Santa Claus that John painted when he was in grade school as well as all the other traditional Christmas decorations . . .
The pineapple, oranges and coconut are waiting to to be made into ambrosia for Christmas breakfast; there are ducks thawing for the feast, a mincemeat pie to be made . . .
And the possibility of quite a bit of snow. We hope that the friends who usually join us for Christmas Day will be able to get here . . . we hope that there will be power . . .
And I hope that all of you are enjoying this Christmas Eve!
Tuesday was gray and drizzly but I took my camera along on my trip to town. I'm happy to report that the white goose down by the river still has lots of Canada geese to keep him company.
Just across the bridge is the annual Christmas display arranged by a fellow who lives nearby. It's a little different every year and it always makes me smile.
I thought of Merisi and her lovely shots of Vienna as I took this last picture. The Madison County Courthouse dome lacks the elegance of Viennese architecture -- it also lacks its statue of Lady Justice -- removed (indefinitely) for repairs. Still, there is an angel to bless the scene.
The beginning of the Christmas season brings back a sweet nostalgia for the days when the air trembled with magic and I really, truly did listen for reindeer on the roof.
I think I was probably five or six and I was at my maternal grandparents’ house. It was a few weeks before Christmas and the decorations were up and stockings hung. (Rather spoiled only grandchildren, my brother and I had stockings both at home and at Ba and Hudy’s as we called these much-loved grandparents.)
Ba was in the kitchen, making cookies just like a proper grandmother. As I have always remembered it, no one else was in the house that day except for Annie, the taciturn cleaning lady.
I was ‘helping’ Ba and lamenting the fact that all her implements and pans were too big for me. “I wish I could have some little cooking things just my size,” I said.
Just then, again, as I remember it, a door slammed somewhere in the house.
“Run see what that was,” said Ba, and off I went to investigate.
And in the living room, on the hearth, right under where my stocking hung, was a set of little pots and pans – just my size.
I ran to show them to Ba, and she only said that Santa must have heard me and made an early delivery.
Years and years later, I asked Ba how she managed this surprise and she claimed not to know what I was talking about.
It’s just as well. I like to believe in magic. May there be some in your holiday season!
Yesterday morning, once again we awoke to find that the snow gods had been at work. We had put our tree up the day before and with a little help, got the popcorn/cranberry chain in place. In past years we've had a full living room of family and friends to help with the decorating but because of the impending weather, the decorating session was curtailed.
So I spent most of Sunday, hanging ornaments, tying red satin bows, putting candy canes in place (I'm fussy and like them all to face the same way,)making sure the little twisted metal icicles dangle freely --- oh, it's a job!
But it's a trip down memory lane, as well. Ornaments inherited from my mother and my husband's mother and grandmother; god's eyes my boys made when they were very young, the felt ornaments we made for a Christmas at my grandparent's house almost forty years ago, the stuffed cloth hearts and all the odds and ends that have accumulated over the years -- gifts that I treasure (the bristly donkey that looks like our Kate is the most recent) and little gems I couldn't resist (the pink pig with a piglet at her side.)
Almost sixty years ago, when I was a Girl Scout, I made a pomander by sticking whole cloves in an apple. It took forever and made my fingers sore, as I covered the entire surface so that not a speck of red could be seen. And the pomander -- a Christmas gift for my mother -- hung in her closet for years -- the apple shrinking and drying and the cloves smelling wonderful.
About twenty years ago, I thought it might be nice to repeat the endeavor, possibly using oranges or tangerines as I'd seen done in a magazine somewhere -- some nice patterns and you don't have to cover the entire surface.
So I ordered a pound of whole cloves. And that's as far as I got. The cloves have been sitting in a jar on a shelf all that time. (They keep very well.)
But while finding things to occupy my time while waiting to hear from Herself -- ironing, rearranging the living room to get ready for the Christmas tree, cleaning out the refrigerator -- I was about to throw out (well, give to the chickens) some clementines that weren't very good -- not rotten, just a bit dry -- and suddenly I thought of those cloves.
When I was very young, the days before Christmas were a magical time, filled with eager anticipation. I eyed the presents under the tree, fingered the empty stocking hanging by the fireplace (hoping for something overlooked from last year; even a hard stale chocolate kiss would have been welcome . . . ) and generally drove everyone crazy asking how many more days till Santa would come.
The presents beneath the tree were intriguing but off-limits -- no investigation allowed. Plus, these packages tended to have boring stuff like clothes.
It was the things that Santa would bring and leave in our stockings or on the hearth in all their unwrapped glory that I had on my mind . . . and it was hard for a six year-old to wait.
(It's kinda embarrassing to tell but my brother and I each had two stockings, one at our parents' house, one at our maternal grandparents a half a block away. Santa visited both places -- my mother was an only child and my brother and I the only grandchildren. I think my grandparents (Ba and Hudy) just didn't want to miss out on the fun.)
So, on this particular day, less than a week before Christmas, I was at my grandparents' house. As I remember it, only my grandmother and I were there.
I had occupied some time skipping from room to room of the house, singing (off key, no doubt) "Christmas is coming, Christmas is coming," as I made a circle from kitchen to breakfast room to library to front hall to living room to dining room and back to the kitchen.
Ba was making a pound cake and after my fifth or sixth circuit, she asked if I wouldn't like to come help her. Knowing there would be a bowl to lick, I stopped skipping and let her tie an apron around me.
As I stood on the step stool wielding an awkwardly long wooden spoon and trying to stir the huge bowl of batter, I said to Ba, "I wish I had some little cooking things just my size."
Just then there was a loud sound from the other end of the house -- maybe a door slamming.
"Run see what that was," Ba said, taking over the stirring. "It sounded like something in the living room."
Off I went on the familiar route -- breakfast room, library, hall, and into the dim living room where the beautiful Christmas tree shimmered with glass balls and carefully placed foil icicles.
All was quiet.
But there, on the hearth beneath my still-empty stocking, was a little set of child-sized baking pans!
I grabbed them up and ran shrieking back to the kitchen to show my grandmother the miracle.
"Santa must have heard you wishing and decided to come early," was all she said.
And she helped me to butter one little pan and line it with waxed paper so that I could fill it with batter for my own child-sized pound cake.
As we slid it into the oven, I was sure that I could hear the distant sound of bells jingling and a faint "Ho, ho, ho!"
Getting ready for Christmas involves a lot of deconstruction: taking down paintings and objets that I consider part of the fall decor, stripping the throw pillows of their autumn leaf fabric covers, moving house plants upstairs to make room for the tree, taking down the somber hued quilts that have been on display since September . . .
And then there's the unpacking of the Christmas odds and ends that all have to be put in their traditional places -- starting with the gaudy red and green and white quilt made by my great-grandmother.
John will get the tree today and it'll get put up and the lights draped around it. But it won't be decorated till Sunday when friends and family assemble to string popcorn and cranberries and eat chili and cornbread. (I made the chili yesterday.)
The packages for out of town mailing are ready -- so I'm off to the P.O. There's greenery to cut and a door swag to arrange and more presents to wrap and maybe I need some poinsettias . . .
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