Category Archives: Holiday

Pretty in pink, this automobile ornament was something I found after the season ended last year, so this marks its debut on our tree. These exquisite works of glass are pieces of art, and therefore a little more than their plain and/or plastic relatives. That means it has taken us a few years to amass a collection that actually fills out a tree. Luckily this year’s Balsam fir is a tad smaller than previous incarnations, so we should be able to load it up richly. The holidays call for such excess.

This coming Saturday marks a mix of old and new holiday traditions. The 5^thAnnual Boston Children’s Holiday Hour takes place in the afternoon, and at five years old it’s getting a little long in the tooth, particularly since some of these children are now teenagers. There are a few new twists as well, including the addition of some of my favorite family members for the very first time. Andy and the twins are scheduled to join in the fun, much to the excitement and anticipation of our other guests, and much to my relief because this has been a difficult couple of months. Having some family present for this gathering, especially these three, may see me through a fragile time. 

I’ve assembled our stockings by the fireplace mantle with care, and hung a dramatic curtain to create a little jewel box of privacy, dividing up the space into an even more intimate lay-out and providing a little nook for anyone who wants or needs a moment of quiet and privacy. (Assuming I’m not occupying the space, curled into a fetal position and whimpering on the little couch hidden within. I told you it was a dramatic curtain.) Just kidding. Everything will be fine. Children are very forgiving. 

We are still in the first flush of holiday fun, too early to be too tired, too soon to be too exhausted. All is new and fresh and hopeful. This pretty shrub of lemon cypress is vibrant of hue and scent, and the perfect embodiment of how the holiday season begins. Like the chartreuse leaves of spring, it sings the spirit of all that is reborn. Delicately perfumed with a lemony lightness, even its fragrance is fresh and clean. 

I look to this little cypress to teach me the way. 

Show me how to retain such freshness throughout this whole season.

It’s too early to fall apart. Too soon to give up. 

Teach me how to sustain the hopefulness that seems in such abundance now, but that will be gone before we know it. It is but a short journey to Christmas, then the New Year will be at hand, and then the gruesome stalled trudge of winter. 

Help me hang onto the newness.

Help me hang onto the spring.

Until it comes again…

Some years are low-key Holiday Card years, such as this one. For a number of reasons, my heart wasn’t in it, but like Celine Dion says, the heart must go on, or some such bullshit, so here we go. Inspired by a love for baking that doesn’t always translate to successful kitchen endeavors, this card is not that far off from reality. I’ve had my share of kitchen disasters, a few of which have resulted in fires and burns and the like, so here’s to making those episodes into something worthy of the season, like a goddamned Christmas card. 

If you want a more comprehensive look into Holiday Cards of the past, please visit the first part of a Holiday Card Recollection and of course its accompanying second part. Then check out last year’s Holiday Card here. And if you want a video version of this year’s card, follow me on Instagram here. 

Thanks to the Beekman Boys, my holiday shopping was officially completed by the 2nd of December. Yes, on Cyber Monday, they enabled me to complete this year’s gift-giving plans. I always vow to finish early, and usually I’m pretty good about it. This is the first time it’s actually come to fruition in substantial form. There are sure to be a few odds and ends that I’ve forgotten – those pesky people who clearly don’t matter that much or I’d have gotten them already – but that’s ok. I don’t mind shopping for one or two – it’s actually enjoyable when there’s not pressure to finish everyone all at once. 

As for the Beekman Boys, I’ve been a Beek-Man for a number of years, and their goat milk products work wonders for keeping winter skin hydrated and healthy. They’ve expanded into a number of artisanal food products as well, so it really can be a one-stop kind of shopping experience, and the older I get the more I’m willing to spend good money for good quality merchandise, and impeccable customer service and care. Beckman 1802 offers all that and more, and since they’re basically a hop, skip and jump away, it feels good to support a local business as well. Check out their website for all your holiday shopping needs. 

Thanksgiving

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

We walk on starry fields of white

And do not see the daisies;

For blessings common in our sight

We rarely offer praises.

We sigh for some supreme delight

To crown our lives with splendor,

And quite ignore our daily store

Of pleasures sweet and tender.

Our cares are bold and push their way

Upon our thought and feeling.

They hang about us all the day,

Our time from pleasure stealing.

So unobtrusive many a joy

We pass by and forget it,

But worry strives to own our lives

And conquers if we let it.

There’s not a day in all the year

But holds some hidden pleasure,

And looking back, joys oft appear

To brim the past’s wide measure.

But blessings are like friends, I hold,

Who love and labor near us.

We ought to raise our notes of praise

While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise

Of worry or of trouble.

Farseeing is the soul and wise

Who knows the mask is double.

But he who has the faith and strength

To thank his God for sorrow

Has found a joy without alloy

To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes

Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;

The hours and days a silent phrase

Of music we are living.

And so the theme should swell and grow

As weeks and months pass o’er us,

And rise sublime at this good time,

A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

Just in case anybody had any doubts that it was the holiday season, it is.

There is no going back now.

But there are outs. 

And methods of escape, or simple avoidance.

I intend to try a few of them.

In the meantime, enjoy the very first live performance of this classic chestnut.

It’s Mariah’s world until the New Year.

All we can do is share it.

Over the last few years, any vestiges of childhood holiday traditions have dwindled and disappeared altogether. The one last tradition that had remained the same – Christmas Eve at my childhood home – is in question this year (one day I’ll tell that tale, maybe in therapy, or maybe right here), so it’s time to make some new traditions and see which, if any, chance to linger. I’ve managed to forge some new traditions in my adult life, in much the way that I’ve forged an extended family. Something told me from an early age I might not be able to count on my own family, and perhaps that informed my behavior over the years, resulting in distance and detachment. As someone who doesn’t have children – and someone who will never have any children – I’ve started to sense the future specter of solitude. It’s not something that bothers me so much, it’s the way I’ve designed my life, without regret or sadness, but I know it will be different from most of my friends. So I’m making a few new holiday outings to send down some roots that may see me through the middle-age doldrums. Some of my friends’ kids are also graduating from their own childhoods, so maybe in a few years they will value these outings as much as I do. 

The quirky and still-tentative plans are named after inside jokes that only one or two people may know (and one or two might not even recognize their part in these plans). They’ll get the text invitations with more elaborate descriptions. Not to exclude anyone, but I’m better in more intimate get-togethers these days. Of course, I’m always open to invitations. That said, here are a few holiday traditions which I aim to implement:

* The Holiday Light Show

* The Turkey Leg Holiday Hambone Tradition

* The Turn-the-Light-Off-La-Divina Fast Call

* The Do-You-Wanna-Build-A-Snowman Night Out

* The We-Love-You-Lenny Cocktail/Mocktail Hour

* The Got-A-Light Gift Exchange

And of course we’ll also be doing the Holiday Stroll and the Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, two of my favorite self-created traditions that have taken hold in the best way over the last few years. 

A month from this date will mark our 5^th Annual Boston Children’s Holiday Hour. It’s coming a bit later in the season than usual, because I originally thought we’d be busy with all the other holiday events, but life has interrupted and we are changing those plans. Andy’s health doesn’t afford him the same energy and ability it once did, so we are not going to have our annual holiday party – the first time in almost twenty years we’re not throwing one. (We came close to missing one a few years ago, when a winter snowstorm and a kitchen renovation allowed for only about two guests to make it, but it still technically took place.) This has been a year of change, so I’m going with the flow and taking it out of holiday rotation in the hopes that it will allow Andy to attend our Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, which will include the twins for the first time. I’ve already hung stockings for the four of us in hopes that St. Nicholas soon will be there.

To spice things up further and add some extra pizzazz to our 5^th annual gathering of the children (eventually the name will need to be changed as some of these kids are entering their teen years) I’ve incorporated some new decorating schemes, including a curtain that now provides a hidden little alcove for those who need some time away from the hustle and the bustle. (Should I decide to vacate the area someone else may be able to try it out.) It does a neat hat-trick of dividing the common area of the condo, adding some intimacy to a space that otherwise lacks any sort of privacy. (The bedroom will be reserved for Andy to rest and relax in, which is for the better anyway, especially given the fact that a couple of years ago the kids decided to horse around and knock a candle and all its wax onto the curtains and carpet.)

As for the rest of this tradition, it’s staying true to what is has always been: a chance near the end of the run-up to Christmas to stop in, say hello, have some hot chocolate and marshmallows, and be on the merry way to further Boston adventures. The city is endlessly enchanting at this time of the year.

It was the tinsel that caught my eye. Amid the dirty snow and dull gray tones of winter, January offered little in the way of visual splendor. When my brother and I were playing outside shortly after the holiday season one year, we happened upon a neighbor’s tree that still had much of its sparkling tinsel tangled in its boughs. It fluttered and reflected the sunlight, an incongruous bit of glamour in a landscape of the downtrodden. We were so entranced, we carted it to our backyard, dragging it through the snow all the way to the area behind the pool pump house, away from disapproving parental eyes.

We dug (as best as we could) a little hole in the snowy ground and managed to prop it up. It transformed the space in such spectacular fashion, and we were so tickled at the novelty of extending Christmas in this secret stretch of forest, that we promptly hit the neighborhood to find another. By the time the afternoon ended, we’d assembled four or five former Christmas trees in the space behind the pump house, on the edge of a forest that was mostly just populated by bare deciduous trees. We’d created our own little evergreen grove, and in my fantastical imagination I envisioned them taking root and prospering here, affording more hiding spaces, and providing a holiday nook that would retain its beauty year-round. (I didn’t know much about gardening way back then; what little I did know indicated that my fantasies were rather far-fetched and too good to be true.)

The trees looked fine for a few days, and when covered with freshly-fallen snow they made a happy scene indeed. It was our very own winter wonderland, conjured from discarded Christmas trees and discarded dreams of sparkling tinsel. Winter would not have it for long, however. Rather, winter would be the only one to have it, as soon the evergreen needles dried and fell off. The branches went bare from the bottom up, their stems turning dry and prickly, the bright tan shade of death that betrayed desiccation. Our little evergreen forest was dying off as instantly as it had been created. We were mostly bored by it at that point anyway. It was more fun to roll the trees down the bank and see how far they would go into the wooded stretch.

I’d wanted the magic of Christmas to last just a little longer, and it had… but never quite long enough.