It’s been a year for new traditions, and so far I’ve managed to accomplish three of the tentative plans proposed here. Each has been enjoyable enough to make me want to keep them going next year. We shall see. While I like the idea of keeping some of these close to my vest and close to my heart, the Holiday Hambone Saratoga Stroll with Suzie will get a little recap here because it gives us a dose of Bob’s Trees, Broadway, and the Cock & Bull. Three holiday favorites that found fruition, and a few new twists, on one single Saturday in the early part of December.
Suzie and I had been contemplating a Christmas excursion – possibly a movie and dinner, but those had been done to death before [see ‘Into the Woods’ and ‘Mary Poppins Returns’] so we both wanted something a little different to christen our first official Hambone Holiday tradition. It was so-named because of something once written in a high school yearbook, the origin of which remains foggy to me, but Suzie may remember because we seem to have switched off in the who-remembers-what department.
We decided on a Saratoga Stroll of sorts, which harkens to something Andy and I had done a number of years ago after taking in a matinee of ‘Auntie Mame’ on the big screen. Sadly, no such magic was playing at the cinema that day, so we focused on shopping and mocktail stops, and a last-minute decision to pick up a Christmas tree that would prove to be an unexpected highlight of this season.
Saratoga is magical at any time of the year, but it puts on especially impressive plumage around the holidays. I took us to a favorite haunt that offered incense and stones and all sorts of spiritual stuff. Suzie brought us to her favorite tea shop, which also had honey and beeswax in the back.
We stopped for some sparkling water at the Adelphi Hotel, because the only thing better than a hotel lobby and bar is a hotel lobby and bar during the holiday season. It was an especially frigid day, and any opportunity for a break from the wind-whipped streets was a welcome respite.
Charm and whimsy populated every store as they tend to do around Christmas, bringing back childhood memories, or echoes of such memories. How much is really remembered and how much is conjured by us wanting to fill in the missing pieces to make everything pretty where once it wasn’t? Suzie kept the deeper thoughts at bay as we browsed the bookstore and found gifts for her kids.
As the light drained from the sky, and the moon appeared overhead, it was time to head to Bob’s for the Christmas tree. Along darkened backroads we drove, traveling along some of the same routes that I took to high school oboe lessons. They curved and wound treacherously, with a couple of dangerously-sharp turns – a fitting symbol for a journey back in time.
Appearing like an oasis, Bob’s Tree Farm was a patch of light – the recent snowfall lending it a legitimate winter wonderland feel. The frightful weather, usually a constant whenever I end up picking out a tree, was in full effect as the wind deepened and the temperatures dipped. I could not manage to warm up.
We made a hasty and quick selection, then hustled to the office to pay, after which a friendly gentleman tied it on to the top of Suzie’s car. Having lost a tree off the roof once before, I probably should have been more concerned about it, but Suzie worried enough for both of us, taking it extra slow. My attitude was much more of a sigh and a shrug. Let come what may to this tree and this holiday season. My mind was already on dinner and warming up by the fire at the Cock & Bull.
Framed in icicles, the entrance was resplendent in seasonal beauty. Inside, a fire crackled as we were led to our table a few steps above the main dining room. Cavernous yet cozy, the wooden barn exuded warmth and conviviality. It provided the perfect atmosphere for serious talk and serious laughter, something that only Suzie brings out in our all-too-infrequent get-togethers.
Our lives are so different from the days of carefree Christmases on Locust Avenue. We were only children then, but those years felt more meaningful than these, and maybe they were. Coming back in bits and pieces, the memories, if we really thought about them, weren’t perfect, but our innocence was.
