I never realized that Fred Astaire was the voice behind ‘Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town’, which is currently playing in our den. (And who the hell knew that Mickey Rooney played Kris Kringle??) And does anyone call this room a ‘den’ anymore? Forgive me, a trifling of a cold has got me slightly down and delirious, just at the most inopportune moment, but I am determined to lick it quickly and decisively.
It turns out that Burl Ives, Fred Astaire and Boris Karloff formed some of my most happy Christmas memories. I wonder if the stop-motion style of these stories casts the same spell over today’s kids. Incidentally, my favorite song from all of these Christmas specials is in this one – ‘Put One Foot in Front of the Other’ – which I love as much for the tune as for its moment of misunderstood-bad-guy-transformation.
It turns out that the term ‘Cock & Bull’ could very well be referring to chicken and beef, as my brother so matter-of-factly pointed out to me when I asked where this establishment had gotten its name. It’s one of those very late-in-life realizations that changes everything and makes you wonder what else you have missed by not paying attention. He was slightly incredulous that I never made the connection. I just always assumed it was a saucy, cheeky name for a place.
After our ride through the fog-laden roads of Galway, the way the Cock & Bull seemed to rise out of the clouds was almost magical. The cold chill of a December afternoon stopped abruptly at the door, kept at bay by the welcome warmth of several fireplaces roaring with amber-hued flames. A crowd – bigger than I ever expected to find in Galway this early in the afternoon – mulled around the restaurant. Later we’d discover that the people – and the delicious cookies that we were partaking of at the bar – were for a Christmas party that was being held there. Even after our admission that we were not part of the party, the owner still offered us the cookies.
Sitting fireside, our backs to the heat, we chatted with the owner who was helping out behind the bar. Since I wasn’t driving I had a Jack & ginger, as warm and welcoming as the cozy surroundings. This was the perfect Christmas cocktail spot, the kind of place I searched for in dreams, and in the fog-induced haze it almost felt unreal.
It was also the perfect Christmas moment with my brother, the kind that works best when completely unplanned, as our spur-of-the-moment trip here was. Sometimes you simply have to trust the universe to guide you through the fog to the fire.
After the Festival of Trees, I stopped by my brother’s and we headed out into Galway to have a drink with his boss. I’d never been to the Cock & Bull before, but the name sounded promising, and he said it was the perfect cozy Christmas spot, with a few roaring fireplaces and decent food. The ride out was along the winding way of Route 67, reminding me of the trips we took to see Gram in Hoosick Falls. We would not be going that far today, instead taking a left at the corner of the church and a Stewart’s shop. The day had turned foggy – very foggy – and the world slipped away, a bank of clouds on all sides of us, transporting us to another realm. Visibility decreased and seeing fifty feet ahead proved difficult.
Fog has always been a comfort to me. Walking to McNulty School as a kid, we would sometimes cut through the fields that separated our neighborhood from the school. In late Fall the fog would surround us, so thick and heavy that I’m amazed we didn’t lose our bearings more often than we did. As it was, we would often come out of the fields at a great distance from the school, having miscalculated our location and swerving slightly off course with nothing to guide us. On those mornings, the fog was a danger and a respite. It filled the in-between time, buffering home and school, and I was grateful for getting lost in it. At those moments, no one in the world could see us, no one knew where we were, and there was great freedom in that.
On this day, as my brother drove us through the back-roads of Galway, I felt the same thrill of being unseen and unknown. The fog closed behind us as we turned into a driveway I would have normally passed right by. A plume of smoke rose from a cozy-looking place, melting seamlessly into the sky and promising the warmth of a fire.
After the Festival of the Trees, we got lunch from McDonald’s as an extra treat for the twins. (It appears that kids are what keep McDonald’s in business.) Emi was more interested in giving her fries “a bath” in the McNugget sauce than eating them. Noah was more interested in spilling his fries on the carpet and stomping them into the fibers. Out of 50 French fries, I’d say a total of three were consumed.
Every now and then I am quietly reminded of how humans are, for the most part, good – and it is in our nature to be kind to each other, or at least to live and let live. And sometimes, when it snows just before Christmas – in these few weeks when the snow is welcome and new – we simply burst with love and can’t help but try to share it, even in the middle of night when no one else is around.
For my very first Troy Victorian Stroll, I opted for this simple grey top hat – a bit of millinery that I had previously only worn to Price Chopper (talk about a waste). It found a quick happy home in our pal Peter’s wonderful abode. Fueled by a Bloody Mary, a marvelous atmosphere, and some of the finest people I’ve met in some time, I had a lovely time. It will hopefully be the start of a new tradition (if we’re lucky enough to be invited again – I did behave!) It was so inviting and friendly, and his beautiful place was decked out so magnificently, we didn’t see the need to do much more beyond that, though next year we’ll definitely explore a little more. Seeing friends like Peter is one of the main reasons I love this time of the year so much.
In an effort to stave off burn-out from burning the candle at both ends, I am taking it easy tonight with a showing of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’. All of those holiday classics take me back to R.J. McNulty School, to the day before Christmas vacation. We were ushered into the cafeteria where we would sit down for a viewing of holiday films – the stop-motion animated ones, the religious ones (before the holidays went all non-denominational), the silly ones and the serious ones – and it was our final celebratory time together before vacation. On those days I was always torn – thrilled at the prospect of getting out of school, but suddenly slightly dismayed at the prospect of leaving my school mates – those who had become friends over such formative years.
The films played on an ancient projector, and every once in a while one would need to be taped back together, the break a chance to talk and gossip and wait for some rowdy kid to be sent back to class. We had memorized them all by sixth grade, but even as we were on the cusp of becoming too cool and jaded for such childishness, we embraced their sentimentality – and for our last year in grade school I think we all clung a little tighter to that day of holiday fare. I distinctly remember being near the back of the large room with my class, a couple of the boys sitting on the tables in front of the wall, our legs swinging over the edge, and looking at the dim sea of kids and faces that would never be all together in that room again, watching these Christmas movies for the final time. I felt at once separate and a part of something – a feeling that’s occurred too-few times since then. As mean and bitchy as I was, even back then, I still recognized the import of that moment, the fleetingness of it, and I already mourned how quickly it was coming to an end. We were saying good-bye to our childhoods. The songs of Christmas, on that day at McNulty School, changed into songs of sadness for me ~ ‘Silent Night’, ‘The First Noel’, ‘O Holy Night’ ~ songs that signified a simpler time, a happier time, a time that was over.
When I went away to college, many years after the sixth grade, I thought of going back to McNulty, of slipping into the cafeteria and seeing if they still played those films. I never did, but every year when I see ‘Rudolph’ on television, I think back to those days, and it makes me both sad that they are gone, and glad that they once were.
Sometimes you don’t need words to tell a story. Sometimes an expression, or a lack-there-of, is enough. Here is a trio of photos that encapsulates a trip with my brother at the wheel. It says more than I could ever put into words.
You’re out on the streets looking good, and baby, Deep down in your heart I guess you know that it ain’t right, Never never never never never never never hear me when I cry at night. Baby, I cry all the time! And each time I tell myself that I, well I can’t stand the pain, But when you hold me in your arms, I’ll sing it once again.
I’ll say come on, come on, come on, come on, yeah take it! Take another little piece of my heart now, baby. Break another little bit of my heart now, darling, yeah, (come on…) Have another little piece of my heart now, baby, yeah. Well, you know you got it, child, if it makes you feel good…
Tomorrow morning marks the big reveal of this year’s holiday photo card, and, just to take the edge off, here’s a little titillating tease that is actually much worse than the actual card itself. For the first time, it’s a double-sided photo, which means there are two pics for your viewing pleasure, or displeasure as the case may be. In a 180 from last year’s too-cute-for-words sweetness, 2012 may be the scariest card I’ve ever done. For that reason alone, I love it. (As for the blood on the paper version that was sent out to my closest friends, relax – it’s not real. But the knife is…)
And a bit of musical inspiration for this year’s fiasco…
How many magical Christmas moments are spent in the doorway, greeting friends and family, watching and waving as they leave, or eagerly awaiting their arrival? The transitory aspect of the season finds metaphoric meaning in the portals from one world or room to another – from the outside to the inside, from the kitchen to the living room, from the cold to the warm – and we are just the vessels that bring a singular view to each space. At this time of the year, making such space pretty, adorning it with garland and lights, and framing and highlighting those entry-ways are the methods we welcome those we love into our little worlds.
