The origins of ‘Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella’ are interesting, and with the advent of google and the internet itself, you can have at it. Something about two farmhands and Christ and, well, you get the idea (even if I didn’t). This song didn’t resonate with me until a few years ago, and not for its lyrics, but for its simple melody. It was supposed to be a song for French nobility, so maybe that’s why it speaks to me. In a previous life it’s almost certain my head was lost at the guillotine. Most days, I’m still paying for it.
Qui vient là, frappant de la sorte?
Qui vient là, en frappant comme ça?
Ouvrez-donc, j’ai posé sur un plat
De bons gâteaux, qu’ici j’apporte
Toc! Toc! Ouvrons-nous la porte!
Toc! Toc! Faisons grand gala!
While I’m printing the French lyrics here, it is the instrumental version that I enjoy most, especially when it’s on some crazy-ass guitar as seen above. What in hell is that thing and how do I play it?! Sign me up for those lessons.
C’est un tort, quand l’Enfant sommeille,
C’est un tort de crier si fort.
Taisez-vous, l’un et l’autre, d’abord!
Au moindre bruit, Jésus s’éveille.
Chut! chut! Il dort à merveille,
Chut! chut! Voyez comme il dort!
All wacky zaniness aside (it’s way past the expiration date of learning a new instrument), I’m adding this to the Christmas repertoire for seasonal accompaniment to all your merry-making.
Two queens in a king-sized bed
There’s no mistletoe above our heads
But I’ll kiss you anyway on Christmas day
Yeah, I’ll kiss you anyway on Christmas day
I don’t have a lot to give
But I would give you everything
All my time is yours to spend
Let me wrap you in with my skin
With my skin
This song is a good one to play when you’re not quite ready to get out of bed in the morning, or when you find yourself napping at the same time as your husband, something that happened happily a few days ago. I found myself lying down just for a moment after work, and that moment turned into a few, and then I was fast asleep. When I woke, Andy was beside me, covered in blankets and warmth. I stayed there a little while longer in the darkness of early afternoon, simply enjoying the comfort of the moment. That’s hygge.
Two queens in a king-sized bed
Like angels in the snow
My only wish is one more year
And then I want them all
Your freckled cheeks, our tangled feet
The closer, the better it gets
So let’s stay right here
Until forever disappears
I don’t have a lot to give
But I would give you everything
All my time is yours to spend
Let me wrap you in with my skin
With my skin
When the wind whips by the windows on a cold, clear, almost-cloud-free day, and the tan grass heads nod in brutal agreement, it marks a moment to indulge in a bit of coziness with a loved one. There is calm here, and there is quiet here, and the world could use more of both during the Christmas season.
Two queens in a king-sized bed
Mm, there’s no mistletoe above our heads
But I’ll kiss you anyway on Christmas day
Yeah, I’ll kiss you anyway on Christmas day
There is nothing more comforting than taking an early-afternoon nap with your husband as December gets underway. Let the season of hygge begin.
This post was going to open with a disclaimer that I am usually not this extra, but I totally am and it’s all good. Here are scenes from the tablescape I crafted for our first dinner gathering in many months (years?) – and if I went a little overboard (Andy at one point asked where we going to actually eat) it’s justified. We’ve all been feeling a little overwhelmed and exhausted by the stresses of daily life. I haven’t spent nearly enough time with friends as is good for the soul, so this was our tentative way back to finding a balance between socialization and isolation.
A wintry tablecloth of bare branches and a red runner formed the background, while an abundance of candles in sparkling mercury glass and birch-inspired cups lended warmth and soft light.
From our yard, I culled a few branches of juniper and thuja, and to that I added some eucalyptus and white roses for a natural holiday touch. Rather than one big bouquet of greens in the middle of the table that blocks guest views, I used several short-statured vases (gold-rimmed drinking glasses, actually) which spreads out the greenery more.
Our lone rosemary plant is still in fine form despite the icy nights, so I plucked several sprigs for this pomegranate cocktail (vodka, pomegranate juice, pomegranate seltzer and a rosemary/brown sugar simple syrup) – and made a vodka-free virgin version for myself.
As fine and festive as this table design was, it was the company that made the evening, and Andy I are rich in that regard. Our home is filled with love when it’s just the two of us -adding good friends makes it overflow in even happier fashion. That’s the best part of the holidays, and you don’t need a fancy tablescape to make it happen.
“It’s such a happiness when good people get together.” – Jane Austen
We have arrived at the first of December, easing into the high holiday season with a little holly and ivy, and a couple of rustic renditions of this traditional Christmas carol. As December has only just begun, it feels too soon to be so consumed by the chaos and cacophony of holiday mayhem, and so I’m pushing back, clearing the mental space and readjusting the mindset with a return to simplicity. This is my usual goal at this time of the year: to make the holidays a simple and quiet experience that approaches something slightly spiritual.
That’s not always an easy frame of mind to maintain, and I have often spun way off trying to do too many things and see and entertain too many people, but in the age of COVID, staying somewhat isolated and safer lends for more moments of quiet and stillness. For a socially-anxious introvert, it’s my comfort zone, and instead of resisting that in an effort to fit in and go with the flow, I’m embracing my natural state of being. Hence this quieter beginning…
This is not one of those bombastic Christmas songs that all the kids love to sing. It’s old-fashioned, with a multi-layered history of meanings – the crux of the Christian and the Pagan or some other bullshit – but when I was a kid it was one of those songs that signified the role of nature in the Christmas season, and the outdoor beauty of winter.
It was the crystalline magnificence of the morning sunlight through a piece of ice dangling off the edge of an evergreen leaf. It was the gloriously sharp scent of pine trees, entwined with the faint smoke of a fireplace somewhere in the distance. It was a winter walk in the woods, away from people and noise and the stresses of everyday life. It was something that feels less real to me the older I get, but I know I had those moments because I remember them – scattered and vague and likely an amalgamation of various woodland memories – and no less real because of that.
Between the suburbs and the city, most of the brushes with holly and ivy that I get these days are part of landscaping or gardens – a far cry from any forest path that probably never existed in the first place. That’s where these photos came from: a stand of holly along the Southwest Corridor Park in Boston, and a patch of ivy in front of some brownstone. On the grand scale of things, they may not be all that spectacular, but when taken in up-close they become a little forest in and of themselves. Stilling the moment to pause and reflect on the holiday memories that each evoked, it was possible to conjure entire winter worlds from a single leaf and berry.
Whenever this holiday season starts to veer away from this central tenet of seasonal significance, I will return to this post as a reminder of a simpler time. It will also serve to remind of the beauty of winter – and that always lasts much longer than Christmas.
Welcome, December.
From your scarlet berries of holly to the entwining tendrils of your ivy, you inspire with your raw beauty. Tucked into the very end of the calendar year, you are the finale and the beginning of something new all at once.
“Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go…”
The seasonal song plays in my head as I look for Thanksgiving music to go with the moment almost at hand. Somehow, it isn’t quite right this year, and that’s ok. We will bend our lives to the times at hand, and in a pandemic that means being flexible with dates and dinners, and music fit for a Thanksgiving feast. To that end, I’m listening to Vince Guaraldi’s music, which is a whimsical, jazz-inflected entrance to the holiday season.
It’s not quite Christmas, but Guaraldi’s musical styling for the Charlie Brown Christmas Special is so indelible and tied to the holidays that this Thanksgiving music feels festive enough to see us into the season proper. A bit of morning fall sun is also a lovely entrance to the weekend.
Entering the season of gratitude and thankfulness, this is a good time to center ourselves, to remember what is really important, to return to a place of simplicity and grace. Every year I say I’m going to go back to basics and every year I fail – but there is something to be said for the trying, something earnest and genuine in the attempt, and maybe I’ve nudged myself a bit closer to the goal year by year. Perhaps this will be the one where it finally happens.
Thanksgiving is next week – exactly ten days away – so it’s not too soon to begin the holiday season and all its accompanying traditions, decorations, merry-making, and Mariah Fucking Carey. The world feels more somber and series this year – maybe it’s the ongoing pandemic that has cast such a shadow, maybe we’re all just getting older, maybe things really are darker than they have ever been. If it’s any or all of those, let us seek out the light and warmth and love that are hallmarks of the holiday season, and to that end let us begin.
Bringing these candles out of basement storage and into the attic loft was my first holiday act, in the hopes of letting in some hygge while the November wind and rain raged outside as the weather catches up to the calendar. Keeping things simple, with a focus on candles and light, is the plan for this Christmas, something that I hope to keep going through the end of January, when the year is at its darkest.
As the days grow gray and bleak, we approach the winter with less autumn ahead of us than is now behind us. Rather than entering the season with bombast and cheer and ignoring all that this last year has brought us, this song seems a more fitting and appropriate entrance – one of softness and gentleness. The holidays don’t always mean that life is happier for everyone, but at their best, and at their life-affirming core, they remind us to be kinder, quieter, and thankful for what we still have.
When the year hovers around Thanksgiving, and the dim turn the season will take is upon us, it is the light and the glimmers of beauty that bring solace to wherever we may find ourselves. I’m turning the attic into a space for hygge – the warm and cozy feeling that comes into its own starting now. Today it’s embodied by these candles and this song ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’. Last year I got a late start on it. This year I’m a bit ahead – and it’s ok to indulge in whatever makes these days a little more comforting.
Halloween, perhaps now more than ever, is a gateway holiday – the one that opens the floodgates toward Thanksgiving and Christmas. While they are a bit of a way off, this year I’m indulging earlier than normal and getting into the spirit of things starting in November. We need it. There is too much awful sadness in the world, and circumstances are entirely too serious for us to put off the happy holiday season and relegate it to one or two weeks at the end of the year. Let’s have it early, let’s make it last, and let’s become a little kinder from this point forward.
As for Halloween, this has usually been my day off. I’ve been putting on a costume parade for the past forty years, even when going to the supermarket, so I’ve earned this reprieve. Halloween is amateur hour. Come see me on a typical Tuesday night if you want real flash and astonishment.
Sooner or later we all come home for Halloween. Whether it’s where we start off as kids, exploding onto the sidewalks through the crunch of leaves, tripping on our costumes and finding our way through masks at a time before they were an everyday accoutrement, or where we return after a night of trick-or-treating, spent and happily exhausted, but not enough to run to bed before a few hits of candy, home is where Halloween ends and begins. When we get older, it’s where we station ourselves to give back to the next generation of costume-clad children, opening our door and doling out candy from the other side of the scene in a time-honored tradition that forms the first peak of the fall season, and ushering in the earliest part of the holidays to come.
That idea of being home for Halloween – in whatever form home may take these days – informed the lyrics to this year’s Halloween song – our first in ten years. When the inspiration hit me, I was already tucked in bed for the night, but the Halloween spirits whispered and nudged and impelled me to the computer, where I groggily typed out these lyrics in a mixture of possession and mad delight. At the same time, a melody emerged to go with the chorus, and writing music is something that I don’t usually do. Having matriculated at the School of Madonna, which is by all accounts hardly a proper School of Music, I knew little to nothing about writing the musical part of a song, but I made a quick recording of what I was hearing in my head (in sad, pitiful voice) and stored it away to sing to the real music men later. Texting the lyrics off to Joe, I got a reply almost immediately that he was up for working on our Halloween song again – a reunion that had been ten years in the making.
No one talks about the way we all come home for Halloween
No one wants to be that weeping, screaming, mellow drama queen
No one knows the freedom some of us have found behind the mask
No one dares to be the brave soul, only one of whom will ask
The day I drove to Connecticut to visit Missy and Joe and their kids, Julian and Cameron, it was sunny and idyllic – the perfect fall day to inspire a new Halloween song. Within minutes of my arrival, Joe and I sat down beside his guitar garden and began pounding out the basic bones and structure of the song. I sang my little melody for the chorus, and an embarrassingly-rough verse, both of which he took and made into something beautiful and truly melodic. He recorded the basic notes, plotted the chord progressions, and the primitive blueprint began to take shape as an actual piece of music.
There’s a fright, there’s a cut, there’s a knife,
there’s a wicked way of making it through the night.
There’s a dream, there’s a scream, make a scene,
it’s a scary scheme for finding your way to the light.
We moved upstairs to where the keyboard and computer and real recording equipment was set up – in Julian’s Cozy Fall Studio – warmed by apple and pumpkin scented candles, seasonal gourds and garlands, and the warm glow of an afternoon sun moving deeper into the horizon. Joe masterfully pounded out the framework of the chorus, and then, to my surprise and delight, came up with the first jewel of the song: the pre-chorus above that is absolutely my favorite part of the whole song.
{Chorus}: Halloween, Halloween, will you answer, tell me why?
All the goblins, all the witches, all the children going by
Halloween, Halloween, will you treat before you trick?
Halloween, oh Halloween, I hear your tock, I hear your tick.
The next day we worked on finishing the basic structure and fitting the lyrics in, then the second jewel arrived in the form of Julian and his gorgeous cello stylings, which added just the right element to the second pre-chorus, as well as backing the breakdown of the chorus near the end. It lended a grounding beauty to the cheesy, over-the-top feel we were originally intending, and immediately made this song into something more than I initially thought possible.
Here we are now at the front door, giving candy to the kids
On the flip side of adulthood, trying not to flip our lids
Was it more fun on the outside? Oh that funny twist of fate
Still we sing this to the phantom and the pumpkin oh-so-great
That afternoon Doug and Julio arrived to join us for dinner and, to Doug’s surprise, to sing on the song. My singing abilities are solely for the car or the shower, in other words I have a voice that was made for isolation, with a tone and pitch that can only be compared to that of a howler monkey. Joe has a fine voice but since I’d already tasked him with just about everything else, it was left to Doug to step up and give his vocal talents to the project at hand. And step up he did – not only nailing every note and cadence, but adding the third jewel to this song in the form of those luscious melodies you hear in the second verse and the ending chorus.
There’s a fright, there’s a cut, there’s a knife,
there’s a wicked way of making it through the night (through the night!)
There’s a dream, there’s a scream, make a scene,
it’s a scary scheme for finding your way to the light (to the light!)
One of the absolute highlights of my year was simply being allowed in the same room as these two musical masters while they crafted and worked through the singing of a song I had a hand in writing. While they spoke in musical terms that went far beyond my barely-recalled memories of the Empire State Youth Orchestra, I was content to sit quietly in the corner and suggest we change the word ‘still’ to ‘so’. It was an honor just to be in the proximity of them as they worked and the song took flight.
{Chorus}: Halloween, Halloween, will you answer, tell me why?
All the goblins, all the witches, all the children going by
Halloween, Halloween, will you treat before you trick?
Halloween, oh Halloween, I hear your tock, I hear your tick.
While Julio and Missy toiled and troubled with the kids downstairs, we laid down all the tracks to get what we needed for the final mixing the next morning. It was one of the most fun nights of the year, and the good spirit and bonhomie bled into a song that I hope everyone loves as much as I do.
{Chorus}: Halloween, Halloween, will you answer, tell me why?
All the goblins, all the witches, all the children going by
Halloween, Halloween, will you treat before you trick?
Halloween, oh Halloween, I hear your tock, I hear your tick.
Many thanks to all of these great friends, who each contributed in their own way:
Joseph Abramo – For the musical prowess, the guitar garden, the skills and knowledge to make it all come together, and especially for the chance to do it all again.
Julian Abramo – For the magnificent cello work and use of the Cozy Fall Recording Studio.
Douglas Coates – For the vocals and those dreamy, creamy Carpenter harmonies.
Julio Vazquez – For the heartfelt talk and driving Doug home.
Cameron Abramo – For the fashion, the ferocity and the spider-walk.
When Andy was scheduled to have his second COVID vaccine on Easter Sunday, the family graciously moved our socially-distanced garage gathering to the next week, and then we moved it up a day to catch the most gorgeous April weather of yesterday, and avoid the rain of today. Being flexible worked – a lesson learned the rough way through most of 2020, when plans were pulled out from us at the last minute.
This marks the first garage get-together since last Thanksgiving, and for the occasion I switched out the hanging ladder of fall florals with this poppy-festooned circular mobile and some dangling paper flowers. Soon enough the weather will be fine for outside terrace dining, and our family dinners will commence.
This delayed Easter celebration was a delicious gathering of dishes and recipes that have sustained us through four decades of holiday dinners. I brought ambrosia, candied yams, and Key lime bars. There was sweet and sour fish, sliced ham, rice, mashed potatoes, green beans exotic, asado, spanakopita and starters of shrimp, deviled eggs, and mushroom knishes. It was a parade of holiday hits. The only thing missing was the jello salad. Aspects of spring threaded their way through it, and as we wandered through the desserts, everyone was happily full.
Desserts were the aforementioned Key lime bars, a homemade applesauce cake, and Gram’s old-fashioned profiteroles filled with ice cream. But better than any dining spread was the company, assembled again at our childhood home, as the sun spilled through the garage and the gardens slowly awakened from their winter slumber.
I didn’t get the blue memo, but I got the pastels.
Andy got the blue memo.
It’s been way too long since I’ve seen these cherubs – and in just a few weeks they seem to grow a few more inches. Soon we will be setting up a day visit as we did in late fall. Now that the weather is finer, we can resume more regular meet-ups.
After the drama and darkness of a full Catholic Holy Week, the arrival of Easter is more of a relief and release more than anything else. When you’re raised in a Catholic household, you quickly understand that Easter is a much bigger deal than Christmas, and as such it carried a sense of seriousness. The main lesson I got in all those years – a lesson I’m only now truly seeing – was that a resurrection is more powerful and important than a birth. Coming back from the dead – and conquering torturous terrors and persecution – was more of a story than simply entering the world.
There was power in that lesson, and in the realization that no one is born strong. We build strength throughout our lives, if we choose to do so – and the marks we make in this world and our all-too-brief lives here depend on how many times we resurrect ourselves after we fall. Most of us will experience far more failures and fumbles than unmitigated successes – and the most successful people will tell you that the falls were the key to their triumphs. We learn best from the mistakes we make and the tumbles we take, but only if we deign to get back up and try to get better.
That’s the closest I’m going to get to emulating Easter, because I’m not quite ready for the cross.
Once upon a Christmas vacation, when I was but a wee school kid, this would be one of the best weeks of the year. All freedom and new presents and time at home with the family – and it was the latter that was always the most fun and important to me, especially if extended family was involved. These days that freedom is gone – I’ll be working, albeit from home for most of the week – and so I live a bit in the past for this final week of the year, remembering how wonderful it was to be a kid around Christmas. On with the recap…
DECEMBER, IT ALWAYS HAPPENS IN DECEMBER
I GET A YEARNING FOR A CHRISTMAS I KNOW, WITH HOLLY AND SNOW
THE KIND WE USED TO HAVE BACK HOME A LONG TIME AGO
DECEMBER, BRINGS BACK A SCENE THAT I REMEMBER
THE LIGHTED CHRISTMAS TREES AND WINDOWS AT NIGHT
SO CHEERFUL AND BRIGHT, AND ALL THE WORLD A WONDERLAND (ALL COVERED WITH WHITE)
This was very much a December that needed all the Christmas magic it could possibly muster, and so let’s prolong the holiday spirit for longer than usual. In fact, I propose extending the light and the joy through January, and the darkest early days of winter. Why should we limit such good-will and noble sentiment? We should preserve Christmas in our hearts the year through.
CHILDREN SOUND ASLEEP ON CHRISTMAS EVE
THEY’RE DREAMING DREAMS OF MAKE BELIEVE
YOU CAN BET TOMORROW, THEY’LL BE THRILLED
WHEN THEY AWAKE TO FIND THEIR STOCKINGS FILLED
DECEMBER
THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT I REMEMBER
AND, SO NO MATTER WHAT MY FORTUNE MAY BE, OR WHERE I MAY ROAM
IN DECEMBER, I’LL BE GOING HOME
This song came on the radio as Andy and I were returning from dropping off a Christmas ham dinner to my parents. It was already dark, and most of the day was done. It had been a different sort of Christmas, staying home while Andy cooked the ham and an exquisite aroma of spiced glaze filled the house. Not wholly unpleasant, even as we missed seeing family and friends this year. I was just about ready to call it quits for another season when this song sounded its nostalgic magic, reminding me that Christmas is, was, and will always be more a feeling than a specific place or circumstance.
YOU’LL FIND THE CHILDREN SOUND ASLEEP ON CHRISTMAS EVE
THEY’RE DREAMING DREAMS OF MAKE BELIEVE
YOU CAN BET TOMORROW, THEY’LL BE THRILLED
WHEN THEY AWAKE TO FIND THEIR STOCKINGS FILLED
DECEMBER
THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT I REMEMBER
AND, SO NO MATTER WHAT MY FORTUNE MAY BE, OR WHERE I MAY ROAM
IN DECEMBER, I’LL BE GOING HOME
IN DECEMBER, (DECEMBER) I’LL BE GOING HOME
IN DECEMBER, I’LL BE GOING HOME
Christmas isn’t about the decorations,
It’s about compassion.
Hanukkah isn’t about the sufganiyot,
It’s about amalgamation.
Ramadan isn’t about the feast,
It’s about affection.
Diwali isn’t about the lights,
It’s about ascension.
Our world is filled with festivals,
But what do they really mean?
Celebrating them with cultural exclusivity,
Makes us not human but savage fiend.
Every festival belongs to all of humanity,
For happiness has no religious identity.
“Music on Christmas Morning†by Anne Brontë
Music I love -Â but never strain
Could kindle raptures so divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer pain,
And rouse this pensive heart of mine -Â
As that we hear on Christmas morn,
Upon the wintry breezes borne.
Though Darkness still her empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere morning break;
From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,
That music kindly bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel’s voice,
To wake, and worship, and rejoice
There are certain years when Christmas seems to mean a little more, when the previous months have been so difficult and trying that we hold a little tighter to those we love, and that has certainly been the case this year. What a tumultuous and frightening time for so many, and how much we have turned to the loved ones who mean the most to us in the hopes that we see each other through it all. Christmas and its story of love and light – birth and charity – kindness and hope – lasts but a short season, and I wish we were able to carry its goodwill and bonhomie through all of the seasons. Maybe that should be our goal for the next year.
As for this Christmas, it’s been thrown for the loop that is 2020, and we are dealing with it accordingly. We will still reach out to those we love, we just need to be safe and do it a bit differently. For my extended family that means waiting until it’s safe to reconvene outside in the spring – when we will have our big family gathering for Christmas dinner (and another go-round of gifts since we have more than earned it) out on the patio. We’ll have an early spring at the sign of the first thaw.
There is something cathartic and reassuring about having something to look forward to. As much as we try to live in the moment, my default is to have something planned just beyond the horizon, something to keep in the distance that propels us forward.
Until then, we will find our way in this new world together, celebrating from a distance, and honoring the spirit of Christmas with kindness and compassion. My heart is filled with a multitude of Christmas memories, and I hope you have a similar set of recollections to keep you warm on this day.
Merry Christmas to friends and family, near and far.
Of all the eves in the year, Christmas Eve has always been the most magical. Celestial beings hold the earth still for a few precious moments, honoring the love and the lesson of the season. The story of the birth of Jesus reminds us of acceptance, of making just a little more room for our brethren in need. And a spirit of goodwill pervades even the most hardened of hearts. There is a light in the midst of this darkest part of the year, as if the universe understood we needed it most right now.
This is one of my Mom’s favorite songs – I learned it on the piano when I was a kid and she favored it at Christmas. Its images of a winter scene filled with angels and golden harps are soothing, its melody simple and sweet. Evocative of a midnight mass, it reminds me of peace and stillness.
I would think of a clearing in a snowy forest, lit by moonlight from an otherwise-dark sky studded with stars. The planets would join in and sparkle, while icy boughs would channel moonlight and set it off like shards of glass. There was a mystical magic to such a scene, a brush with the ever-elusive sublime, a little bit of light in the midst of all the darkness.
When I was young, even the traditionally-upsetting exercise of attending church services was filled with a certain comfort and joy, where happiness and peace over-rode the usual social anxiety. There was something safe in a time when everyone was happy, when it didn’t feel like fights or battles or wars could ever break such a spell.
When the sun and the moon revolved around a winter world, when the snow and the pine trees conspired to make such a beautiful pairing – this was the time of peace and stillness. It was in honor and reverence to whatever you believed in, whatever deity or story or universal being that tied us all together. All our paths led to this midnight clearing, and I believe they still do.
