This was the test run for what I am going to wear this evening – it’s my take on red and green – and in seeing how it looked in various light I made a slight variation. The sweater was just a bit too bright and bold – what I’ll wear instead keeps the chartreuse hue, but tones it down in style and texture (a brushed velvet replaces the sheen of the sweater, and the shade is taken down a few notches). “I have to think these things up…”
In a tradition started a few short years ago, my brother and I made our trek to Sammy Fariello’s. After having dinner at Raindancer and making it through a security check-point on Route 30, we arrived at the venerable soda shop with little Emi Lu, and promptly sat down in a booth to order a pair of sundaes.
A collection of old-fashioned candy surrounded us, the rich smells of chocolate and sugar dancing on the air, and the memories of choosing which 5-cent treats to eat running through my head.
They even had a few jars of turkey joints (which have increased exorbitantly in price since the 80’s).
Before our sundaes arrived, we heard a large crash, and from my vantage point I could see an old man go down hard on the floor. When he didn’t get up, and his daughter screamed for someone to call 911, I did as told and relayed what had happened to the dispatcher. My brother continued texting, while I slid his daughter further into the booth so she didn’t see what was happening. (Luckily she was too concerned with the styrofoam peanuts she had found in a decorative vase on the table to notice much else.)
A few minutes later the ambulance arrived and amid much commotion our sundaes came as well. The man’s daughter had calmed down, explaining that he was a diabetic who hadn’t eaten all day until he had a banana split there. (Umm, maybe not the best dietary idea…) They helped him up and into the ambulance, and we tried to continue on with our sundaes. Emi Lu hadn’t noticed – or at least hadn’t minded – and she dug into her chocolate ice cream with relish. I had nothing to do but follow suit.
It was, all things considered, a perfect holiday moment with my family.
Tonight my brother and I are planning on marking a relatively new holiday tradition – sharing a sundae at Sammy Fariello’s – our childhood haunt in Amsterdam, NY. Back when we were kids, it was baseball cards, Big League Chew, and root-beer-flavored hard candy. These days it’s turkey joints, sundaes, and my niece and/or nephew. As much as things change, they also stay the same. This is only the third year of our tradition, but they have to start somewhere. In their infancy, they also seem less onerous, less a case of drudgery and more a case of wanting to do them, to share the season with a loved one.
You’re never too old (or big) for Santa’s lap. In this never-before-seen shot of what was once a Holiday Card contender, this is me sitting on the lap of a very special Santa – my husband Andy. Yes, back in the day I somehow cajoled him into appearing in a possible Christmas Card decked out in full-on Santa Drag. I’m not sure why it was never used (he likely didn’t sign the release), or what monstrosity replaced it (there are a few sordid options here and there and everywhere), but it’s being posted now because I’m feeling the Christmas spirit. (I’m also just glad that the wretched door seen in the background has been replaced. Some things are worth celebrating over and over and over…)
Before the snow arrives, as we approach the shortest and darkest day of the year, we invite our friends old and new over to celebrate the season.
I am woefully aware that I missed out on the golden age of office holiday parties – those wild and carefree days when you could smoke, drink, and make sexual advances while under the influence of said smoke and drink, and all would be forgiven and forgotten by the next Monday morning. It was the ultimate representation of ‘What happens at the office Christmas party stays at the office Christmas party’. Sadly, those days are done, and there is so much political correctness at the office parties I’ve attended that there is no more room for indecent fun and debauchery. They have been watered down to sanitized versions of their former glory, with no room for outrageousness, and no hope for excitement. I never got to experience the wicked ways of the past, (and I hold little to no hope of having it happen at today’s office party), so I’ll pop in the Christmas episode of ‘Mad Men’ – the one where Joan leads a feisty conga line – and dream of the sugarplums of the 60’s, back when life was quaint, and you could bribe Santa with a nip.
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.
This is our Christmas tree for 2012. It’s usually done with colored lights, but I begged and pleaded that Andy let us do it in white lights to match the rest of the decorations this year. Before he had a chance to answer, I strung it myself. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission. Personally, I think it’s just as lovely, and much brighter than usual. Next year he can go back to the full-color version since the tree is usually his thing.
While trimming the tree used to be my favorite thing to do, since I grew up, I stopped bothering with it. I’m not sure why. Sometimes the things we think will be the last to go are the first to be forgotten. When I lived in Boston I never had a Christmas tree, not even a tiny Charlie Brown version – it just seemed like too much work for such a small thing.
If I were to end up in Boston again, I would most definitely get a tree for the holidays. In fact, the last time I was in town I was tempted to get one for the condo just for the scant weekends I’d be there this month. (Kira rightly argued against it.)
No matter what else is going on in the world, waking to the smell of a fresh Christmas tree in the living room will always make things just a little better. That’s something that will never go away.
My alternate title for this post, in honor of all those who so deeply despise profanity, was “What in the fuck am I doing here?” We’ll go with ‘A Children’s Festival’ though to appease the seasonal do-gooders. This past weekend I accompanied my parents as they took Noah and Emi to the Festival of Trees at the Century Club in Amsterdam. Saturday was their children’s day, so I found myself surrounded by kids, crafts, and an underweight Santa Claus.
I will say that they certainly decked the place out nicely, and the kids enjoyed every moment (perhaps a bit too much – there was slightly more galloping and running away than I would have liked… Fun Uncle has his limits).
Luckily everyone had their kids too, so if there were any dirty stares and glares, they were probably coming from me.
That said, my niece and nephew are still the best, and when given a crayon or some glue, they know what to do.
The big moment, of course, was the arrival of Santa. Noah was brave enough to sit on his lap again this year, but Emi was not quite ready. Maybe next year…
It’s just a matter of time before Andrew Christian just does a hard-core porn film in support of his underwear line. And I can’t wait. Here’s his holiday promo:
Hunky Santas: The Holiday Card (Uncensored) from Andrew Christian on Vimeo.
As described by the Beekman Boys here. Sometimes a Sunday morning in December needs to be a little quieter, without all the words.
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.
This year I’ve given into the feel-good joy that most people experience at Christmastime. Usually I try to Grinch out until the last possible moment, but that becomes its own onerous effort after a while, and sometimes it’s easier to give in and go with the flow. As such, I set aside last weekend for our Boston Holiday stroll, when Kira and I take a long walk through the city, stopping at various places for food and drink, doing a little holiday shopping, and taking part in the festive merriment that marks the season.
There is no set schedule, no tight time table, and not even a rough idea of where we’ll go or end up. I’m not usually comfortable with that (being a Virgo through and through), but with Kira, and at this time of the year, it’s all right. In fact, it’s welcome.
There are enough schedules to keep, enough structured events and specially-coordinated outfits to wear in the coming weeks. This was a time to keep it all casual and fun, and like so many of our best times it went completely unplanned.
By the time dusk descended, the snow had stopped. Christmas decorations were all around, and store windows glowed in the gathering darkness, their lights spilling out onto the sidewalks.
At the end of a cold day, and the start of a long night, an old-fashioned by the fire is one of the coziest notions. It warms the heart and the hearth, and cures whatever coldness lingers within.
The glow of the holidays is upon us.
It must have started snowing at the break of dawn, for by the time we awoke there was already a pristine white dusting on the cars and streets. Looking out of the window, I could see that this was the perfect snowfall – slow, calm, windless, and peaceful – more picturesque than powerful. Ideal for a holiday walk through the city of Boston. Bundled up in scarves and hats, Kira and I stepped outside. I had a loose idea of where we were headed, and the first stop was a quick stroll through the Boston Public Garden.
Most of the time I’ve spent in the Public Garden has been during the sunnier months, and on the sunnier days. It is decidedly less magical in the pouring rain and blowing wind. On this morning, however, conditions were holiday-postcard-worthy. A little snowfall lends a lot of enchantment, and on this barely-snowy day it was a treat to see the Garden in its pre-winter light.
There’s something about snowfall and willow trees that speaks to the heart of beauty. With or without leaves.
The gnarled trunks of elderly trees give off an other-worldly glow, their architecture highlighted by the bright layer of snow. The pond, not yet drained or frozen over, still provides a home to various waterfowl. We are never quite alone in the Garden.
At the edge of the pond, where the three states of water meet and co-mingle, a reflection of the city I so love.
This is the sort of snowfall that I like best, and even Kira, in her sockless flats, admits it makes a beautiful scene. We huddle close and traipse along the winding path that will lead us to Charles Street, to a Tibetan store that I know carries the warmest pairs of woolen gloves and mittens (because it must get frigid in Tibet).
As we exit the iron gates of the Garden and cross the street to Beacon Hill, it feels like we’ve gone back to two turns of the century ago. I just wish I’d thought to bring my bustle.
