For some, night visions of sugarplums, for others -- Polish mittens 

Being older means you still toss and turn on Christmas morning and think about the day ahead, it's just that your issues change somewhat.

For instance, here’s issue number two: I wonder if anyone will notice that I forgot to buy apple cider to steep the dried apples in for the morning apple puff pastries… And btw, I'm still fretting about the misplaced camera case.

An update on this promising-to-be-interesting day will follow.

And outside, just at dawn, the fir trees receive their dusting of snow.

Christmas Eve, part 3

What is the leading story in the Polish online newspaper right now? Predictably, an article accompanying this photo:

The Pope (he is Polish, remember?), resting before Midnight Mass.

Christmas Eve, part 2

Alright. The accusations have begun. I am asked if I have abandoned my love of the kitchen stove given that I am nowhere near it and evening is almost upon us. May I remind you, all you emphatic critics, of the fantastic Sicilian meal I put in front of your noses last night? You even took a picture of me, la vostra mamma, smiling away at the pot of parmesan polenta and the pollo siciliana (okay, I made the name up). Remember??

See how happy I look? (That's because I am near the end of the 45-minute stirring that polenta demands.) 

More photos of this type will dot the blog throughout the holiday period demonstrating my utter commitment to cooking. Is Ocean to become a ballyhoo on the author’s kitchen antics? It’s more that during these weeks, I have a photographer in the house who is quick to snap, especially in the kitchen, so evidence of my tornado-like cooking habits abounds.

Christmas Eve, part 1

Christmas Eve Day has always been a favorite for members of this household (amazing, considering the secular leanings of most, though not all of the persons herein). The day is full of good things, many of them edible, all of them jovial. So what was my contribution to this spirited day?
- A search for my camera case. I cannot find it. Where the devil is it? I am obsessed with looking for it. My co-hunters have given up on me and on the camera case. I, however, am determined.
- I’m on the Net right now. How pathetic is that…
- Filling the cart at Whole Foods. The Whole idiot that I am, I allowed little elves to sneak in their favorite: Angel Fluffies. As a result, our cabinet at home looks like this (posting the picture reminded me of the lost camera case; the hunt must continue!):

I would call this a serious addiction 

- going to the post office to mail a package and cards. The teller looked at the stack and told me that especially the international cards would, for sure, not get there in time for the holidays. I think she is not expansive enough in her thinking. The holidays can take a while to resolve themselves.
- I have four separate baked goods to put in the oven. I am not starting in on any of them. Instead, I am about to return to the mall. I have this unwieldy curiosity about what the mall is like minutes before it closes for the holiday.

A note of caution: Ocean will not opine about much of anything important between now and the close of 2004. Look not for studious commentary and stay away if you crave reflective insight. [In other words, Ocean will proceed as it always does, in a whimsied, designless manner, without any clear idea of where it’s heading or why it is going there.]

Dropped best friend in favor of speedy resolution to car problem

In an earlier post I described a growing dependence on a person who has become a fixture in my life: the AAA rescue guy who came to fix stalled, flattened, dead cars. Two had lost their air, their power, their pizzazz. That was then. Today, we are up to three deflated, depleted, debunked cars (not all mine! We have here two ancient drivers, two young drivers, three ancient cars).

My trusty rusty truck (alright, ye of high accuracy standards – I mean van) let out air in all four tires, but especially in one. That was the final straw. Not a single machine stuck by me during this cold spell. Thanks, guys.

I abandoned my man of slight mechanical aptitude but great friendship potential and called the local heroes at the Mobil station. I am in full support of friendship, but when my days are being trampled upon, it’s time to think selfishly about taking care of myself. And my van.

I finally made it to that dreaded place: the mall

Overheard, at Williams Sonoma and then again at another (secret) store across the mall:
Store clerk(s): Tomorrow, everything changes. The crowds diminish. It will be mostly men with a last-minute enlightenment about what their loved ones really want.

Items purchased: few. But I felt the season would be imperfect if I had not even once made it to the mall.

Mood meter: shoppers appeared benign, like they really did not mind being there. Odd!

Prospects of returning anytime soon: when the weather changes and I need a new bathing suit, if then.

It looks just as exquisite in the daylight

isn't she a charmer... as the sheep looks on 

the branch is sagging and so the little guy gets to go skating on the floor 

so many colors... 

In celebration of lateness

Oh to be late, to be late for everything! How wonderful.

Late in buying holiday cards? On sale, 40% off. Late in mailing present to parent in Berkeley? No lines at the post office anymore. Late in putting up yard lights outside? Let it go – no need to do it now, maybe next year. Late in getting dinner started? Oh, don’t bother, we can just eat out (I’m hoping for this one).

Poor suckers who get things done ahead of schedule – you don’t know what you’re missing!

I’ll be (anywhere but) home for Christmas

According to a recent study conducted by expedia.com, one-third of adults in the United States would rather head to the beach or the ski slopes, or go out on the town for a night, than visit the home of a friend or relative during the holiday season.

The IHT article reporting this (from Paris) gives anecdotal evidence of a restless populace, tired of visits to picturesque villages along the Normandy coast where the old relatives still reside, anxious, instead, to get out and see the world during the holiday season (the article reminds us that in Europe, the holidays generate a greater number of time-off-from-work days than in the States).

Does anyone think that travel during the holidays is fun? La Guardia early in the week was a nightmare and this was without winter weather interference. Prices at traditional vacation havens are inflated, local eating establishments are often closed. What is the joy in this?

Maybe this is more of a comment on the nature of our encounters with family and friends. We are so unused to seeing each other that forced holiday get-togethers can be a bit of an encumbrance. During the everyday, we surround ourselves with people exactly like us, we do not relish accommodating the inclinations of others. How boring, then, to deal with the aging parent, the cloistered setting of the family home that we’ve outgrown. Oh, we’ll do it, we’ll pack the bags and the gifts and head out (the study also notes that in reality, only 12% actually do abandon family in favor of holiday escapes), dreading it, waiting for the return to our own piece of heaven at home. Of course, someday we will be at the receiving end as our friends and relatives eventually lump us into the category of the boring and seek ways to escape. Maybe the solution is to find the boring less boring, if only during this brief holiday period.

Eat, drink, be merry!

Ann* suggests that the word “Merry” before Christmas is misplaced. The word connotes a revelry that perhaps is less appropriately matched to a holy birth. Wouldn’t a greeting of “joy” be more fitting, in that it tracks both the sacred meaning of the holiday, at the same time that it gives breathing room to those who wish to preserve the more secular traditions of the winter holiday?

Maybe. And the French would agree with her, since they use the word she favors: “joyeux.”

But the Poles would not. We tell each other “Wesolych Swiat,” which literally translates to “Merry Holi-days.” If we have enough air in our lungs, we say “Have a Merry Holi-day of the birth of God.” The word “holiday” preserves sacredness, in that it keeps the emphasis on the “holy” (whereas in English, we have come to think of “holiday” as something that entitles us to time off from work).

As for the merrymaking – it is entirely right that one would wish the very jolliest, richest (calorie-wise) of celebrations. A Polish Christmas is all about family, friends and food. The tree goes up, the crèche is artfully arranged and then you feast. And feast. And feast. I can think of no words that more aptly capture the spirit of these days than “Merry Christmas.” Unless it’s “bon appetit,” but that’s a little too French.

* Yes, I do read other blogs. But Althouse offers abundance, both in quantity and quality. Moreover, it has no “comments” feature. For all these reasons it inspires a greater number of links than the average blog.

A new best friend

A reader may be thinking – gosh the posts are getting skimpy and superficial. Must be because she is so full of holiday preparations… Wish she’d post some photos of the fresh pastries baking in the oven or stories of pre-holiday excitement.

I’m doing none of that: no baking, no holiday anything for that matter. I am, instead, cultivating a long and enduring friendship.

I met him by chance, but we have become great friends. We tell each other things, we speculate about the future, we turn to each other in stressful moments, we enjoy a good laugh together.

The only thing is, I can’t quite remember his name.

He first showed up at my doorstep yesterday to fix car number one. Then, of his own accord, he tackled car number two. And today he is back, tackling the freshly stalled car number one. He hasn’t much faith in it, I can tell. Nor did he have an easy time towing it away. He followed me up and down the Beltline, finally dropping off the problem child at the dealer’s service entrance. But friendships don’t die easily. He’ll be back soon, I’m certain of it.

Being boring

Do men and women who stay home and care for infants and use their free time to watch TV and play video games become boring? Ann suggests that this may be the case. But wait, if you are satisfied to spend your free time thus, are you not inherently a boring person anyway? Would you be in any way more interesting if you were out and about in the workplace? Don’t we know oh so many people who enter their work world and have absolutely nothing interesting to say about it while they are there, nor at the end of the day, when they retire from it?

A tree inside the house

Anyone will tell you that getting a tree up and fixing it to your satisfaction is a huge effort. My parents gave up on the project when I was thirteen. Their attitude was – you want a tree, you get it. And so I did. They did tolerate it though, whether our Christmas break was spent in the village with my grandparents, or in Warsaw, or even in New York – I’d find the tree, and up she would go. So you could say I’ve been putting up trees in the house for nearly forty years.

Last night’s tree enterprise was trouble-free. Over the years the stand has grown so that there now is a monster of monster stands, sturdy enough to hold a tree meant for Rockefeller Center. So the tree is up, it is not tilting, and it is adorable in its adorned state. It is a tree of stories because every single ornament was purchased in a special place at a special moment. Each year a handful is added and somehow or other there is always room for those new additions.

Everyone knows that my favorite is the simple cut out of two little faces at the window. But I am a fan of so many more – the winners and losers, they all were carefully selected and placed with great ceremony and, in the Polish way, with lots of accompanying food to move the task along.
Just a few photos for blog readers who like trees, like the holidays, like the idea that you can let your imagination create something so colorful and lovely right inside your home.

My favorite: two little girls smiling at the world. 

Yes, Polish glass-blown ones as well. 

From different corners of the world, side by side now 

The polar bear got a name this year and he got a pal, from the tights store in Paris. 

And on the top? A simple ribbon and a dried flower. There's a story in that as well. 

So where’s my partridge?

I’ve got three people here for the holidays, two cars with flat tires, one car with a dead battery, and zero patience for the entire mess, which, for reasons that are circumstantial but real nonetheless, is entirely in my lap.

Perhaps due to the inordinate pressure this has put on the day for me, I backed out the one drivable truck right into the Christmas tree in the garage. That’s okay, I think the dent in it will be rather charming, Charlie Brownish almost. Perfect trees are not real. This one will look real.

If I can’t have a partridge, I at least want an organic pear tree. Or for the AAA truck to come NOW, so that I can leave the house and buy some fruit already. Grrrrr!

And don't any of you, friends and blog readers, even think you're getting a holiday card from me this year. I hereby send greetings to all. There, are you happy now?

UPDATE: That sounded cheerless. Greetings may come, but maybe a little, um, late-ish and perhaps via email. I'm full of remorse, okay?

The spoils and riches of travel

I am unpacking suitcases that have been crammed in the past weeks as I passed through Krakow, the Tatra mountains, and finally Warsaw. Add to it that I have generous types making sure I take some of Poland back home to Madison, plus the fact that we have the holidays before us, and we’re looking at one (or two) bulging little valise at my feet.

Anything to show off for the blog?
Okay, here’s one: chocolate covered plums: you should be ogling a dinner invitation from me in the next weeks just to be served these for dessert (with a brandy if you’re into that sort of thing). Succulent and aromatic and totally yummy.

after-dinner treats 

Plums in chocolate. Okay. Cool. What else?
How about this: artisanal vintage numbered plum preserves.
Artisanal, vintage, numbered. Why?
Well, because plums, like grapes, have their good year and bad year. These preserves are stirred in large kettles, then packed by hand: only a couple of hundred jars are made each year. I have jar no. 184.
Could you tell the difference if it was from the year 2002 rather than 2001?
Jam should be eaten with as much care as anything else. I bet if I paused and savored it and rolled it around on my tongue…

one small kitchen (outside of Warsaw) makes these in limited quantities  

What else?
Honey from pine forest undergrowth.
Say what?
I can’t translate it. You need to taste it to understand how the essence of the forest can make its way into a great honey. This jar is somewhat depleted not because I had a honey craving and dug in halfway through the trip, but because some of the honey exited from the jar mid-flight.

"eco" means that it meets organic production standards 

Continue!
How about these artisanal cholcolates, individually crafted? I think Belgium is going to have to share the stage pretty soon: Polish chocolate is catching up to its EU neighbor!

delicate, refined, unusual. 

Anything non-foody?
Too many holiday secrets in my suitcase. But I can show off this rooster that I now put in the kitchen: he is made of Polish hay and let me tell you, it brings the barn smell right into your home.
Is that a good thing?
Yes: I am referring to the fresh, sweet smell of hay. Okay, maybe it’s not that pungent, but if I bend down and sniff and close my eyes, I can see the haystacks before me…
That would not be a winter image now would it?
No matter: the rooster traveled straight from the holiday market in Krakow and as he sits perched on my kitchen countertop, he is my tiny reminder of who I am and where it all comes from. I am transformed again. Friends wont recognize me.
(Oh oh, are we going to see more of that Eastern European angst? The eat, drink and be merry cataclysmic personality that plunges and plunders and then writes dark brooding stories about the meaninglessness of life? )
(People have such weird ideas on what it means to be Polish.)

hej, gory, nasze gory... 

Celebrate the countdown toward summer!

It is always a relief to survive December 21st. Understanding that henceforth the days will again grow longer feels extraordinarily wonderful. Ocean is all about celebrations: cheers to the coming of summer!

Hardy peasant stock? Maybe not.

Yesterday, when temps hovered in the upper thirties, New York dogs wore sweaters and Burberry coats. This morning the weather turned vicious. The streets had a dusting of snow (and a two inch layer of salt, it seemed). Temperatures imitated Wisconsin. Dogs were being carried by owners across the street. The wind kicked up, reminding me what winter was really like back home. Thanks a lot, New York. I would have appreciated one last morning of something gentler and tamer. This stuff is for the Olafs and the Ingas and husky Vladimirs of this world. Me, I’m the one that is genetically linked to the Ludmilas who stayed home by the kitchen hearth and stirred the porridge. Or, better yet, my ancestors were probably of Mediterranean stock, those that got mixed up during the European battles that merged our troops with theirs. Bottom line: this winter stuff isn’t for me.

A slick early morning walk 

where are the pink tones and gentler temps? 

"Voices leaking from a sad cafe... On Bleecker Street."

Being away means keeping to a schedule that bears no resemblance to the one at home. It means not reading the Sunday Times, not tracking anything beyond the top half of the front page (displayed on newsstands). And not cleaning, organizing for the week. And it means writing inconsequential posts.

There is something innocuously pleasant about going to the Village and walking down Bleecker Street, stopping at the (crowded!) Magnolia Bakery for cupcakes and looking at the cute and quirky holiday decorations on brownstones and in store windows. That’s it. Nothing could be simpler, less taxing. And short-lived.

Tomorrow, a return to the moment when I nearly missed the bus for O’Hare. Sigh. Poland didn’t quite leave my system the way it was supposed to.

No room inside for a tree, or for the family bikes. 

From Magnolia Bakery: two down, seven to go 

holiday pink, inside and out 

Holidays? What holidays? Oh, those holidays! Yes, sure, right, I remember.

Hey, jingle bells, jingle bells!
Huh? You mean we’re in the Christmas season?

Where have you been? We are moments away from the big day itself!
This year I just cannot wrap my mind around Christmas. I have been in places that have holiday spirit up the wazoo, yet being away from home makes me think that the holiday season is remote.

Get with it! You are out of step with the calendar! Quit flipping the channels to different cities around the globe and start baking!
Monday. I am going home tomorrow. But why bake when there are holiday cakes for sale around the corner of every place I go to? This begs for a photo run. Just three examples from the past week:

Warsaw cakes, just down the block from my father's apartment 

the more elaborate Parisian holiday cakes 

around the corner from the NY apartment 

Haven't you had any cool Christmas moments in your travels?
Oh sure. Clearly the most pristine “holiday” moment has to be handed to Rynias. I mean, don’t they make Christmas cards that try hard to replicate these kinds of scenes?