Christmas Eve

If you celebrate Christmas, aren't you especially fond of this day? Even if you are a child and Santa isn't expected until tomorrow? In Poland, of course, Christmas Eve is everything. Sometimes I think Christmas Day is an afterthought -- to recover after the celebration. All festivities begin at sundown on Christmas Eve and last long into the night.

I don't follow the Polish rituals and indeed I think our family traditions are a rather eclectic mix of rituals adopted and improved upon over the years, but I do love this day quite a lot.

It's freezing, here, in the upper Midwest. The coldest Eve I can remember. A high of 11f (-12C). But pretty! There is an ever fine sprinkle of dry snow and the clouds are not particularly threatening.

Inside, I do shed a few tears. (Admit it, for whatever reason, didn't you?) For me, they come when the young boy sings the first bars of Once In Royal David's City during our broadcast of the King's College Nine Lessons and Carols. I've written about this program before. It has been broadcast live, every year since 1918, when it was first aired as a solace to a war ravaged nation. This year, the choir had been rehearsing until the very end and then the decision was made to not gather for a live performance, given England's surge in infections. But a rehearsal had been taped just in case and we heard it today and it was beautiful. You had to be moved. If Christmas is about feelings of compassion, how could you not think about all those who have lost so much this past year? How could you not feel a surge of love for those in your life who make you so very happy?

Surely the holiday is also there to remind us all that there is still much joy in our lives. Despite everything, we can search for those grains of joy.

Breakfast!

And now I'm in a hurry. Finish wrapping, start cooking. Those two tasks will fill all hours of daylight. Until the young family comes.

 

 

 

Our first item on the agenda is to connect with the young family in Chicago. It's time for ...

Each child was to prepare something for this: there s singing, recitation, dancing, And plain watching,

And lots of applause and fun.

And then comes a tradition that has been in our family ever since my girls were little -- a family viewing of Christmas Eve on Sesame Street, while I cook.

We have pasta with super special sea foods (giant shrimp, scallops, and yes, a few tiny lobster tails!) in white wine sauce. 

I had asked what they'd like for dessert for Christmas Eve and Snowdrop shouted out "ice cream!" Well okay! No baking until tomorrow!

(A moment to take it all in...)

And now the young family returns home to do their own bargaining with Santa and stockings and cookies and reindeer foods, while Ed and I settle in for a restful evening over popcorn and a movie.

A beautiful evening. Sure, I wish the younger family from Chicago could be here but hey! They are well and thriving and I am already imagining all the times we can come together in the year ahead. 

Oh! What's that? The jingle of bells? Must be Santa...

Wednesday - 285th

Crazy winds, weirdly warm temperatures, snowstorms raging just a short drive to the north and west, clouds, sunshine, clouds, and within hours -- a precipitous drop to bitter cold weather. There, have I set the stage for this day?

Morning walk, with traces of snow still evident.

Breakfast flowers.

The kids are as bouncy and all over the place as the stuff going on outside. 

First thing on the agenda: rehearse for a family Christmas Show.

Except that Sparrow does not see himself as a dancing, prancing reindeer. Nope, cannot be coaxed!

They want to do art, but Snowdrop tries five times to get a picture right and fails each time. 

 

 

 

I begin my talk about not cutting down too many trees. About art being a process, not marked always by success. She walks away dejected. "I"m a perfectionist! I guess it's a good thing I don't want to be an artist when I grow up. [Lately she has been saying she wants to be a scientist. A chemist, to be precise.] In science, it's good to be a perfectionist."  She cheers up.

Then she goes through a period of not feeling up to snuff. A bug? What? I cannot say. (I can only say that it cannot be Covid, since the young family has gone nowhere and seen no one since mid-November. Nonetheless, she is checked. We live in weird times.)

Meanwhile, Sparrow helps pile on the cheese on the pizza. Gogs believes in a lot of cheese.

 

 

Lunch and the appearance of sunshine revives Snowdrop, though at this point, I can't say that Sparrow is his usual chipper self. He claims he wants to take a nap. 

But, by the time we go out to walk toward the car, everyone is revived. At least for the next half hour.

After I return the kids to their home, I come back to an Ed in need of a walk. We haven't been out trekking for a couple of days now. Sure, the wind is fierce and the sun has set...

But we need the movement. And the restorative rest that comes from being outdoors. And watching the geese soar over a flaming sky.

And a forest bath.

Evening. A call from Primrose! All warmth and smiles as she eats her supper and I fix one for Ed and me.

 

And then? I cannot tell what will happen next. There's chaos outside as clouds roll in, the winds turn downright violent, the temperatures start their plummet. Shush! What a day! No surprise, I suppose. It's Festivus!

Tuesday - 284th

This December is barreling forward at a lively pace. In other words, I cannot believe we are only two days away from Christmas. Perhaps because it is such an unreal year, the rapid approach of the holiday also seems, well, unreal.

To add to the confusion as to the time, the season, the moment, I step out today to a decidedly lighter toned morning. It's as if we were approaching spring, not Christmas. 

 

 

(The cheepers come out of the barn. First time in weeks. Just for a minute, but still...)

A few deep breaths and I'm back inside, hurrying to finish breakfast...

... before the kids arrive.

 

 

And here, time flips for me again: we are on Snowdrop's last (virtual) school day before winter break. It recalls for me all those years when my kids were on their last day: I'd have this feeling of relief. The rush of the school mornings was put on hold. The kids could let go of homework schedules and just be themselves. And of course, there was Christmas, which really felt like such a gift: time together, lots of good cooking, baking. The grand exhale after the chaos of school. Suspended, for winter break.

I don't know that the young families have that same feeling of the grand exhale. Parents are forever catching up with work, and more importantly, the kids are not at school. They're not coming home with school stories. They're not signed up for soccer or dance or drama. They are home, with, in Snowdrop's case, only a small screen on a little table creating the semblance of school. Interrupted when the teacher goes off line and the kids go back to doing whatever they usually do at home.

Here, Sparrow and Snowdrop pick up on their usual favorites.

For Snowdrop, today's school lessons are okay... (Sparrow watches as the kids play a snowman math game)

... and indeed, there's some light dancing to music chosen by the kids.. And it all winds down to a final conversation with the teacher, who asks each child what she most liked about this year of kindergarten (I say "she" even as there are way more boys in her class and all the girls appear to be very quiet, at least on Zoom calls). Snowdrop says -- meeting new friends.

 

 

 

Next year, the expectation is that her class will return to in-person learning. Snowdrop remembers her beloved preschool and the hours of play she had there with friends. How brutal will be the change to a classroom with masked and distanced kids? She has such a delicate voice that I could barely hear her when we did our distanced and masked meetings this past fall. Who will hear her in a classroom? 

Still, for now, she has marked, with some degree of joy, the end of school time and the beginning of vacation. Sparrow? I don't know that he even remembers what school was. But for whatever reason, both kids are delightfully happy.

 

 

 

The rest of the day? I cannot say where it went. Some wind must have passed through here and whipped my hours away from me. Candles were burning, music was playing and suddenly it was dinner time and popcorn time and eventually, a very very late bed time.

Monday - 283rd

7:26, sunrise.  

Winter solstice.  It happened at 4:02 a.m. this morning and by chance, I was not asleep then, though my thoughts weren't on the dark skies outside, but on food.

I thought I was so clever: I submitted a long grocery list to the store on Sunday, expecting to beat the Christmas rush. Delivery on Monday would be splendid. I suppose many people were thinking the same thing, because there were no delivery or even pick up slots available for Sunday, Monday, or even Tuesday. 

Well that wont do! The only solution is to click "refresh" often and if you are lucky, you'll chance upon an opening. And so I click, at 8 p.m, at 10, at 11:30. Then at midnight and at 1 and 2 and many times in between. Sometime in the hour of the solstice a slot becomes available and I quickly click to confirm. A morning delivery. Indeed, right around the hour of sunrise!

I admit, that's not a restful way to launch a new week, an especially busy new week, but one has to make sacrifices for the safety of home deliveries. I am grateful that the holiday week will have me cooking up a storm in the kitchen after all.

Groceries are attended to. Good timing -- it's now the hour where I sit down with my two friends -- one living in the Florida time zone and the other in New Mexico - for our solstice breakfast together.

Winter solstice is nondenominational. Grounded in fact and spirited by traditions. It's a beautiful day: introspective, hope-filled, calm. So perfect for a good, long chat. A bowl of my usuals, a strong cup of coffee and I'm ready for the arrival of the grand kids.

We play, we read, they snack -- all that. 

 

 

 

 

 

But it is also a school day for Snowdrop. I notice that the little girl is  completely disengaged during the first lesson, but radiantly joyful for the second. There are reasons for it, but in a sense, they're irrelevant. What's telling is that Snowdrop is not a plod-along type who will dutifully do what is asked of her and give the project her utmost attention no matter what. On the other hand, if the stars are aligned, or at least not crossed, then she is more than 100% on board, giving it her all and then some. 

(Sparrow is mildly interested in the story book the teacher was reading, but ultimately prefers to retreat into Snowdrop's big-girl space and play with her tiny Lego Friends setups while his sister is "in school.")

No outdoor play today. It felt as if it might rain and toward the end of the day it does indeed start to rain.

4:25, sunset. Shortest day. Or so they say. With the afternoon clouds came early darkness. 

 

 

It's the kind of grayness that makes you hum bars of the carol In the Bleak Midwinter. This one:

But the grayness of this shortest day doesn't pull you into an abyss of despair. Perhaps it even does the opposite. Someone once commented about this song -- (the) carol doesn't shout from the rooftops about Christmas cheer; instead, it focuses on the simplest yet truest gift of all, love.

[And by the way, this carol is nearly always included in the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols broadcast each year from Kings College in Cambridge. Nearly every year I listen to this broadcast on December 24th. If you're curious how it may be presented this year, read about it here.]

A light drizzle outside knocks out the possibility of the walk that we typically try to fit in toward dusk. And I'm glad. I decided that in my last two weeks with the kids something has to give. The day is not long enough for grandchildren, and holiday preparations, and writing daily posts, and cooking warm meals every night, and 10 000 steps of walking. I'll be satisfied with 5 000 and make it a New Year's resolution to go back to 10 000 starting January 1st. Why have a New Year if you can't make resolutions for it! 

With love...

Sunday - 282nd

 The meal may be just for two. If you're lucky and have family that can isolate with you, there may be more at your table. But big or small, your Christmas Eve dinner will be the same and served by every friend of mine in Poland. Borscht with dumplings (perhaps a second option -- mushroom soup -- will also be offered). Cabbage salad. Herring! Other fish as well, but without exception, there will be herring! The list goes on. Twelve dishes. More perhaps. Noodles with poppyseed -- I heard about that today. So many Polish dishes that I have never served here to my family. Why?

No two immigrants will have the same story, but there definitely will be those who will assimilate completely into the customs of their new country and there will be those who will keep their old country traditions burning fiercely in their adopted new home. I definitely belong to the first group, perhaps in part because my family had no holiday traditions to pass on to me. I would be making them up and so why not simply start fresh.

I thought about this today because soon after breakfast...

I had a holiday Zoom call with all my Polish friends. The one who was so sick with CoVid is doing much better and we were once more a group of ten.

That is not to say that we were a worry free group. The virus still structures each day for all of us. Nonetheless, we all cheer the holiday before us and the New Year that is almost here, offering so much hope and visions of reunions...

 

 

We are in each others lives in this odd way right now, but it isn't all terrible: we meet and talk in our Zoom space and it feels sweetly comforting to share life Zoomishly.

Afterwards, I finish the Sunday house tidying and dig into dinner prep. It's Sunday and for these few weeks, the family is still able to isolate and share with us this weekly meal. 

(I finish cooking and catch up with my daughter, kids amuse themselves...)

Just before we sit down, we do a phone call with Primrose. We all pile in to catch a few minutes with the little one.

And now it's time to eat.

Dessert? Cookies from our cookie project of course. Now dipped in chocolate.

At the end of the day, life tastes much better when dipped in chocolate.

Saturday - 281st

It's just a coupe of degrees above freezing, but that's bad news for skiing: the snow cover was never that thick. A day of melting snow, even if it is a gradual melt, will probably put an end to our daily run along the county park trails.

On the other hand, after all those cold days, 34F outside ( 1C) feels mighty warm! I can dash out with minimal winter clothing. This is what March feels like!

Breakfast is late because Ed sleeps late.

 

Toward the end of the morning hours, the kids arrive with their mom.

We want to bake cookies. True, we dont need more cookies -- our chocolate covered ginger collection is copious. But the kids rarely bake with me these days and so I pick out a few recipes and allow Snowdrop to select the cookie of her choice out of these contenders. I've stocked the pantry with needed ingredients and immediately after lunch we get started.

I am surprised that both kids stick with it. Each had an interest in cooking with me way back when, but I thought it had waned a bit. Well, it's back!

And each one is a good participant! They're careful with machinery and with pouring. I get none of the usual spills and mishaps that come with young hands in the kitchen.

 

We stick the cookies (S shaped, because S stands for Snowdrop and Sparrow and Santa) in the oven, leave their mommy in charge of keeping an eye on the baking, and go outside to play.

 

Yes, Sparrow wants to join us.

But not for long. His cautious nature makes him hesitant and he considers a snow tumble to be the ultimate degradation. Within a few minutes, he is back inside, while Snowdrop continues to chase me around with clumps of snow.

 I have no trouble filling my Fitbit step allotment for this day.

Cookies are ready! We wanted to dip them in chocolate, but there's no time. Maybe tomorrow.

In the late afternoon, Ed and I take our chances and head out with our skis for the county park. 

Yes, there's just enough snow to do a good run. No photos. I give myself a break from carrying the camera. Besides, we simply repeated yesterday's run, at exactly the same time of day. You can glance back to what I posted then.

One last tiny detail: I picked up our Community Sponsored Agriculture box of veggies for one last time tonight. What do we get in December? Radishes, sunchoke, horseradish whips. Tetsukaboto squash, red cabbage, garlic, onions. Kohlrabi, sweet potato, orange carrots.

I remember when I picked up the first CSA box of the year, back in April. The pandemic was in its infant stage. There followed all those boxes of veggies during three seasons of shopping only from home. Thank you Harmony Valley farmers! You kept us stocked through tough times. We are so very grateful.

With love...