Christmas Day

 Glorious sunshine and bitter cold. 4F (-14C) when I step outside to feed the animals. THe path to the barn feels as solid as rock. Beneath the surface there'll be bugs, frogs and sleepy bumble bees, hiding away for the coldest of the cold months. I wish them a happy rest!

(Tuxie, whose fur coat surely keeps her snug...)

And to the rest of us who haven't the ability or desire to sleep away the season -- well, happy Christmas! (Or, happy winter if Christmas is not your thing.)

Breakfast, just a little special, with Panettone, that Italian sweet bread that is enjoyed by so many all over the world on this day. (I have to smile at the size of this one, which, by the way, I did not bake: just big enough for two. Perfect for 2020!)

I have a lot of baking and food prep for this day, but I do not plunge into it right away. The New Yorker pulled together a handful of holiday-themed stories from years past and they sounded so deliciously tempting that I allowed myself a pause to read just some of them. As a gift, the magazine is making them available for sharing. Here's their description, with my links to each story: 

In “Hack Wednesday,” by Margaret Atwood, a Canadian journalist reflects on her marriage and past decisions as Christmas draws near. In “The Burden of the Feast,” Bobbie Ann Mason recounts growing up on her family’s Kentucky farm and explores the nostalgic allure of holiday cooking. In “Winter in Martinique,” Patrick Chamoiseau describes his enchantment with the Christmas pigs that his mother raised while he was growing up in the Caribbean. Lorrie Moore writes [in Chop-Suey Xmas] about the complexities of celebrating Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Christmas all at once, and James Thurber offers a parody of “A Visit from Saint Nicholas,” drawing inspiration from Ernest Hemingway. In “Year’s End,” by Jhumpa Lahiri, a college student returns home for the holidays to discover that his loved ones have changed in his absence. In “The Christmas Miracle,” Rebecca Curtis conjures a tale of a family gathering that is thwarted by the mysterious deaths of several cats. Finally, Frank McCourt recalls [in Christmas Past] an unconventional holiday dinner that he had with his landlady and her son after returning to New York from a stint in the U.S. Army.

Which ones tempt you? For me, can you guess? Yes, the Kentucky farm (good!) and, too, the disappearing cats (funny, in a strange sort of way)!

There are moments throughout the day when I pause and again, the emotions swell. For the health care workers. For the empty places at tables, for whatever reason. For all of us for whom the vaccination cannot come fast enough. 

(Setting the table for dinner...)

Most of my day is in the kitchen. Baking. The planned buche de Noel takes almost as long as to grow a whole forest of trees. I had tried many recipes over the years and finally, exactly twenty years ago, I settled on one with orange flavored cream and a bittersweet chocolate ganache.  

And the main course? Cornish hens -- another traditional holiday dish for us. I get them ready for the oven.

In the late afternoon, the young family comes. Snowdrop is soooo excited to give me a gift, chosen by herself..

Sparrow is still recovering from a sound afternoon nap, so his mommy helps with the presents. He certainly is on board with the idea of presents!

We all exchange gifts and they are all wonderful! One always wonders what a child will glob onto from the pile before her. Surprisingly, Snowdrop really liked the Wobble. 

The things you can do on a wobble!

I'd thought Sparrow would be too young to enjoy this, but, if Snowdrop likes it then he surely must give it a try...

And now we connect with Primrose!

She, too, gets asked about favorite gift. You can't take a child's word for it, but as of this moment, among all her toys, Primrose chooses .... a pair of scissors and demonstrates the incredibly fun activity of... cutting (while mom gives the old shrug that kids bring out of us so well and so often!)

Okay, the cornish hens are very ready!

The yule log is ready too, but it needs additional touches. Snowdrop applies her artistry...

Later, much later, I have Ed take one more photo before they all take off under a star studded sky. I'll end with this picture, wishing only that the extra little space on my knee had Primrose on it too

I clean up to one last round of holiday music, putting away the last dish to the strains of Silent Night.

With love.

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.