Christmas Day

Unless you live in a multi-generational household, or are visiting with out-of-town family, a grandparent's Christmas Day starts gently. Waking up early to check on Santa's delivery systems? Nah. I'm no longer Santa nor do I expect anything to show up under the tree from someone riding a sleigh, or even an Amazon truck.  

Well, let me correct that last point: a jelly roll pan under the tree would have been nice. I ordered a new pan. Five days ago. It was to come two days ago. It did not come. With a bomb-cyclone tearing through half the country you have to be forgiving when things get delayed. Still, it's been sitting in a Madison warehouse for several days now. I don't know why. [Too, the holiday skirts I bought for the granddaughters? Delayed. The candles for my older daughter? I think they basically got lost in the ocean somewhere. No one knows where they are. And that jelly roll pan! Any day now! It's not a tragedy. I can still use the old one, although I'd like you to take a look at the state of that old one:

Yep -- it's fine for roasting beets for Sunday dinners, but has perhaps too much patina for a delicate jelly roll. And Christmas requires me to bake a Yule Log, which in turn requires the use of a jelly roll pan. It looks like the log this year may have a faint taste of every food that has been roasted in that pan over the years!]

But let me return to the gentle wakeup that is ours on this Christmas Day. 

It's beautiful outside! Still cold, but that is fitting for late December. Hello, world!

Breakfast. I want to believe that there exists a panettone out there that Ed will like. This year I'm trying a chocolate one from Pasticceria Cova in Milan. I read that it was Verdi's favorite. If it's good enough for the Maestro, it's good enough for us, don't you think? I did not import it, by the way. Any number of food stores on this side of the ocean sell Italian panettone. You just have to read a ton of online descriptions and decide which one sounds good and is affordable. I could, I suppose, try to bake one some day, but every good recipe out there has been "jealously guarded" for decades or even centuries, and so I will leave it to the pastry chefs to do their magic.

Well? Did he like it? More yes than no! I'm safe to keep it on the Christmas menu going forward.

And now I have to speed it up a bit. That Yule Log has to be baked early. I start in on it right after breakfast.

I think my younger daughter's candied cranberries looked great when she sugared them for her daughter's birthday cake. I would have done well to glance at a recipe. Only after I cooked the cranberries did I realize that this was totally unnecessary. Ah well, the berries look fine anyway and the cooked popped ones can be served along with the roasted chicken for dinner.

Onto the airy (flourless) chocolate cake. Once cooled, it's filled with orange zested whipped cream. I'll frost and decorate it once it sets.

And then I attack the chicken: I feel a little like I did on Thanksgivings past. The bird is only five pounds and so I estimated that a three day defrost is plenty. Instead, it barely sufficed. Tiny ice crystals around the edges remain. 

Roasting a chicken well is an art, and there are a million ways to do it. 

I spatchcock it, dry brine it with salt, and return it to the fridge for a rest.

How did it get to be so late??

Alright. Set table, and get back to that Yule Log. 

Make the chocolate ganache. Then frost.

Done! Now all I need to do is to assemble it and dust it with "snow." I'll let a grandchild take care of all that.

Now for the potatoes, the veggies, all those other foods that make Christmas dinner what it is...

And this is when the young family comes. Bearing gifts, they travel afar. Well, not too afar. Still, suddenly the Christmas tree looks... full: of gifts, of young ones...

So much work to get everything wrapped, so quick to get it all undone!

(the trick is to settle into your favorite activity without Sandpiper disrupting your play... Sparrow especially is feeling vulnerable as his cubes are a total temptation for his little brother, even as all the Sparrow wants to do is fire off numbers questions at us while playing with them. Did you know that 48 and 48 are 96? -- he'll say. And in the next breath -- Sandpiper! Leave those alone!)

(who, innocent me?)

(let's get that Yule Log finished! Gaga, it looks like a Y! Well now, trees can look like a Y....)

Chicken's ready and so are the potatoes, corn, beans and salads!)

Dinner!

(you have to be their age to think of this as the funniest game ever!)

I make lots of desserts, but I have to say, my Yule Log, done according to a Gourmet Magazine recipe from decades ago, is the one that everyone loves and wants seconds of. Everyone. 

The evening ends with dancing.

Ed and I sit back and watch, like the two old guys that we are. Ah, young people these days -- we mumble knowingly....

You could say that this ends Christmas for us, but it wouldn't be true. Tomorrow, my younger girl comes with her family from Chicago. Our family gathering will continue then.

I do hope that you had a fantastic weekend and that your celebrations, or at least moments of joy last well beyond this day!

With so much love...

Christmas Eve

First, a memory. Maybe in it there lies a story about the holidays. Maybe about youthful immaturity. In any case, it's a story that I left out of my book Like a Swallow. After all these years, I'm still not sure what to make of it.

I was twelve, living in New York because of my father's appointment to the Untied Nations. Just around Christmas time, a Polish Boys choir (Poznanskie Slowiki) came to sing in New York.  The whole choir was invited then to a party at the Polish UN Delegation and I guess they thought the boys would enjoy the company of ones their own age because my sister and I were invited to participate. It was, to the best of my recollection, a fun event. And I connected with one of the boys from the choir. Czarek was his name. I was quite the brazen kid back then (well, maybe not only back then...) and so I gave him my address and told him -- write to me! Mind you, I was just twelve.

He did write. Incredible letters. Soulful, full of insights and feeling. (He was maybe two years older than me, but still, imagine -- all this from a 14 year old boy.)

We corresponded intensely that year, and, too once I returned to Poland (a year later). Of course, once in Poland, I was but a train ride away. Eventually he asked to see me again. In Warsaw. He came up with a friend (he was shy and I'm sure needed the support of someone from his own world) and the three of us spend an afternoon together. It all ended then. I never saw him again. Never responded to any more of his letters.

Why? Because at the plum ripe age of 14, I was in love with a boy in my class (amply documented in LaS) and because Czarek wasn't a Warsaw boy. At that age, I could not see beyond my immediate environment. This is a frightening thought -- that you could be so narrow minded -- but it's true. My world was my school, my class, my group of high school friends. Czarek didn't fit well in that world.

Over the years, I've thought a lot about this episode in my life. It's so easy to trap yourself in your own closed off circle of friends and acquaintances. Maybe this is why I eventually felt that it would be wise to leave that world and to try something new. Maybe I spooked myself with my dismissal of Czarek. 

I listened to the Polish carols as sung by the Slowiki today. It's Christmas Eve after all. 

I also listened to the King's College Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols earlier this morning. Another boy's choir that shook me up, though at a later stage in life and not so much at a personal level. My ex had research to do in Cambridge and I went along for the ride. (Actually I was supposed to be working on my own dissertation, but I did none of that. I explored Cambridge instead.) 

In those days we all listened to music on vinyl. While in England I purchased several albums of various college choirs singing Christmas songs. Clare, King's, St. John's. These became my favorite holiday music to listen to for years to come. My daughters will attest to the fact that we listened to them a lot!

Much later, a friend, a musician who played stuff with quite a different vibe, asked me what my favorite songs were. I mentioned the choir music from Cambridge. I think she nearly fell off her chair. I mean, choral? From Cambridge? That's just weird.

But it wasn't weird. There was something enduring in the music. It stayed with me even in turbulent times.  A safe harbor of sorts. A spiritual escape.

For a person who didn't really have a lot of Christmas in her childhood, I surely have had a lot of very meaningful Christmas imagery that has stayed with me. And music. Traditional stuff. Very different than the jazzy numbers I like to listen to today. 

I'm thinking that I have a very complicated relationship to the holidays!

I used to say to my kids that the morning of Christmas Eve was the best. Most of the work is done. You have before you all the glory of family time, of shared foods, of kids' delights, of friends' messages. You're about to step into that magic space of good will and kind gestures. Of laughter. How perfectly sublime to be at the cusp of it all! 

So, yeah, I like this day, this morning a lot. 

It's cold of course. You know that already. But the winds are calming down a bit and the sun is out. We'll be lifting ourselves up from the Arctic blast soon. Hope is with us here, in south-central Wisconsin.

I have brief errands. Fun stuff. I need to pick up the Christmas Eve cake at Batch Bakery for tonight's dinner. The kids would like the chocolate peppermint candy cake, so I ordered one for them. (this one)

Too, I need to get a fresh loaf of bread for tonight's dinner. (So long as I'm there, I pick up some Venoiseries for breakfast...)

I'm happy to see a line form for the breads. The loaves are in high demand! Just as if we were in France, or Poland, wanting nothing but the warmest, best loaves. 

(I also stop by the Coop to get some beans and cranberries. I never make grocery lists -- I keep everything in my head. As a result, I forget stuff!)

The drive there and back is beautiful! Our lakes have frozen (what a surprise) and the darting wind gusts are blowing small drifts of snow around, even as the sun is visibly trying to poke through a light cloud cover. I stop the car just to look.

Breakfast. Happy holidays to you!!

Ed gets the message that friends are coming by with a homemade Kringle and pfeffernusse cookies. Delicious treats! Wonderful visit. The day just gets better and better!

I have some light food preparation to do today, both for this eve's dinner and tomorrow's. Presents are ready. The sun is brilliant. Oh! A chicken is stuck again. Hang on, girl, I'll give you a boost.

And in the late afternoon I go to my daughter's house. 

(a little old elf...)

This is the tradition for us. I take foods over there (and because they are not foods Ed would choose to eat, he stays home for this one) and fix a traditional meal that one would find in maybe Scotland at this time.

The kids are giddy, as so many would be on Christmas Eve. They've baked cookies for the big guy and his reindeer. 

How many of them hang onto the belief that Santa comes down a chimney at night? Probably only Sparrow. Snowdrop has serious doubts, Sandpiper is too young to follow such stuff. Still, it hardly matters. It's a story that we tell each other because it has all the elements of good fun. 

It's getting late. Santa surely is sliding around on the snowy landscape of our state. Easy job for him this year and just a tad warmer here than up on the North Pole. 

I take a few more pics, of the kids, of the whole family in pjs, of the last Eve moments.

And then I head home. 

All is bright. All is very calm.

cold

I bet you're tired of numbers. We are at -11F (-24C) this morning. Windchills of -32F (-35C). We wont be climbing up past 0F (-18C). What does any of it matter -- it's just plain cold, period.

But, we do study the numbers and let them set the agenda for the day. The winds howled and the cats refused to go out so that Ed had to pick them up and toss them into the night. Five minutes later they were back, begging to come in. Our three domesticated ferals. The others stayed in the shed.

In the morning Ed did animal chores. Not because I think he's a manly guy who ought to brave the elements in my stead, but because last night I had gently suggested he lock the cheepers so they can't come out into the bitter cold today, and he thought otherwise. I let it go. Today he had a change of heart and so I sent him out to do what should have been done last night: place a brick to keep the coop door from swinging open. 

I didn't stay in bed though. I wanted to shovel the walkway so that we wouldn't trample down the new snow. The peeking sun painted a deceptively gentle picture for us: you could imagine that it's a regular old winter day. But no: stepping out was brutal. (Especially without cap or gloves.) Still, I paused to take in this raw beauty.

And then I quickly retreated and turned up the thermostat inside.

Breakfast: oatmeal, of course. Nothing else makes sense on a day like this. Ed, why the jacket? Just warming up after the walk to the barn.

I don't love being out and about at a time where we still have a blizzard warning in place, but Blue Moon is a reliable vehicle and I have light food shopping before me, to supplement my big order a few days back. I haven't yet gone into my go-to grocery store since the pandemic started and so I put in my order and plan on a curbside pick-up.

Why am I still not shopping inside? I hate to admit to this, but it's mostly out of convenience. We live far from my grocery store. Deliveries save time. But, too, for me it's symbolic. I quit shopping in person when the pandemic shut things down in March of 2020. It was a crazy set of weeks: I had to move my mother from her apartment to an assisted living facility. She was then completely incapacitated (and indeed, staying at a rehab center), and so Ed and I went through all her stuff and hauled over the essentials and disposed of the rest as best as we could, and we did it quickly because to us at least, it was obvious that the window of movement would close soon. The grocery store was a last hurrah: after moving her, Ed and I went on a big shopping trip, putting lots of frozen foods and canned stuff into the cart because, well, who knew where all this was heading. And so I haven't resumed my regular shopping in part because I want to keep firm the idea that we haven't resumed our prior lives. We move around differently now. With care. Somehow this translates into deliveries, or, when not available (like during a blizzard on the day before Christmas Eve) -- curbside pickup of groceries for me. For now.

I have other errands: Ed would love some fresh bread. I stop at Clasen's for their baguette and their cranberry walnut sourdough. And my Chicago daughter told me that the city is all out of ibuprofen for infants. Juniper isn't sick, but to no one wants to be short on this essential, just in case. So I search for a store that still has some. People have been hoarding it, for good reason. There are a lot of sick kiddos right now in the Midwest. 

And then there's one more stop: at my older girl's home. She doesn't really need my help, but she sure would love it if I came over and played with the kids for a bit, especially the younger ones. They've all been housebound and the energy levels are mounting. Well fine! I can tumble around with them for a chunk of the morning.

(you're not taking down the holiday cards, are you? oh-oh, you are!)

The challenge is to amuse all three, all at the same time. After a few runs of building towers that the youngest will then knock down, I switch to a sure fire pleasing game of timed-release shots. Like these:

I drive home against gusts of wind, with blowing and drifting snow.  

(to the right -- the new development; to the left -- the farmette...)

One more hill, one more turn...

... and I'm home. 

Millions have lost their power to this bomb-cyclone. We are lucky: we have not. The farmhouse is warm. Our animals are safe. The lights on the tree give color to the room, the candle flickers, our world is calm. We are so grateful.

snow

There is a moment, just at sunrise, when the snow takes a pause. I look out and see that our herd is back, searching out those lotus seedpods. Welcome, friends of the forest. 

I go downstairs and watch out the kitchen window for a very long while.

A few minutes later I make my way to the barn, just  before the temperatures start their rapid fall. We will hop skip from 25F (-4C) to -9F (-23C) in the course of the day. Quite the tumble. The winds from this polar vortex will pick up and the drifts will start forming.

But for now, I walk through a quiet landscape.

I worry about the chickens, even though we do have the heater blowing warm air at the coop now. Ed thinks that perhaps the chickens are like deer who do not seem to mind the cold, but I'm not convinced. I need only watch the hens (and the cats!) navigate a snowy landscape to know that they are not happy in this weather.

(why this Bresse girl chooses to trudge all the way to the garage to lay her egg is beyond me, but she does...)

Twice I rescue a cheeper that appears stuck in a drift. Would she have managed without the assist? I don't want to wait to find out.

We live with animals here at the farmette and we try hard to understand their needs, but of course, we don't always get it right. Nature is complicated. You want to feed the birds in the winter. So do you put out feeders? What if this encourages birds to stay, even as they should leave? What if they grow dependent on your largesse? And teach their young ones to stay? What if a sick bird lands on your dish and now more birds will get sick? And what if birds come down to levels where cats can harm them? What's best for them?? Sustaining natural habitats -- that's the real goal, but good luck with that one! And if we help some, we surely cannot help everyone. We leave some dead trees standing -- for the woodpeckers. We let all crab apples remain -- for the robins, cardinals and finches. For the juncos and nuthatches. I find one -- a nuthatch? trapped in the garage, because we lowered the door too much to keep the drifting snow out. And what should we do with the feral cats that come our way?  Occasionally Pancake -- a seventh cat that has been stopping by in recent months -- is hungry. Most of the time, when I bring out food, she panics and runs away. To live with such fear must be tough. But she is not alone -- most of the animals that pass through here have some degree of fear. Even our six farmette ferals go into their flight mode when we move unexpectedly or when strange sounds fill the house. This morning Dance sat in the doorway and refused to come in until I convinced her that it was just the radio making noise. No stranger in the house. No one who would hurt her.

Breakfast.

And then I take a nap. Like a bear in winter, winds and snow bring out the sleepies in me.

In the summer, I buy market flowers for the kitchen table. During the colder months I buy grocery store flowers. But once or twice a year, I buy flowers from flower people who aren't exactly growing these blooms locally. This is a treat for me and I look forward to it in much the same way someone might look forward to a concert or a party.

I ordered a modest bouquet for Christmas this year. A few days ago I got an email telling me that they would have to deliver them a day in advance of my chosen date of Christmas Eve. Delivery issues are rampant right now. Understandable. Then, two days ago I got a message that the flowers will come super early. Like, today. It's the only way to do this, given the blizzard and plummeting temperatures. 

It makes no sense to have the flowers on my table now. The point was to have them here when family came for the holidays. But you have to appreciate the effort that these people go to so that you could indulge your great desire to bring color and life to your kitchen table. And I do. A burst of color that came half frozen today in the thick of the storm. Maybe the blooms will last, maybe they wont. But they are loved. And recorded here, on Ocean.

In the afternoon we check on the animals. So far so good. The cats stay mostly inside, using the barn as their outhouse. The chickens huddle in one corner. I'm glad we can give food and shelter to them all. 

The cat in the photo is Tuxie. Sweet girl, but shy and retreating. Never comes to the farmhouse, The big mama -- that would be Dance. Dance hates the snow, but she goes back and forth, following the food distribution. (We feed the cats in the shed. We feed us in the farmhouse. She imagines herself to be part of both worlds.)

Sprawled out in some comfy spot, she'll rouse herself instantly when she hears me moving pots and pans around in the kitchen. Dinner, eh? I'm here and ready! (She loves to fold her little paws before her and watch me from her post on top of the heating vent. All that fur and she still loves the heating vent.)

For dinner I reheat a frittata. I cannot believe it is December 22nd. Wow. Solstice behind us, Hanukkah in progress, Christmas --soon. So soon.

With love...