Tomorrow is December 1, and, prompted by the upcoming Scottish Walk (Saturday!!!) and imminent visitors (Thursday!!) and a host of things in between, like the Hoitsma Lecture at the Folger, the first Noonday Noel at the church on Wednesday, the first ever Cookie Walk (requiring several dozen cookies from me) at the church on Saturday, and the annual Christmas Reading on Sunday (requiring poems and cookies and punch, oh, my!), my dance card is pretty full.
And so, we decided to put up the tree and decorate for Christmas. Of course we did.
I love dragging out the Christmas boxes and bags--well, not the 'dragging out' part, as that usually merits me an aching back and several cracks on the head from the low-ceilinged storage space under our stairs. But sifting through all the holiday stuff and figuring out how to put it together this year is fun. And what stuff we have! Boxes of ornaments and artificial greenery, Santas--carved or stuffed, painted or plain, flat or rotund, big or small, grumpy or smiling....Angels of all stripes (even an elephant angel!) and perhaps a reindeer or two. So today, while Thanksgiving's turkey carcass becomes turkey orzo soup (with tarragon), I am sorting and remembering and wishing for little girls to wonder at the Christmas to come and to hang the old ornaments on the low branches and to scurry down to the kitchen for hot chocolate and marshmallows and talk about what cookies to bake this year.
Last year, I began a series of ornament stories, and I plan to continue them--because, Lord knows, I came nowhere near accounting for them all. Something to do in this quiet Christmas season when little girls are in short supply.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Playing Catch-Up
In the interests of truth in advertising, I have to report that this blog is lagging behind.
We returned from England in late October, and I didn't finish writing about that trip till this week. In the interim, we spent nearly a week in Texas at the Society for the History of Discovery meeting in Austin, with a side-trip to San Antonio. Along the way, we visited the Ransom Center's Gone with the Wind exhibit (Wow!) and at the Bullock History Museum, learned about the discovery and excavation of LaSalle's ship, La Belle, sunk in waters off the coast of Texas back in the 1600s. We, of course, visited The Alamo, not to mention a few Texas missions, spent some time on the River Walk, ate far more than our share of Mexican food (and discovered Frito Pie--yum!) and even found time to poke around in a bookstore or two.
But now, we are home yet again. And are jumping feet-first into the maelstrom of a new play at the Folger (Julius Caesar) and a new exhibit, for which we need to learn the facts (Decoding the Renaissance.) Life has a way of ganging up on us. There's a poetry reading next week, and I've got a student workshop coming up--and there is always Thanksgiving and Christmas to prepare for. Yikes.
I had this naive expectation that I would have the month of November to declutter and dispose of accumulated junk. That I would spend some quality time grooming the patio plants for winter, disposing of the dead and near-dead, trimming back the trailing stuff, and maybe even making the deadline for sweeping leaves to the curb for pickup. That I would sort through Christmas decorations in a leisurely fashion and not end up flinging stuff on mantel and tree indiscriminately. Fantasy. Pure fantasy.
I am just as disorganized as ever. There was a quick sweep through the patio, and some half-hearted chopping of too-long vines and too-tall herbs and too-frostbitten chrysanthemums. I bagged the leaves that had found safe haven behind my planters (after the 'sweep to the curb' deadline, of course) and even managed a superficial watering that will have to last my plants the winter. I've cleared out my nightstand, and have hopes of moving on to the bathroom cabinets. I'm not holding my breath, though. Christmas will be here before I know it, and I have shopping to do. Sigh.
We returned from England in late October, and I didn't finish writing about that trip till this week. In the interim, we spent nearly a week in Texas at the Society for the History of Discovery meeting in Austin, with a side-trip to San Antonio. Along the way, we visited the Ransom Center's Gone with the Wind exhibit (Wow!) and at the Bullock History Museum, learned about the discovery and excavation of LaSalle's ship, La Belle, sunk in waters off the coast of Texas back in the 1600s. We, of course, visited The Alamo, not to mention a few Texas missions, spent some time on the River Walk, ate far more than our share of Mexican food (and discovered Frito Pie--yum!) and even found time to poke around in a bookstore or two.
But now, we are home yet again. And are jumping feet-first into the maelstrom of a new play at the Folger (Julius Caesar) and a new exhibit, for which we need to learn the facts (Decoding the Renaissance.) Life has a way of ganging up on us. There's a poetry reading next week, and I've got a student workshop coming up--and there is always Thanksgiving and Christmas to prepare for. Yikes.
I had this naive expectation that I would have the month of November to declutter and dispose of accumulated junk. That I would spend some quality time grooming the patio plants for winter, disposing of the dead and near-dead, trimming back the trailing stuff, and maybe even making the deadline for sweeping leaves to the curb for pickup. That I would sort through Christmas decorations in a leisurely fashion and not end up flinging stuff on mantel and tree indiscriminately. Fantasy. Pure fantasy.
I am just as disorganized as ever. There was a quick sweep through the patio, and some half-hearted chopping of too-long vines and too-tall herbs and too-frostbitten chrysanthemums. I bagged the leaves that had found safe haven behind my planters (after the 'sweep to the curb' deadline, of course) and even managed a superficial watering that will have to last my plants the winter. I've cleared out my nightstand, and have hopes of moving on to the bathroom cabinets. I'm not holding my breath, though. Christmas will be here before I know it, and I have shopping to do. Sigh.
Back
We are (if only temporarily) back. Back from the land of non-edible-bacon, unbelievably narrow bathtubs and temperamental showers. Back from the world of hold-your-breath-and-try-to-sleep double beds and look-to-your-right crossings, the kingdom of roundabouts and poorly-marked streets and an amazing lack of public safety warnings and devices that we accept here as normal. Goodbye, England! Hello, America!
We had a great time. There is no possibility of failure when you are seeing children and grandchildren, unless one or more of the party is sick. We weren't. JC and I started out at the Reform Club: you know, the place where Phileas Fogg made his momentous wager? Gorgeous library and public rooms, and wonderfully well-located on Pall Mall itself. But I assume Mr. and Mrs. Fogg (much less Passepartout) never spent the night. The basket of a hot air balloon might have been roomier than our double room.
Before joining Kay, Paul, and family in Bath, we took the train down to Greenwich to see the Longitude exhibition on display there (coming soon to your local Folger Library) and stopped by the Portrait Gallery in London to see their collection of portraits of the Tudors. The most interesting piece (I thought) was the plaster death mask of Henry VII. Comparing it to his portraits--and later, to a bust in the V and A--was pretty cool. We joined some friends at a pub (Only the Running Footman) in Mayfair for dinner, then trundled off to Pall Mall for an attempt at sleep. Failed. Until we figured out a method where one of us slept on the floor on a makeshift bed of extra pillows. Unsatisfactory.
The train ride to Bath is a short one, but schlepping luggage--even a single bag-- from room to lobby to taxi to train--and reversing the process at your destination-- is exhausting, even traveling light, as we always do. We managed. In Bath before the kids arrived, we realized that we were extremely well-located near Pulteney Bridge: a hop, skip, and a jump (we're talking 3 and 6-year-olds here) from the river, parks, the Abbey, the Baths, and lots of restaurants. We found a tea shop and indulged in sandwiches, scones, Bath buns, Bath truffles and some well-deserved tea. England at its finest.
When the kids arrived, the week took off like a rocket ship. Monday in Bath, covering Abbey, Baths, and the rest of the town (including our friend, the tea shop, for lunch.) The Baths featured an audio tour, which our eldest grandchild took to like the proverbial duck to water. She and I left the others in the dust, pressing every button at every point of interest and listening attentively to the descriptions. Other tourists marveled at her thoroughness. As did I, as I normally skip a lot of the audio in the interest of moving along. However, if anyone wants to know what exactly servants did with olive oil and scrapers and perfume at the baths, I am now well-informed on that. Or any number of other aspects of life in Roman-occupied Britain. As is Audrey. However, we did meet and converse with a Roman legionnaire (photo op!) about the waters, Hadrian's Wall, the time it took to march from Scotland to Bath, and assorted other topics, which was a lot of fun.
On subsequent days, we took in Longleat (not to be missed if you like seeing wild animals up close and personal), Stonehenge (another complete audio tour) and Avebury (no tour, but an adventure in avoiding sheep droppings), Royal Victoria Park (complete with 'Flying Foxes', which is British for a zip-wire for kids) and an assortment of restaurants, which, by and large, treated us all quite well and with a fair amount of tolerance, the cathedral at Wells, and--a generous sprinkling of gift shops that obviously know a great number of the buttons to push for children and their accompanying adults.
Busy as we were, we managed to fit in a little non-giftshop shopping--excused by the fact that we don't see the little girls often enough to truly spoil them. The week was all too short, and it seemed like we'd just started when it was time for us to board our train for London...and go back to the inadequacies of Skype communication.
Missing you, Audrey, Claire, Kay and Paul.
We had a great time. There is no possibility of failure when you are seeing children and grandchildren, unless one or more of the party is sick. We weren't. JC and I started out at the Reform Club: you know, the place where Phileas Fogg made his momentous wager? Gorgeous library and public rooms, and wonderfully well-located on Pall Mall itself. But I assume Mr. and Mrs. Fogg (much less Passepartout) never spent the night. The basket of a hot air balloon might have been roomier than our double room.
Before joining Kay, Paul, and family in Bath, we took the train down to Greenwich to see the Longitude exhibition on display there (coming soon to your local Folger Library) and stopped by the Portrait Gallery in London to see their collection of portraits of the Tudors. The most interesting piece (I thought) was the plaster death mask of Henry VII. Comparing it to his portraits--and later, to a bust in the V and A--was pretty cool. We joined some friends at a pub (Only the Running Footman) in Mayfair for dinner, then trundled off to Pall Mall for an attempt at sleep. Failed. Until we figured out a method where one of us slept on the floor on a makeshift bed of extra pillows. Unsatisfactory.
The train ride to Bath is a short one, but schlepping luggage--even a single bag-- from room to lobby to taxi to train--and reversing the process at your destination-- is exhausting, even traveling light, as we always do. We managed. In Bath before the kids arrived, we realized that we were extremely well-located near Pulteney Bridge: a hop, skip, and a jump (we're talking 3 and 6-year-olds here) from the river, parks, the Abbey, the Baths, and lots of restaurants. We found a tea shop and indulged in sandwiches, scones, Bath buns, Bath truffles and some well-deserved tea. England at its finest.
 |
| Audrey and Claire at the Avebury churchyard |
On subsequent days, we took in Longleat (not to be missed if you like seeing wild animals up close and personal), Stonehenge (another complete audio tour) and Avebury (no tour, but an adventure in avoiding sheep droppings), Royal Victoria Park (complete with 'Flying Foxes', which is British for a zip-wire for kids) and an assortment of restaurants, which, by and large, treated us all quite well and with a fair amount of tolerance, the cathedral at Wells, and--a generous sprinkling of gift shops that obviously know a great number of the buttons to push for children and their accompanying adults.Busy as we were, we managed to fit in a little non-giftshop shopping--excused by the fact that we don't see the little girls often enough to truly spoil them. The week was all too short, and it seemed like we'd just started when it was time for us to board our train for London...and go back to the inadequacies of Skype communication.
Missing you, Audrey, Claire, Kay and Paul.
Friday, November 7, 2014
'Tis the Season (OMG)
It begins.
Scowling pumpkins
scatter and flee in disarray
in the face of advancing hordes
of turkeys and cranberries.
Autumn leaves and harvest fruit
bowl down the aisles,
assuming vacated shelves—
briefly, briefly—
before the juggernaut
that is Christmas
flattens the terrain
with its boiling mass:
a red and green kaleidoscopic
blur of stockings, greenery,
and garish lights, with screeching
sopranos and booming basses
struggling through
“O Holy Night!” Unholy
racket, un-silent night,
in full assault,
demanding surrender.
Christmas is coming.
Joy to the world.
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