My Christmas Season

Howdy! Heh, heh, well I'm back after like nine years of neglecting my blog. Actually, although I did go through a short period when I didn't feel like writing, I do have a very very good excuse. As a matter of fact, our internet server is doing weird things again so for the past month or more we have been unable to go to blogger.com or to comment on any blogs. Now I have once more been clawing at my bonds that keep me from my beloved blog and have been paralyzed to do anything on it! However, yesterday I was at Chad's and was able to draw up an e-mail address so I get to e-mail posts to my blog until we can get everything repaired. Oh dear, in fact it will probably be a very long time before anybody ever reads this because I've ignored my blog for so long! So now I must continue to describe much of my holiday season, just in case you haven't had enough of the holiday spirit already!

On the 11th of December a long awaited day arrived. After hours of planning, memorizing, organizing, inviting, decorating, gathering, rehearsing, indecision, playing, and especially baking, the infamous Dessert Banquet arrived with a bang. When one comes to an event such as this, in the beginning you often find yourself standing around twiddling your thumbs, chatting, smiling, and trying not to stare at all the people you don't know. Once we had finally decided to begin, I whipped out my violin, and after a few nervous tune checks we marched in front of buckets of eyeballs staring at us (the eyeballs were in their sockets, naturally). Bria, Craig, Mama, and I then went on to stun everyone with our musical talents, or at least Bria, Craig, and Mama did, I just sort of twiddled along.

Next came the listening to of gorgeous songs prepared by the bibleschool girls, followed by the climatic desserts. These included everything from homemade peppermint patties, coffee trifle, marshmallow & coconut snowmen, pies of various descriptions, and much much more food of the sweet variety. We gobbled these with gusto, accompanied with lively Christmas piano and much conversation. Then we were whisked through the eating and presented with the short dramatic skits, which we chewed with almost as much zeal. Of course there came the Christmas carol singing led by Uncle Tim, who told us the tale of Mary scoring so high on a code breaking test that the military has been giving her calls since, and plus there was plenty more eating. I'm afraid I don't feel like I can go into much more detail than that, as my memory is fuzzy on that event as time passes. However, once most of the guests had left then we spun through the clean up routine: rolling ribbons, scrunching up paper tablecloths, wrapping lights, folding fake greenery, and taking down the decorations from the tall poles. On this last task some people fell into a few very close calls, such as a ladder tipping one of the glass light fixtures sideways before someone cried out and stopped the oblivious ladder person. It's a good thing they did, because that lamp is probably irreplaceable.

Tuesday rolled in, much to my dread and excitement, for this was the day of my concert. Not just my concert, but the ConVal high school concert. I had to be there good and early at the gym, where they had pushed back half the bleachers for the stage and had turned the rest of the gymnasium into a large auditorium. After our practice, we idled around for fifty minutes before the concert, getting to know each other better especially through the telling of jokes. Our small string ensemble (consisting of eleven persons) were the first on the program, and we had to be ready. Then it was time to go out. Shoulders back, face calm, I quietly marched out onto the ground floor stage last in the line of black and white figures. I held my violin in a resting position until I seated myself, the loud chatter of the massive crowd splashing over my ears. Then the blinding stage lights were on, illuminating our white shirts like heavenly cloth and diminishing the crowd to dark shadows. It was hard not to look at the bright beams beating down on us, so instead with cold fingers I shuffled my music, making sure for the last time that it was in the right order. Shoving away nervous thoughts, I casually listened to my home schooled stand partner, telling me how they bought his one-hundred-year-old violin off Ebay for eighty dollars, but my thoughts weren't focused on the subject. My eyes shifted to my family, patiently sitting on the front row a few yards away, rooting for me. We waited, alert, with our bows standing tall on our right knee, and our instruments on our left (excepting the cellos and double bass of course, as those are too large to easily rest them on your knee). Soon the assembly grew quiet, and after they announced us, our conductor, we'll call her Mrs. Algy, came forward. As the audience applauded, my gaze rested on my mom, and I let out a long, slow yet visible breath to relax myself. She grinned. Next Mrs. Algy's arms were raised, and we lifted our instruments, the scent of rosin drifting about as we waited (I don't actually remember smelling it but it's just a good writing factor), our bows poised as I felt the familiar smooth strings denting my fingers. "Have fun!" Mrs. Algy mouthed. I smiled a little, and licked my dry lips. Then the concert began.

The music went well as we squeaked through Handel's Overture to the Messiah and some fiddle tunes, although I still wish we had sounded a little more professional, but what can you expect of high schoolers such as myself? Afterwards however I was faced with a dilemma. How on earth was I going to get all the way to my family sitting in the front row in the middle of the concert in front of this mass of people? After the band played their first piece, I had my answer. The cellist standing next to me flew herself to a closer seat in the front row during the applause, and why couldn't I? Except I had to race, without actually running, down half the gym in that amount of time. No sooner said than done, I was breathing a sigh of relief as I plopped down beside my mother. We then continued to watch the concert. But we were faced with another dilemma. My dad had gotten the brilliant idea of sitting in the front row so he could tape me. Now how were we supposed to leave discreetly in the middle of the concert? The family plan was to leave when the large band left. The fact is, the band never really left, so we ended up staying for the entire concert, whether we liked in or not.

The band was pretty good, with some pretty holiday songs, such as "The Night Before Christmas" with the narration and "On This Day Earth Shall Ring" which my dad is practically convinced is written by a Christian. Then we were rushed through the male chorus, the woodwind choir, the percussion ensemble (not generally my favorite but very well done), the female chorus, the jazz band (which was very enthusiastic!), the select chorus, a flute trio, the saxophone ensemble, and the concert choir. The flute trio was very enjoyable when they played "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy," and they were very memorable because before they started one of them wasn't sure where they left their music. The poor guy was probably very alarmed, and we could hear him as he turned and whispered hoarsely, "Where's my music?" Then very suddenly he realized that he was holding it in his other hand! Naturally this sent a ripple of laughter through the crowd and the band, and left him looking rather sheepish, though he laughed and took it well.

The rest of the concert was interesting but uneventful. The sax quartet played a beautiful arrangement of "Hark the Harold Angels Sing." It was also strange as I kept on recognizing various people: "Wait a second, that's the girl who was sitting in the front row at the Messiah sing next to one of the conductor's sons!" or "Sure enough! that's so-and-so from TCA!" "That is definitely my teacher's pupil's sister." Etc.; it's a small world, no?

When the choir sang I realized something important. It happened when they were singing "Big Band Santa" and I was almost positive that they were singing "Big bad Santa!" It just struck me that those people don't have anything worth singing about. How devastating is that? All they can do is make up little songs about "big bad Santa" and other such petty things. This realization gives me a huge new appreciation that we, as followers of Jesus, HAVE something to sing about! Isn't that just genuinely exciting?! I know it's something I tend to take for granted, but when you think about how others don't truly have anything to be really happy about, and we do, it's worth singing and rejoicing about it.

On Wednesday was the time for caroling. At seven I went down to the Main House and was astonished to enter the front hall and find it packed with fluffy people! Smothered in layer upon layer, peering out from underneath fuzzy hats and scarves, and looking rather hot at the moment but well prepared for the nearly 10 degrees outside. We then proceeded to stuff ourselves into the big vans, and I, as part of the overflow, found myself sitting in the back of the Mary's van next to someone who looked very Arab under a face scarf, but was in fact Katie. Next we drove hither and thither seeking whom we may devour--I mean, sing to. Following the appropriate rules for caroling, we wouldn't speak a word as we winced at slamming car doors and tromped, pretending to be noiseless, over the crunchy ice and up the walkway toward the front door. Then we would swing into a jolly carol, or into a more solemn "Silent Night" waiting in anticipation for the home owner(s) to come peaking out at us. A couple of people even began to take pictures of us as we stood there either talking or singing. We saw plenty of dogs, a college guy clad in shorts and bare feet, a woman who went running away to return with her baby, one of our few town librarians popping out surprisingly, a man with a strange accent, and several empty houses that could only listen silently to our singing, whether in delight or disfavor I could not tell, as houses are not generally emotional creatures. Lastly we got invited into a Hindu woman's house (all 32 of us, I believe), where she offered us hot chai that she had concocted herself. It felt good to stand in her living room, pressing my cold hands against my hot cup so that they tingled, and sipping my three inches of chai sparingly yet gratefully. She half reproached us for not telling her that there would be more of us coming, since she had prepared for us but hadn't expected so many. So finally we filed by the door and one by one received a hug or something such from her, and left behind the house, that despite the daunting fact that it hosted so many queer figurines and pictures of Hindu gods, was quite hospitable.

We returned to Fairwood and when entering the kitchen, were greeted by refreshing hot drinks that my mom made called Christmas Wassail that contained such things as cider, orange juice, lemonade, pineapple juice, allspice, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. All in all it was very yummy, and they were complemented by bizcochitos, which are a kind of sugar cookie that I labored hard that afternoon on and I make every year. The whole treat was a huge success, and made us all feel very warm and satisfied with the evening.

Sunday came and it was time for our Christmas program. This is when instead of a regular service we have contributions from people in the church. First of all came the A. family, Mary and Brandon herding their three older boys up the aisle and onto the platform in front of a little microphone. James and Jeff looked quite dashing in their bright red suits, and Jonathon stood tall in between them. We sang a carol before they started, and then it took Brandon and Mary several seconds to get James' attention, who seemed to be looking in every direction but at them. Then using they're parents' hand motion prompting, with big grins Jonathon and James recited a verse or two saying something like: "And the angel of the Lord said to them, 'Fear not. For on this day I bring to you tidings of great joy which shall be for all people.' " They did a very good job of it, and Jeff just stood there sucking his fingers and staring at his parents which completed the cute trio.

After that the P. family came up front and little Gabriel held the microphone while Shawn and Gretchen delivered the Lord's Prayer with him, though he frankly didn't seem to need a bit of help. The M. family did a quartet singing "In the Bleak Midwinter" and then my family was up for a little instrumental presentation. Other people, such as Katie, Nate and Amy, and Bonnie read stories or pamphlets, while others such as Mr. and Mrs. L., and Dave, gave testimonies. Also my dad had a slide show of Christmas cards and of God's promises with background music from my concert to make it more unusual. It wasn't long though before we were moving downstairs to relish the goodies and get started with our Yankee Gift Swap. Little needs to be said when you have one of these, because there is always going to be something funny to laugh about as forty people fight over they're favorite gift. I did have a time when I was examining a squishy frog that Nate had and apparently didn't want, when he tried to quickly snatch my present and give me his. I didn't allow this of course, and instead ended up with a Tintin book that though not new, I was happy to have for our family collection.

So then the week flew by, what with finishing school, shopping, picking up Kendra from the airport, visiting relatives and whatnot, Christmas Day finally came. Now that I've come to it I feel like it is the the thing I least feel like describing, so I'm going to let you down this time and completely ignore what our Christmas was like.

Yesterday we set out on a grand task. Mom, Chad, Craig, Kendra, and I drove into Manchester to hit the stores in picking things for Chad's condo. Boy, was it a job! It included debating over couch covers, colors, pillows, shelves, pictures, frames, knick-knacks, clocks, candles, curtains, and much more. Dropping by places such as Ocean State Job Lot, Consignment Gallery, WalMart, Pier 1, Home Goods, Building #19, and all "that good stuff," we painstakingly made decisions left and right, being careful not to throw around too much money. We made it back to Chad's condo between three and four, having spent all day just raiding stores. Now our work was cut out for us. It's not necessary for me to say much about such things, when it's just all one thing after another, as Craig's trained eye goes over every bare spot on the wall and determines what would be the perfect thing to draw the eye. Then came finding studs, using a level, argueing the height, screwing or nailing and finally hanging the artwork. Excuse me as my brain gets dull on the details, but we did so many things I hardly care to account for all of them, and I doubt you would like to hear all of it either. However, near the beginning we did take great pleasure in decorating Wesley's room to welcome him home late that night. I helped pick out a lovely pink and purple My Little Pony poster and with Mom's gumption to buy that and plenty of hot pink crepe paper, she and Craig set to work in decking Wesley's room just perfectly to fit his needs. If you had approached his room, you would have found a large pink bow greeting you on the door, and as you entered you would have seen pink streamers draping from his ceiling and around his window, and beside the poster in large pink letters "WC" inscribed on the wall. We got a great kick out of it, and I'm sure Wesley is extremely grateful.

Wow, I sure hope you haven't fallen asleep. Have a happy New Year!