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Posts tagged ‘Christmas’

A Christmas Convert

Well, over the last month Andra has made much out of the fact that I, MTM, was rather Grinch-like in my pre-Andra days. It is true that I had but two modest Christmas decorations then; certainly not the two-trees-worth I now share with Andra. It might be tempting to read between the lines of recent posts to conclude that I have suddenly embraced or am at least empathetic to the outpouring of ornaments that now adorn our home.

The truth is that I have been seduced not by sultry Santa stampings or alluring icicle adornments; it is the the temptations of Tradition that have taken hold of this tempered soul and transformed me into a Christmas convert. This is a much harder admission for someone whose ethic has long skewed to the progressive and modern…or as Andra has put it so often and honorably: Modernist Minimalist MTM.

To claim a tradition risks an admission of sentimentality; a difficult admission, especially for me. But here we are, ALW and MTM ensconced in the same hotel room, in the same northern city, doing the same thing we have done every year for the past ten (which conveniently corresponds to every year we have been in each other’s lives). Is this reiteration a force of habit, a lack of creativity or a fear of the unkown? I am confident that is not the case, as nearly every day of our marriage is embraced as a new revelation. Our extensive travels represent a kind of rootlessness, an antithesis to tradition. So what is it about this recurring Christmas custom we have to come to Montreal and cocoon in the cold and snow?

In my mind, ours is not a rejection of traditions we have been born into, whether they be expectant family gatherings or reverential rituals. Rather, I believe our coming to Quebec is a commemoration of our discoveries in common. That first Noël we shared was not intended to be an adventure, nor was it truly pregnant with the expectation that this would be a world-changing event, but nevertheless it changed us both. Or changed us into Both.

From that point forward we would always be Us, rather than her and him. As we learn new things everyday, things about each other and about the world, we do so together. And that has become our tradition. It is about more than the memories we share, it is about the discoveries we will make and the challenges we will conquer.

Notwithstanding all the memories attached to the ornaments that weigh down our trees back in Charleston, we are here and now celebrating our own Christmas tradition of looking to dreams of tomorrow and the new horizon that is still out there, continually receding as we hopefully charge towards it.

And so I have come to learn that the two ornaments that represented my Christmas tradition for so many years were one too many; it is my gift to have the one and only Andra by my side on this journey into the unknown. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

christmas gift

This post is part of the series Roll Out the Holly, about the stories Christmas ornaments can conjure. Click here to read the series from the beginning.

Mama Get Your Gun Redux

In honor of my father’s Southern Gothic purchase of a Beretta for my sweet mother, a repost.

When I was little, my Mom had this incredible purse. One of those highly-structured bags from the 1960′s, it was covered in tan snakeskin with an off-center brass clasp along the top. Even the interior was lined with leather. Oh, I was too tiny and oblivious to appreciate all of these details back then. I merely thought the purse was pretty.

Mom had this bag made for her by someone in Nashville, Tennessee. I don’t know whether she designed it herself or if she let the maker draw it up for her. Either way, it was, to me, a priceless work of art.

My Mom is the most beautiful woman I know. Still. But, carrying that purse, she was electrifying.

The chic designs of the 1960′s gave way to the fashion disasters of the ’70′s, and Mom put her out-of-vogue pocketbook away, storing it far in the back of her closet, on a shelf at the top. For years, I never saw it.

But, I never forgot it.

When she asked me what I wanted for Christmas a couple of years ago, my mind raced back to that vanished bag. Of all the things I could think of that conjured my mother, nothing did it for me better. “Do you still have that big snakeskin pocketbook?” I asked, trying to be casual and not give away how much I craved it.

“That old thing? THAT’S what you want?” she asked, incredulous.

When I nodded, she said distractedly before hurrying off down the hall, “Well, I’ll have to go get the guns out of it first.”

Guns?

?

!

MTM and I exchanged a look before quickly following her to her bedroom, the doorway into which we both saw her disappear. When we got there, she was up on a chair, rooting around in the top of her closet. She moved boxes and shoes and all manner of detritus before, finally, pulling that purse from the farthest corner. Even covered in dust, it was gorgeous. My breath caught in my throat, and I reached my hands out eagerly to touch it again for the first time in years.

Instead, she moved past me and put the bag on the bed, clicking open the clasp to reveal two guns: a Glock-type handgun and an antique pearl-handled pistol. She started to stick her hand in there and pull one out, when MTM stopped her. I don’t know whether this was all too Southern Gothic for him or what, but he did not want my mother handling her own guns. He eased them out of the purse like he was handling nuclear weaponry.

He and I were both shocked to see that the antique gun was loaded. Every chamber contained a bullet. MTM cried, “What are you DOING with this in the house? I’m taking these bullets out right now.”

My Mom – my prim, proper, dainty, Southern-lady Mom – said, “But, if someone breaks into the house, I want to be able to defend myself.”

How she planned to defend herself when it took her at least five minutes to FIND the bag that contained the guns in the first place was a mystery to both of us. MTM unloaded the weapon and left the whole mess there on the bed, and we’ve never seen those guns again.

Who knows where she’s hiding them now. If I ask for her wedding dress, will it come with guns attached?

Mom with her spanking new Beretta

Show Me the Money!

Oops. I don’t have any money to give away in honor of your week-long Christmas music comment-a-thon, Dear Reader. But……….

I do have some Christmas music!

And the winner of a CD or download (winner’s choice) of Pink Martini‘s Joy to the World is…………..

Robert Johnson at The Quotidian Hudson! Congratulations, Robert. I hope this selection will not offend your musical sensibilities.

The winner of a CD or download (winner’s choice) of Elton John’s Christmas Party is……………

Angie Mizzell at AngieMizzell.com! Now, you can persecute Shawn with It Doesn’t Often Snow at Christmas all year long!

Both winners will also receive a small sampling of Cootchie Hooch, our home-brewed arancello. It will be ready to drink on or after Valentine’s Day (because, you know, we MUST start talking about Valentine’s Day the day after Christmas.)

Thanks to everyone who shared a story last week. This is a series I will enjoy reading over and over again, because your taste, choices and enthusiasm made the experience for me.

I wish you a quiet, peaceful last week of 2011. Thank you for reading this little blog and for contributing to a community that enriches my life.

A Christmas Hallelujah

For the remainder of this week, I am writing a series on specific Christmas songs and the memories they invoke for me. It’s unapologetically the holiday I celebrate, though I enjoy reading and hearing about others in the spectrum. Throughout the week, please leave your favorite songs from the daily genre in the comments. At the end of the week, I will draw a name, and the winner will receive a CD or download of one of the genres mentioned to enjoy next year (and I will up the ante with some Cootchie Hooch.) The more you comment, the greater your chance to win.

Where Her Majesty is today.

Our Christmas tradition. For nine years running, MTM and I have spent Christmas in Montreal. The same room at Hotel Gault. The same Christmas Eve gastronomy. The same Christmas Day routine.

(For those of you wondering which one of us has family in Canada, neither of us do. Our secret to a happy marriage is not spending family holidays with family.)

Christmas Day, we tune in to Radio Classique Montreal. They always broadcast a version of the complete Handel‘s Messiah. (To download the best one ever, follow this link to the Dunedin Consort’s Grammy-winning version.) Without Handel, Christmas is incomplete. The whole pomp of it has come to represent the day for me.

We listen to the Christmas speech by Queen Elizabeth II, recorded prior to her decampment to Sandringham House and broadcast on Christmas Day. Always, we order room service, sometimes breakfast and dinner, others breakfast only. Movies are always on the agenda. This Christmas, MTM is suffering through the entire BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. I take a bath or two. We nap, and we watch the snow fall. With all my being, I try to beat MTM at cards and Yahtzee.

We never leave the room. Nue de Noel is the only way to celebrate the day. :) If you’re around today, please share your Christmas traditions in the comments.

Merry Christmas, Dear Reader. May peace, happiness and prosperity follow you throughout the coming year and in life beyond.

It Doesn’t Often Snow at Christmas

For the remainder of this week, I am writing a series on specific Christmas songs and the memories they invoke for me. It’s unapologetically the holiday I celebrate, though I enjoy reading and hearing about others in the spectrum. Throughout the week, please leave your favorite songs from the daily genre in the comments. At the end of the week, I will draw a name, and the winner will receive a CD or download of one of the genres mentioned to enjoy next year (and I will up the ante with some Cootchie Hooch.) The more you comment, the greater your chance to win.

When MTM and I decided to wed, it meant merging lots of things. Victorian antiques and modernist minimalist sticks. Architecture books and trashy novels. Clashing collections of music.

I fear MTM almost called off the whole wedding bells business over my adoration of Elton John. He cannot stand him. Me? Well, let’s just say I almost cried when I got to tour a shoe factory in Northamptonshire and saw several pairs of his brighly colored brogues on display. Fairy dust of Sir Elton‘s things fluttered around me in the circle of shoe life. I actually had a conversation with Simon, our guide, about having a pair of Sir Eltons crafted for me. When he named the price, I had to come down in time and realize the utter preposterousness of such a discussion in the first place.

Hard times call for desperate measures. A couple of years ago, MTM sought a Christmas collection that wasn’t like anything else I possessed, something that would scream ‘the one’ to him. A colorful cover danced into his sightlines, and he decided to let the bad blood between him and Sir Elton go once and forever. He bought me Elton John’s Christmas Party and brought it home with a look of utter sacrifice on his face.

The weight of the world lifted from my shoulders as I pressed Play. Except for the Flaming Lips, the whole collection was the antithesis of anything MTM would ever, EVER choose, while it sent me into a reverie of big hair and high school. Some of my favorite times from teenagerdom happened while Sir Elton or The Pet Shop Boys boogied in the background.

And, lo! The Pet Shop Boys were on the CD, too, returning me to the paradise of being young, my life uncharted before me. It Doesn’t Often Snow at Christmas became my surprise Christmas anthem, the song I never thought I’d like that I play year-round.

Do you have a surprise Christmas favorite?

Is there a song you can’t believe you sing every holiday, one that you connect with on some deeper level or place in your past? Share your selections today in a comment.

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