Christmas – Part 1

I think of the current weather as “bleak midwinter” but it’s neither “mid” nor “winter”, this being December 23rd and San Francisco. What passes for winter here is fog, then drizzle, then rain and back to the beginning again. I will concede that this is better than sunshine, which is like a slap in the face at Christmas, so I’m hoping the grey weather will hold. I understand that my hope for – and indeed, expectation of – snow at Christmas is entirely a product of a.) Christmas songs, b.) Nordic roots, and c.) having been born in Boston, all of which suggest that snow is necessary. That’s a lot of weight for me to deny so I don’t bother. Just so you know, though, I do understand that, Bethlehem being in the Middle East, it didn’t snow there on December 25th or, for that matter, at any other time of the year. I also know, while we’re at it, that Jesus was likely born in the springtime, which is the time of the year when shepherds are out in the fields with their flocks by night, as the song goes. Baby lambs and so on. (I could omit the “baby” part there since all lambs are babies, but “baby lamb” sounds way cuter than “lamb.” Why? Because the lone word “lamb” makes me think of mint jelly.)

It’s Christmas and, as ever, I am excited beyond all reason. Being northern European, I like it that the northern Europeans won the Christmas traditions battle – snow, pagan tree, snacks stuffed in shoes, elderly men in sleighs – and I’m making a valiant effort this year to recreate some of them here. I’m keeping my expectations very, very low because the traditions I’m recreating involve a complicated iron cookie press, another cookie press that has little removable discs and a screw-like mechanism and, last and very not least, a quart and a half of hot oil. Should be good. And, you know, kid-friendly. Which is why we’re hosting an informal party to witness the action. I’m less likely to go completely around the Christmas curve if there are witnesses. (We’re also making Swiss snacky cakes in tribute to R’s genealogy. In contrast to the Swedish recipes, his involve largely dry ingredients and making things ahead. Figures. The Swiss are way more organized than the Swedes who are, less face it, pretty much house-bound and living through 20 hours of darkness at this time of the year. I could probably come up with some pretty creative cast iron and oil traditions too, given four months of that.)

I love Christmas. I have not abandoned my sanity however: I do not wear Santa pins. I do repeatedly listen to the King’s College Choir Festival of Lessons and Carols. See? Northern European. I am stressed out the same way everyone else is however, and no small part of that I’m sure is the writing, or, precisely, the lack of it. See, I finished my graduate school applications on the 14th this year, NYU having moved their deadline conveniently forward so as not to coincide with my or their holiday season. After two previous years of holiday / applications extravaganza, I thought I’d be relieved. Instead, I find myself feeling oddly at loose ends. All the presents are wrapped. The apartment is stellar condition. I organized the spice drawer today. Yesterday, I rolled up all the ribbon in the wrapping paper box and pinned it together with paper clips and rubberbands. Most telling of all, my back went out in breathtaking fashion yesterday, a sure sign that I need to get back to writing. (Don’t get all worked up that I’m a crystal-toting mind-body connection hippie. Unlike Tom Cruise, I think psychology is legitimate science and that we don’t know much about what goes on in the brain, so who’s to say my mind doesn’t play tricks on my back? Plus, my back started hurting like I’d been shot right about when I started writing full-time in September. Sort that one out if there’s no connection.)

To get back on track with my post-application work and keep myself from sinking into a holiday sloth of sugar and manicures, I’ll post something heartwarming every day, like a little, tardy, bloggy advent calendar.