I'm dreaming of a pink Christmas

My taste has always hovered precariously close to tacky.  When I was a child, I would have given the world for one of those artificially colored and preserved roses suspended inside a lucite globe which you could buy at the supermarket.  My mother, guardian of my taste, refused, to my misery.  Luckily, I grew out of that one.

But last year, to my dismay, I found myself craving tacky 1950s bottlebrush Christmas trees in pink, turquoise, and silver.  So strong was the impulse that I succumbed.  I had three pink trees of various sizes, and one blue tree, and the ornaments were pink, light green, and turquoise shiny and matte balls, along with vintage silver glitter birds from my childhood.  I have to admit, it looked so delicious, my teeth hurt just remembering it.  Alas, I took no pictures.

This year, I was way behind the times, and didn't get the trees out of storage, so all I had were some very small bottlebrush trees in green and pink, and one larger tabletop tree of pink glitter, along with a 50s snowman and santa.  Nonetheless, it made me happy to look at.

There is something about some color combinations that is like a jolt of adrenaline - I feel my blood rushing and my heart pounding when I look at them.  Some pinks combined with glitter do that to me, as do pinks with some turquoises, some greens, and some aquas.  Just typing these words, I am suddenly salivating.

So, while it is true I am dreaming of a white Christmas outdoors, indoors, give me a pink Christmas any day.

Holidays

I tried something new this year for the holidays. I remember how excited I used to be as a child - the good cheer I could feel in the air around Christmas (my mother was Jewish, my father Lutheran, but it was my mother's idea to bring me up with Christmas!), the palapable excitement of taking my truly puny allowance and buying presents for my family and one or two friends.

One image stands out - an intricately carved Indian box with white inlay on the top my friend Andy gave me one year when I was 9 or 10 - it was redolent of magic and mystery. And I remember going to the 5 and 10 and picking out a turtle brooch with a red rhinestone eye for my mother and being really excited. I don't know if she ever wore it, but it was in her jewelry box when she died.

I miss that excitement. So I had an idea. This year, I have noticed to my chagrin that there are way fewer holiday lights bedecking the houses in my town in general, and on my street in particular.  I love holiday lights.  They cheer the dark winter nights and warm the hearts of passersby. They are a gift to all of us from the homeowners.  So I decided to let the neighbors on my block who put up holiday decorations know how much their effort was appreciated by leaving an anonymous thank you note and small gift at each doorstep to be discovered Christmas morning.  The idea of a mystery present and saying thank you to these generous people filled me with the old holiday anticipation and excitement - I was on a secret mission for Santa!

While I was doing some "touch-up" shopping for my family on Monday, I picked up four pretty but, to put it delicately, thrifty notebooks, along with four glittery gift bags and glittery tissue paper.  I wrote a note thanking each household for the holiday lights that brightened the street, the season, and our spirits, and tucked it into the bags, and then, last night, Christmas eve, around 1 am,  I ventured out, gleaming gift bags on my wrist, and quietly tiptoed up the steps of the four decorated houses to leave my gifts. As I left each present at the front door, I felt some of the innocent excitement I had felt as a child at giving someone a surprise gift. (I was also quite relieved not to hear sirens as the police responded to reports of a prowler scoping out front porches in the neighborhood!)

I felt satisfied and happy as I walked home in the snow, sheltered overhead by the stars shining in the bright, clear night sky. It felt like Christmas.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

This stanza from a poem by e e cummings fills me with excitement and joy. It reminds me of all the good and beauty and potential in the world, the wonders just waiting to be discovered if we look for them.

Somewhere inside, I believe in magic and enchantment lying just beneath the surface of what might be considered ordinary things: a gnarled root; a rushing stream; the still rooms of an abandoned house; a rusty, flattened bottle cap; a jar of silver glitter from my childhood.

And when I read this verse, greenly spirits leap within me and say YES!

Roses, Christmas, Snow: Beauty and Loss

"At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows."
William Shakespeare

This has long been my aspiration - to like of each thing that in season grows, but Winter is a tough sale for me. The days are short, the darkness penetrating, and it's cold, cold, cold, especially when - like me - you don't have a heating system in your house. Nonetheless, I get excited about snow, I love walking in winter-bare woods, it's cozy drinking hot chocolate in front of my toasty wood-burning stove, and there's nothing I can do about it, anyhow.

However, I can't suppress my satisfaction those years when my roses continue to bloom well into December. Maybe not until Christmas, but December 15 isn't bad, especially since two weeks ago we actually had snow, which excited me no end and prompted several photographs. There is such a crystalline, pure beauty about the snow-decked landscape; it is as sublime as the lushest garden in midsummer.

There are all kinds of spiritual lessons in Winter, too, but it is late, and I want to mention the loss of a wonderful, warm-spirited, truly consequential human being, the Bostoner Rebbe, Rabbi Levi Yitzchok Horowitz, of blessed memory. I discovered a few days ago that he died on December 5 at 88. When I was at Brandeis, I became a follower of his, and had I stayed in Boston, I believe I would be a Chasidista (female Hassidic follower) until this day. He was not perfect, of course, but he was warm, kind, compassionate, and principled, and he cared about people. I feel a deep sadness knowing he is gone, of course wishing I had found a way to communicate with him and let him know how to this day, his lessons and words have stayed with me, and that to this day, I think of him with respect and love. But maybe, since he was a Rebbe of exceptional spiritual gifts, he knows anyhow.

Flowers! Their beauty lifts the soul.

I was so surprised and delighted when Mon Tres Douce, Bon Aime Twin (I'm throwing in a leetle French for culture, although minus the accent marks I don't know how to do on this computer) sent me an amazing bouquet on the first day of Hanukah.

When I opened the door for the delivery person, I was at first struck by the almost vibratingly intense midnight blue delphiniums, set off by a huge pale blue hydrangea head of bloomlets. Then the beautiful white roses and snapdragons came into focus, along with purple iris and tiny white nameless flowers. The effect was so stunning I just stood and looked at it for a while after I got it situated on my ancient, shabby-but-antique breakfront. I cleared away some of the extra decorative items/clutter in honor of the bouquet's beauty. The vase is a dark blue glass - wow. I don't know what it is about flowers, but they have the ability to reassure me that there is wonderment in the world if you just look around, and that anyone can tap into the magic that brings joy by being open to it.

(And by the way, in case you haven't thought of it, wasn't it wonderful, generous, and thoughtful - as well as a bunch of other good things - of Twin to send me flowers? And for the non-French speakers in the crowd, Tres Douce means very sweet, and Bon Aime means much loved. Although maybe it should be Bien Aime. Oh well, culture is treacherous. Show off, and you get shown up.)

The magical effect flowers, foliage, trees, lakes, streams, etc. can have on me is why, a few weeks ago, when I felt really, really down and tearful, I decided finally to brave the woods lining Provincline Road along the back route to Mercer and Nassau Park Malls. I parked my car in a small, graveled indentation, and walked into the woods. There was a small river, or substantial stream, depending on how you look at it, and gnarled, twisted trees overhanging the water; trees so accessible even I dared scumble down a slight slope to sit in the hollow of some massive tree roots, feet dangling above the waters. Finally I began to feel some peace, some abatement of misery. That it took quite a while showed me just how unhappy I had been feeling, because usually the moment I have taken two steps into the woods, I feel uplifted.

I strolled along the water, coming finally to a small beachy plot with massive branches lying like the skeletons of prehistoric leviathans. I wove in and out, discovering to my delight clam and other shells lying open and empty, not at all what I would expect to find by a simple riverlet. I claimed some as my treasure.

Finally, after about an hour or so, I was ready to return to reality from that other-worldly place. With the shells in my pocket as talismen, I emerged back onto the busy road to finish my errands.

There are so many places to explore. I don't need the rain forest or the jungle; give me a small patch of woods, and be it ever so humble, it will contain secrets to soothe and restore my soul.

Today, however, my bouquet sits in front of me and makes me smile. I need no expeditions for a while.