Packing In the Holiday Cheer

Sorry we've been incommunicado for the last week or so -- it's tough to find time to sit at the computer when there's so much sledding, skiing, snowman making, and snowball hurling to do. Not to mention mitten drying, toe thawing, and hot chocolate drinking.

We have documented a small sampling of neighborhood snow creations -- if anyone knows who built the awesome igloo at Orca, please pass on our admiration & amazement!








In between it all, the grownups have been trying to fit in other things like wrapping up 2008 at work, acquiring & wrapping up presents for various friends & relations, and keeping food & coffee in the house -- tasks all rendered slightly more difficult when school's out and the kids are home and nobody really feels like driving around on the slippery unplowed streets.

Everybody has also made time for wonderful holiday traditions that somehow take on an extra magical glow when you have to bundle up and tromp through dark streets six inches deep in snow to get to them. Andrea and David hosted a Weihnachtsmarkt in their backyard: candle-lit trees, mulled wine, cookies, sauerkraut, and sizzling sausages -- doubly sizzling, even, as fat snowflakes fell on the grill...


At Amy's annual Caroling Party, we sang those beautiful religious songs you hardly ever hear anymore -- the ones about the baby and the shepherds and the angels and everything -- with all the verses, even the Latin ones... And the pagan & secular songs too, and "The Twelve Days of Christmas," twice! Mikala, who has been missing her step-grandfather's rousing "five gold rings" ever since he passed away a few years back, was pleased to hear Simon belting it out with the same joyful gusto.

Lisa pointed out the arrival pattern that developed at Amy's, where the front door opens directly into the livingroom: a family would clomp up the steps and begin to peel off layers of winter clothing on the porch. After a while the door would open, a coatless stocking-footed child would be thrust inside, and the door would slam shut again. Then another child, or perhaps a pair of boots, would be tossed in, and the door would shut once more. And finally the parents, arms full of coats and scarves and hats, would step gingerly over the pile of shoes and sweaters into the warm, bright, music-filled room.

Sunday night Bram and Aviva invited us over to celebrate the first night of Hannukah, with candles and songs and delicious curried sweet potato latkes. Bram expertly managed the dreidel game so as to avert tears & tantrums by ensuring a semi-equitable distribution of gelt, skittles, & white rabbit candy.

On Tuesday we joined in a surprise breakfast birthday party for Tiffy: the guests assembled upstairs in Dari & Mike's kitchen, and then, at the appointed hour, gathered in a corner of the living room right above the birthday girl's bed (in her basement apartment below) and began to sing "Happy Birthday" at the top of our lungs. She came upstairs aglow in her pajamas and was properly feted and made much of by her adoring fans.



So you can see that even though Trina's Solstice Spiral was snowed out and we were double booked the night of the Columbia-Hillman Festival of Lights and we couldn't manage to drag our California relatives through the icy slush to the Christmas Eve Party at the John-Smiths, there has been no shortage of seasonal festivities to go around.

Our own contribution to the holiday array was our third not-really-annual Mead Street Mummers Play. The mummers play, a British tradition that goes back hundreds of years, is a goofy skit performed at the new year, wherein the hero (usually St. George) slays a monster (usually a Dragon), is killed, and (with the help of a Doctor) comes back to life. It's that whole death-of-the-old-year, birth-of-the-new thing that brings us all hope in the dark of winter. We have played with the story some over the years -- our first hero was Good King Wenceslas, and last year it was Hans Christian Andersen's Old Oak Tree, which the Arborist brought back to life by planting an Acorn.

This year we went with the popular Northwest Coast legend "Raven Steals the Light." We had to tamper with it some to work in the required death-rebirth plotline, but we kept the basic story intact. After November's election, this tale of a trickster bringing back Light and Hope after a long dark night resonated with us more than ever.

Here Leo and Paul are rehearsing the musical interlude that accompanied the Pine-Needle-Grows-Into-Baby-Raven animated sequence.


And here we have the entire cast on stage during the opening scene:

This year's play cried out for special effects beyond our usual level of technical difficulty, which is pretty much limited to dimmer switches and flashlights. Fortunately we were able to recruit the assistance of Craig, who brought in real theater lights to give a bluish glow to the Dark Days and a warm yellow glow when the Light finally re-emerges. And Granny Shan (who is not only Miss Crisco '64 but also MIT '68) rose to the challenge we gave her when she got off the plane from LA: "Mom, can you make this jar and these LED lights into a Glowing Ball of Light?"

With two trips to Radio Shack and eager assistance from Simon, she produced the perfect prop for Ioan to grab out of the Sky Chief's box and wave triumphantly as he ran up the stairs to place it back in the Sky. As a sideline, she also presided over an exploration of electricity in general and chemical batteries in particular.

This vinegar battery is based on a YouTube video Simon came across, and to his great pride it produced enough power to run the calculator:


And it only took nine mandarin orange slices to light up the yellow LED light:


And now it's Christmas Eve, at last. Lexi and Jenny arrived from Oakland to great fanfare this morning, and after a frantic day of last-minute shopping and wrapping and snowball fights (and "The Day the Earth Stood Still" for some of us), we have finally hung up our stockings, put out a plate of Hannukah cookies for Santa to much on, and attempted to put the children to bed.

Poor Simon is trying desperately to fall asleep so morning will come sooner, but he's so jacked up it's an uphill battle. After two hours both his parents threw up their hands, and Lauren volunteered to lie with him for a bit. She wisely suggested that he try counting sheep, which maybe would work better if he didn't do it like this: "One sheep jumped over the fence. Two sheep jumped over the fence. Three sheep jumped over the fence and did a back flip in the air and exploded! And there were fireworks everywhere! And the whole town burned up! And his nose was a glowing ember!"

So, before I go back in to try a little soporific massage-lullaby combo on this excited, exhausted boy: Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Happy Solstice, and a Joyful Yule to all of you! May 2009 bring us Peace, and Change, and plenty of Mandarin-Powered Glowing Balls of Light -- if not Exploding Sheep.