A Christmas to Remember

This year for Christmas my bride and I "escaped" onto a five day northwestern Caribbean cruise.In many ways it was just what the doctor ordered for us both.
Here are a few observations I noted during the voyage.

(Somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, 12/23/23) -
I am sitting in the 11th Deck common serving area, on the northbound end of a southbound cruise ship, the RCCL/Voyager of the Seas. It's not quite noon in this latitude, and the late breakfast crowd is slowly shuffling out as the early lunch bunch arrives.
The wait staff has been here since before 6am.
 

The wrap around windows here provide a 180° view that encompasses the stern and a magnificent perspective of twin trails of aquamarine and white foam marking the track of the vessel.
It is sublime.
 

There is a literal parade of humanity aboard the Voyager: Families celebrating Christmas at sea--some for the first time--and some that are 'old salts' at cruising. Some have packed matching pajamas in red or green plaids, posing before giant-squid sized Christmas trees on the 5th deck promenade.

 

There would seem to be a clash of cultures, with young women in braids, mid-cropped T's, and short shorts leaving little to the imagination; proper, Asian families of three and four generations, nappily dressed with children perfectly comported; African men in Arabic kaftans and their wives (only one, each!) elegantly ornate with jewelry and designer jogging suits.
But it's Christmas weekend, and everyone is pretty harmonious, with peace on earth,
goodwill to men, and all that jazz.
Even in the food serving lines.
 

There's another parade, here, too, comprised of a multi-national serving crew. Name tags proudly boast polysyllabic proper nouns with more consonants than the tongue can comprehend, and their national origins are added as if an after thought: South Africa, Malaysia, Philippines, and Ghana among the place names I recognize.
Others I file away to research later.
 

A lovely woman with a long, dark, braided pigtail and wide hips navigates between the jumbled tables with a serving tray, retrieving used dishes. Her uniform trousers bunch
around her ankles because the cut of the pants are a little long because of the accommodation they provide for her hips. She circulates tirelessly in the swarming crowd of cruisers.
 

We will arrive at our first port of call by noon tomorrow, Christmas Eve Sunday. Plenty of time for breakfast and an informal worship service among like-minded friends before the ship disgorges her human cargo to ravage the shopping stalls ashore like a hoard of locusts.
 

The ship tracks ever southward, gently rocking in the swells of the Gulf of Mexico. A  cacophony of a half-dozen languages echoes through the dining lounge.
It is a Christmas to remember.

A COVID Christmas

 

So, it’s the night before Christmas, and down at the HEB
not a parking spot remains as far as the eye can see.
People are pretty jovial, in a gallows-humor kind of way,
They know there’s no such thing as Santa and his sleigh.

The bake shop is bustling, home-shoppers are hustling,
and the food samplers are holding sway;
‘Cause who doesn’t like free food while bumping elbows in the store on the night before Christmas Day?

This year’s Christmas is different in so many ways…
the anticipation of family together for a few days
has been shattered by diagnoses of COVID and such,
we’re not getting to spend that time together so much.

So, my wife swapped her kerchief for a face mask instead,
as she’s in quarantine--we must sleep in separate beds.
We watch separate TV’s, and sit five yards apart;  
this social distancing thing really is such a farce.

The stockings were hung from the mantle with care,
in hopes that our grand-kids soon would be there;
But COVID’s put a kabosh on our plans for family fare--
they’ve bugged out to Hempstead to spend their Christmas there.

We’re spending Christmas with each other and the nasty, ol' ‘VID;
watching holiday movies and swilling NyQuil, this illness to rid.
As for Fauci and the others who’ve politicized this craze--
We’ll have a Merry COVID Christmas in spite of you.

(With apologies to the estate of Clement Clarke Moore)

Family Traditions at Christimas

Lots of families have traditions at Christmastime that are passed down from year to year.
Some of them are so old, no one remembers exactly how or why they came to be; it's just the way things have always been done. In our family, a great-grandmother's recipe for ginger bread cookies, made from pure cane molasses is the most anticipated, most sought after gift of the season. 

As my great grandmother and grandmother did in Christmases past, my aunts and mother and father have faithfully replicated the recipe each year. My Bride now does an admirable job of precisely duplicating the flavor and texture of those beloved gingerbread cookies, as well. And so that tradition will continue with the next generation.

Other traditions are more recently inaugurated, and with the advent of the Internet and social media, their origins can be more precisely traced.  Such is the annual re-gifting of the opened jar of chocolate nuts in our family. 

Admit it--we all re-gift.  But who would re-gift an obviously opened package?

The year before my younger brother died, our family had gathered on Christmas Day to exchange gifts and share a meal, before driving to nearby Wharton County for an extended-family holiday reunion.  There were four siblings in my immediate clan; I am the oldest, followed by three years by Craig. Our sister, Kay, is five years younger than me; and Scott, the youngest brother, is 12-years my junior.

Scott was always the one getting into mischief without really trying when he was growing up. He wasn't a bad kid--he was uniquely intelligent, and always wanted to keep up with his older brothers and sister. Our mother had her hands full as she raised us, and being frugal, she would plan ahead for things like Christmas gifts--often buying items earlier in the year for Yule time giving.

For this particular Christmas weekend, our mother had placed jars of chocolate covered almonds in a festive gift bag for each of us. One by one, we each opened our jar of chocolate nuts, and immediately munched on a handful. Craig, however, had a bemused expression on his face, and nudged me to show what was in his bag. It was the same jar of nuts, alright, but the vacuum seal had already been broken...and half the contents were gone!

(We later learned Mom had bought the nuts back before Thanksgiving. Scott had apparently been unable to wait, and opened one of the jars to "sample" the wares. Our mother, unaware of the pilfering, prepared the jar for giving...to Craig.)

When Scott looked over and saw Craig's half-empty jar of chocolate nuts, he burst out laughing, as did the rest of us, when we learned what had happened.
By the Spring, Craig would be gone, a victim of Leukemia.

 The following Christmas was a somber one; the first one without Craig. We all put on brave faces and gathered again for gift-giving and meal sharing, with an even closer bond with one another because of the shared loss of our brother, spouse, father, grandfather and son. 

My daughter made a special Christmas tree ornament for everyone that year with a photo of Craig placed in the center of a large, wooden snowflake. There were more than a few tears and sobs as we each opened that gift.

Scott passed to me a rumpled gift bag with tissue paper stuffed in the top. I reached in and pulled out a jar of chocolate covered almonds...half empty. As I opened the lid, I noticed a post-it note stuck to the vacuum seal, still partially attached to the mouth of the jar.

"Remember last year when we all laughed so hard together!" the note said, written in my youngest brother's unmistakable architect's scrawl. "Will be one of my favorite memories!" 

I think I had a pretty hard time reading the last line because my vision had become suddenly blurry with flurry of tears. And then I laughed, and Scott laughed, because it had been a pretty funny incident.

That was three years ago.
This year, once again, Craig's ornament graces our tree, smiling back at the room as if to share a private joke or two. This week, as my Bride and I re-packed that same, opened jar with more chocolate covered almonds, I noticed it looked odd.
It was full.

In order to maintain the authenticity of the tradition, I had to "remove" a few of the nuts.
The tradition will continue.

O Christmas Tree

Thanksgiving is behind is, (barely) and the holiday season is officially ON.
My first chore: staging the various components of the family talisman, the Clanton Tannenbaum. It never goes without a hitch, and so, may I present my tribute to this year's tree:

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
Thy leaves are so unchanging;
But flattened here, and scrunched-up there--
They do need re-arranging.

O Christmas tree, thou mockest me,
With half thy boughs be-lighted.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
With what plastic malady be blighted?

The last year spent in attic's sleep,
Awaken, o ye plastic lumber;
Could your Summer's stay in temps of Kelvin
This season prove a colossal blunder?

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
Frustration do you bring me;
For every year this plastic shrub
Becomes a polyvinyl meany.

Each burned out light,
Each Scotch-taped bell,
No one alive challenges me as well...

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
At the curb this year you'll be hanging.

(apologies to Ernst Anschuzt and Melchior Franck