Things hit a little different for me this year as the holiday season approached. Martha and I always do quite a bit of decorating for Christmas, but getting stuff out and placing it around the house felt, well, more meaningful to me this go-round. I suspect a large part of this is the recognition that, given the number of go-rounds remaining is finite and decreasing, I should make a conscious effort to savor and appreciate each one.
This feeling has manifested itself particularly with respect to items that came to us through our parents, that take me back to Christmases (long) past. I'll touch on a few.
--We put up two trees every year: a live one in the basement, and a skinny artificial one in the living room window that faces our cul-de-sac. We've taken to decorating the latter with old glass ornaments the two of us inherited.
Some date back well before my time, but there are a few I can recall placing on our tree in my youth--in this picture, there's the green frosted ball lower left, the red 'Silent Night' up and to the right, and the oddly-shaped one about halfway in between those two. I have a note that the candle at the top of the photo came from my maternal grandmother's mother.
--The creche my parents had is showing its age, with chips on some of the figurines and the cardboard manger sporting fatigue in spots. Still, we get it out every year and place it on the secretary in the basement (the one Martha got from her folks is more elaborate, in much better condition, and gets a more prominent spot upstairs).
(The peacock feathers, courtesy of my grandmother, are out year-round.)
--In his latter years, my father-in-law began collecting ceramic buildings and figurines from the Department 56 Alpine Village series. Each Christmas he would arrange them all on his desk, on top of cotton batting to create a snowy scene; each of the buildings has a hole in which you can insert a bulb for it to glow from within at night. The village grew in size over the seven-plus years I knew Austin, in part because additional pieces made for swell Christmas gifts. Martha and I wound up with vast majority of the collection following his passing in late 2002. We've set them up only a few times across the years, the last time well over a decade ago.
The feelings referenced in the first paragraph led me to suggest this past week that we bring the village out of storage for 2025. As you might imagine, it's a laborious process to arrange and string the lights underneath the batting, particularly when you create multiple levels using books or boxes. The process wound up taking longer than I'd hoped, but, as evidenced by the photo at the top, we had success. My one regret is the time consumed by assembly, as I fear stress levels over seasonal planning did not go down after it was finished.
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It's not going to a white Christmas anywhere near these parts, as high temperatures are projected to be in the 50s and low 60s all week. Late last week, though, it was much colder and a few inches of snow blanketed our part of Kentucky. The white stuff was still around on Tuesday, when I drove north to Warsaw, to place a wreath by my parents' graves. I've noted before that both Mom and Dad were buried with snow on the ground; my guess is this was my first visit to the cemetery under such conditions since then. I invariably carry on a one-sided conversation with them while standing there. This time I made sure to mention some of the decorations we have out that make me think of them.
I always have a short chat with Sharonda, the proprietor of the florist shop in Warsaw, when I pick up my orders. After mentioning I was going to check out the relatively new West Side Diner for lunch after walking the wreath to the cemetery, she reminded me about a burger on their menu. It's called the Bun Boy, a resurrection of an offering by a long-defunct restaurant of the same name that sat near the north entrance to town when I was growing up. While I don't recall consuming many Bun Boys (it's similar to a Big Mac) back in the day, I quickly recognized I couldn't resist this time.
When I walked in the restaurant, I immediately saw my college friend Spike dining with his family. About fifteen minutes later, Spike came over to my table. Our fathers had been best friends in college; Spike had followed in his dad's footsteps by serving as Gallatin County Attorney for a number of years. We caught up a bit while I ate my Bun Boy and Christmas tunes from Elvis and Gwen & Blake played in the background.
Afterward, I walked the couple of blocks it takes to get down to city park that's on the Ohio River. As I usually do, I took a couple of pictures--here's the one that looks upriver.
It's hard to tell but there's a small inlet not too far up on the right where years ago a ferry that traveled back and forth to Indiana landed. (I believe it stopped running in the late 70s after a bridge opened a few miles down the river.) After a stroll on the walkway that runs the perimeter of the park to read the children's book currently installed at equally-spaced stations (Bear Says Thanks, by Karma Wilson, courtesy of the local library), I hoofed it back to the car to head home. There's quite a bit of ritual to these semi-annual treks, but I'll admit I find some measure of comfort in carrying them out.
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Somehow I've only recently learned about Kate Bush's contribution to the Christmas music scene, "December Will Be Magic Again." Released as a single in 1980, it dented the charts in the UK then but never has managed to make its way into the canon of tunes that get played with great frequency this time of year. My knowledge of Bush's first albums is essentially limited to the songs appearing on her 1986 compilation The Whole Story; based on that, I hear in "December" trace elements of Never for Ever's "Army Dreamers" and "Breathing" (both of which were recorded around the same time as "December"). The song did not make a strong initial impression, but as I've continued to listen, I'm finding it growing considerably on me. I just may have to seek out one of the very few Christmas compilations on which it appears.
Ever before I knew of Bush's song, I was looking to rekindle some of the magic of Decembers past. Maybe I've made some headway that I can build on next go-round.
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