Naturally, I have run out of oil. The furnace KNOWS when to do this. It knows that its mission in life is to wait until a fairly cold spell, with snow predicted, when I am expecting half the damned planet to make a social call. It just knows, and it plans. (I was going to say that it lies in wait, but being a furnace and therefore immobile it's not as though it might nip off for a smoke instead of lying in wait.)
Never fear: if you're intending to visit over next weekend, I'll have oil delivered by then, and the place will be back to its usual toasty-warm self (unless you're inhabiting the back bedroom, which never does seem to warm up).
Fortunately, there are things to counteract the cold. My hands are kept warm from the acres of Christmas correspondence. Like most people, I fall into the trap of sending cards to everyone I know. This is vaguely ridiculous, really: most of them are sent to people I see, or to whom I speak, on a very regular basis. Do they really need a separate card? Or, the cards go to old friends--as in, they're old friends because they were friends in a long distant time. I was quite fond of them, but I never see them OR speak to them anymore, so why are we still wasting thirty-seven cents on each other once per annum?
Because that's just what you do. The charm of the Christmas season lies in the comfort of its trappings. Every year we need to pull out tattered decorations from the '30s and '50s and reminisce about them. (One family I know seems to hate every Christmas ornament they possess. I've never figured that one out. Yet, their tree is always lovely.) We need to dust off forgotten pages of the address-books and send cards to those friends of long ago. At the very least, while we write the cards and as they read them, we will remember why we'd been friends all those years distant.
We need to go to church even if we haven't in years, because Christmas was always the most heartwarming time to be at church anyway. It also has the appeal of changing even less than our own family traditions. I think that my great-grandparents may have seen some of the same Christmas decorations at St. Alphonsus that I see now.
And we need to go berserk catering to all of those little details for Christmas. Things like the Rheb's candy shopping list: Kathy can't eat anything with nuts; Barbara likes caramels and mints. Jacques knows that I prize orange creams more than BG&E stock. Who is particularly fond of divinity, but won't eat fudge on a bet. Who thinks that the sun rises and sets on fruitcake (I mean the real stuff, not that unspeakable hydrogenated-oil-laden, congealed goo that comes from Hickory Farms). Who must have plain Stollen rather than the kind with cherries in the filling.
I think the most delightful, if the most labor-intensive, aspect of the holiday is the baking. (I say that every year, don't I? ) It's so nice to have the kitchen alive with activity, a pot of pralines getting happily sugary while two Gugelhupf rise away in the oven. Nice to bring out the mental log of who likes what; what will travel overseas and what won't.
Also, when the furnace has spitefully eaten the last of its oil, a busy kitchen is the warmest place in the house.
Never fear: if you're intending to visit over next weekend, I'll have oil delivered by then, and the place will be back to its usual toasty-warm self (unless you're inhabiting the back bedroom, which never does seem to warm up).
Fortunately, there are things to counteract the cold. My hands are kept warm from the acres of Christmas correspondence. Like most people, I fall into the trap of sending cards to everyone I know. This is vaguely ridiculous, really: most of them are sent to people I see, or to whom I speak, on a very regular basis. Do they really need a separate card? Or, the cards go to old friends--as in, they're old friends because they were friends in a long distant time. I was quite fond of them, but I never see them OR speak to them anymore, so why are we still wasting thirty-seven cents on each other once per annum?
Because that's just what you do. The charm of the Christmas season lies in the comfort of its trappings. Every year we need to pull out tattered decorations from the '30s and '50s and reminisce about them. (One family I know seems to hate every Christmas ornament they possess. I've never figured that one out. Yet, their tree is always lovely.) We need to dust off forgotten pages of the address-books and send cards to those friends of long ago. At the very least, while we write the cards and as they read them, we will remember why we'd been friends all those years distant.
We need to go to church even if we haven't in years, because Christmas was always the most heartwarming time to be at church anyway. It also has the appeal of changing even less than our own family traditions. I think that my great-grandparents may have seen some of the same Christmas decorations at St. Alphonsus that I see now.
And we need to go berserk catering to all of those little details for Christmas. Things like the Rheb's candy shopping list: Kathy can't eat anything with nuts; Barbara likes caramels and mints. Jacques knows that I prize orange creams more than BG&E stock. Who is particularly fond of divinity, but won't eat fudge on a bet. Who thinks that the sun rises and sets on fruitcake (I mean the real stuff, not that unspeakable hydrogenated-oil-laden, congealed goo that comes from Hickory Farms). Who must have plain Stollen rather than the kind with cherries in the filling.
I think the most delightful, if the most labor-intensive, aspect of the holiday is the baking. (I say that every year, don't I? ) It's so nice to have the kitchen alive with activity, a pot of pralines getting happily sugary while two Gugelhupf rise away in the oven. Nice to bring out the mental log of who likes what; what will travel overseas and what won't.
Also, when the furnace has spitefully eaten the last of its oil, a busy kitchen is the warmest place in the house.
posted by Daniel | 1:36 AM
4 Comments:
You know as well as I do the reason the back bedroom doesn't warm up... :-)
That reminds me, I have to get the christmas cards mailed this weekend.
(HUGS from FL)
dale
Whoops -- that reminds me. Gotta get the Christmas cards out myself. Since Pam takes care of so much this time of year (well, let's be honest -- all year), I tend to forget my own responsibilities.
Alas, we won't be able to come up to visit; yeah, I know it's starting to sound like an old refrain, but seriously, I'm buried at the office (and will be until the evening of the 22nd). And then after the holidays I'll be slammed until mid-January -- actually, if this new project comes through, it looks like mid-February (though I might be able to pace myself there).
I'll give you a call before the holiday, though, and we'll catch up.
And, obviously, you can expect the card...
Let me set the record straight. The collective "we" does not hate every ornament. At least one of us hates only about every other ornament. We hang them to spite each other. . . . It's a beautiful tradtion.
(You were talking about us, right?)
Dale: Yes, I know. They could at least do their part to keep the fargin' place warm this time of year, discorporeal or not.
Bill: You suck, but you will suck even more if you don't post for New Years.
Lisa: Of course I was talking about you. It's actually rather refreshing; the usual sentiment revolves around a beloved family ornament or six; yours revolves around hanging one just to annoy the others.
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