CHRISTMAS PAST

My gang arrives today. Nostalgia for Christmases past and simpler times come to mind as I sort through old cards, but I know, Christmases past are best remembered and not relived.  I wonder how different my kids remembrances of Christmas will be as they get older and look back.
The beautiful lettering on this card, along with the clothing says “old-fashioned”.

Children cry when meeting a scary department store Santa. What would it be like to see this Father Christmas at the door? Smithsonian Magazine’s website asked people to vote for the scariest Santa from about twenty pictures. There were some doozies.
Quaint language tickles my fancy since I love poetry and doggerel, both :
When Christmas comes to your abode,
May care be laid aside,
That naught but cheer, good will and mirth,
And joy and peace abide.
or:
We wish you a glad, merry Christmas
Surrounded by dear ones and friends;
We wish you a sweet, pleasant pathway,
For New Year, wher’er it wends.
And from 1931 :
We hope you’ll have a drumstick that is eatable,
Potatoes mashed , and gravy of the best,
A slab of mince or pumpkin pie unbeatable,
And-it doesn’t  matter much about the rest.
.
Today, I’ll finish any cooking to be done ahead of time, clean out the ashes in the stove, stack in some wood, turn on the music and wait for the best part of Christmas-the family’s arrival.

THE BARREL ROOM PARTY AT CHATOM

Tasters usually snug up to the tasting room bar for the fine wines at Chatom, and maybe enjoy a bit of chocolate or an olive spread and cracker. I love the sunny tasting room at Chatom, and the wines, the frog balls and other eccentric gifts but once a year during the Christmas Season, Chatom hosts a party in the barrel room for members.

It is one of the best parties of the season and Margo, Karen, Jan and I enjoyed the wonderful food and camaraderie even though I’m no longer a member. Gay Callen started the winery in 1982 or 3, I believe it was. My youngest son planted vines for Stevenot’s Vineyards under her direction in 1979 .  She later developed her own vineyard. He developed a high school  crush on Gay and loves to tease and remind her about those days. (Doug wasn’t the only high school boy with a crush on Gay during that planting season.)

These two women, and a guy, who was taking a break when I took the picture, have played this party every year for the last twelve. Beautiful voices that rival some famous folk singers I’m fond of. Unique about them is Chatom’s Christmas Party is the only gig they play. They enjoy it as much as we enjoy them.

Singer and hunter seems a strange combination.  Though I’ve never gotten her name, she confided she had recently made her first kill. My look must have expressed alarm. “Its more humane than the way our meat is raised and killed,” she defended. “A head shot kills instantly, there is no suffering.”  She hails from a hunting family. I do too. My father was a great hunter, and we farmed and butchered our own hogs and chickens. I was taught to handle a gun at age six and encouraged to hunt partridge. I never did like killing any critter. Even when I was a competition skin diver, I disliked killing the fish and never hunted outside of a meet. I’m not being judgmental of her choice to hunt, just surprised. Her statement is absolutely correct about the way our meat is “factory farmed” and killed. In a word, inhumane.

As we wandered about the room, visiting with anyone in sight, courteously, we introduce ourselves to each other, but the names all float away in my head. This woman approached me because we have the same Christmas bell earrings and a necklace. Just fun, cheap costume jewelry from years past. She told me something very funny I intended to blog. It too, floated out of my head. I  enjoy chatting with friends and strangers. After all, a stranger is just a friend you don’t know well yet.

Santa was present again this year; he is  from Copperopolis. He has no role in the party but does play Santa for non-profits, free of charge. A service he loves to provide.

Jan wanted her picture taken with Santa to prove to her grandchildren Santa is real. It is nice to have a Santa with real hair and beard. And it was very nice to join the throng at Chatom’s barrel room and taste and nibble for an hour or so. There was a time when I would get dismayed at how early the Christmas season started. Not now!  I enjoy the extended party season and all the wonderful colors, music and special treats. Of course, I don’t have young Children and a dream to perpetuate at Christmas. I just have fun.

CLARK CLEMENT MOORE AND MAJOR HENRY LIVINGSTON JR.

   Yesterday, when I spoke of the Christmas card with the poem, "T'was The Night Before Christmas", I deliberately didn't put the author of that poem as Clark Clement Moore, even though I'm ancestrally related to him. He was a sour, difficult,  and mean spirited man and there is evidence to suggest he was not the author. His peer, Major Henry Livingston Jr., related to Moore's wife, is more likely the author. I read a comprehensive article some years back  about the investigation into the true author of the poem and came away convinced it was Livingston's name that belongs next to this poem. Just for the heck of it, I looked it up on Wikipedia and I was amazed to see Wikipedia has a briefer version of the debate. You may look it up if you'd like at this link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Visit_from_St._Nicholas

The poem has had major influence over the magical games we play at Christmas with our young children. It has, in essence, given definition to the gift giving, charitable figure that left presents for children in their socks or shoes over the centuries in many cultures. The actual title of the poem is "A Visit From St. Nicholas."  St. Nicolas was a real person with a history of his own that represents the charitable side of man's nature, mostly lacking during centuries of hungrier times.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Nicholas
 There are cards that depict St. Nicholas, with his flowing beard, walking with a staff, with his pockets overflowing with presents. I couldn't find the one I had in mind. But with that poem we metamorphosed St. Nicholas into the jolly red suited fat man we know as Santa Claus. And, even he has changed over the years.

From an old fashioned guy like this one...

To a slimmer, hardworking guy like this one. Its all fun.,
Wikipedia, by the way, is a free service. A very valuable one in my opinion. They are stressed for operating cash and are looking for donations. If you can send them a fiver once a year,  we can hope they will always remain free. There isn't very much that is truly free these days.
Cheers!