Happy December, Okay?

Long before Moses

....before Jesus

and before Mohammed

Before Rome, before Wiccans and pagans, back to the dawn of man, mankind turned its frightened yet hopeful face to the sky and recognized that something wondrous happened in the dead of winter. We call it the winter solstice now—the shortest day of the year, the day when night stops its steady swallowing of the sun and the sun hangs in the sky just a few minutes longer, day by day, promising another year, another seedtime, another harvest. Most historians agree that the winter solstice is precisely why so many religions that originated in the northern hemisphere have major celebrations around this time.

To me, it’s both silly and intolerant for any one group to object to a joyful and sincere “Happy Holidays” as if they own December and no one else has any right to it.

So happy Hanukkah everyone! Spin a dreidel for me.

Joyous Kwanzaa! May everyone grow stronger with the seven principles for guides.

Merry Christmas! Peace and love to all mankind.

And for those of the Seinfeldian persuasion (you know who you are), Happy Festivus!

Finally, in the spirit of the season, I’m passing along the greetings sent out this year to the clients of a West Coast law firm (click here 2010 or on the 2010 below. Be patient. It takes a 60-90 seconds to load). Hope to see you back here in January 2011!

2010

CHRISTMAS IN OCTOBER

Outside, leaves are beginning to show a faint hint of fall’s changing colors. My summer flowers are still blooming profusely, roses are still sending out new buds, and even the magnolia has decided it could get in another few fragrant blossoms.

Inside, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Or so I hope.

A videographer is coming this morning to film a trailer for Christmas Mourning, which is due out in November. I will talk about Christmas in Deborah Knott’s Colleton County and I’m hoping I’ve scattered enough candles and greenery around to set the mood. I’m trusting that the camera’s eye will not stray to the windows where trees in full leaf can still be seen nor note that there is no fire burning on the hearth.

But I do love Christmas and even though it’s October, I will enjoy talking about the holiday season and getting a small preview of December. I may tell how tangerines will always be the smell of Christmas morning for me. That was the only time we had them when I was a child. My mother used to put at least two in each stocking because they took up so much space she hoped we might not notice how little Santa had left us. In the book, Kezzie Knott has his own memory of Christmas tangerines and it involves the best mule he ever owned. I hope it will make you laugh and call up your own holiday memories.

Rituals of the Season

Those of you who follow this blog may remember that I posted a Christmas story last year called “Other People’s Rituals,” which first appeared in the December 1978 issue of McCall’s Magazine.  In it, I described a wife and mother whose husband drives them from North Carolina to New Hampshire every Christmas.  The wife, Kate, feels that her contributions to the holiday are lost amid the gathering at her sister-in-law’s house, and she regrets that her four children’s memories of Christmas will have little to do with her.  On the long drive north, she learns for the first time just how much her make-do rituals have meant to her children.

When the story was first published, I received many nice letters and several of you wrote me when I posted it last year.  It was immensely gratifying to learn that it touched so many people.  This past week, I received a letter that delighted me all over again.  The writer has given me permission to share her story with you.  (I have edited for length and to maintain her privacy.  Otherwise, the words are all hers.)

I just re-read a short story you wrote for McCall's magazine December 1978 issue called "Other People's Rituals". I have a photo copy of the original because the magazine pages got so worn and fragile over the years.  I want you to know that I keep this story in a special place and bring it out every Christmas to read (several times during the holiday!). When I first read it I was not married, had no children and had never spent Christmas anywhere but home with my parents and older brother and sister. However, for some reason the story really touched me. It still brings a lump to my throat when Kate realizes how much her contributions are tied to everyone's memories.

Now, some 31 years later I can relate in some way to Kate. I married, had two children and am now divorced, but along the way I found rituals of my own that I felt didn't matter.   Years ago I started a Victorian Christmas village with a church, a general store, a candy store and a house. Since that time the village has grown to 28 buildings and countless accessories along the way.  Enough to take up the space of two 6' tables along the back wall in our living room!  I had made up my mind that this year I just didn't have the energy or interest in putting it up, even though my two kids [now college age] always pitched in to help. I really didn't think it was that big a deal. We-l-l, was I wrong!!  We usually hauled the boxes up from the basement the Saturday after Thanksgiving and spent most of the day building our little village. When I announced during Thanksgiving dinner that I thought we'd skip it this year you could have heard a pin drop. Both kids joined in to let me know that the village was going up "or else".   We spent Saturday putting up the village and each piece evoked memories of the year we got it. My son's girlfriend joined in the fun and I couldn't believe how many details of past years he remembered and related to her. My daughter reminded me that I promised her she could have the barn because I had dragged her all over town hunting for one when she was six.  Hearing them, I felt like Kate in your story. My little village that I thought meant something only to me was just as important to my children. As a joke I told them to mark the pieces they wanted and someday, when they had their own homes, their choices could start their own villages.  They immediately scattered to find a marker!! Oddly they chose different pieces and accessories based on their own memories. Only occasionally did I have to step in with a coin toss!  Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that after all these years your story still means a lot to me and I have come to realize my rituals mean something to other people too.  

What family rituals make your own holiday celebration uniquely yours?  I would love to hear from you and will print as many as I can next week.  (Click the contact button above.)

’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house . . .

The last of summer’s tomatoes are dribbling in and last week I made ketchup.  Nothing to it, right?  Just stew down the tomatoes, sieve out the seeds and skins, add a little vinegar and seasonings and there you are, right?

Wrong.                                               

It’s very hard to make something you don’t like as much as I don’t like ketchup.  Even harder is trying to correct the seasonings on something hot that’s supposed to be eaten cold.  Very difficult to judge if everything's in the right proportion.

And what does making ketchup have to do with Christmas?

Ever since May, through the heat of June, July, and August, I’ve had to immerse myself in thoughts of December’s chill while sweltering under a summer sun, to picture sleet storms and icy winds while wilting in front of a fan, to think of carols and fruit cake while beach music is playing and hot dogs are cooking on the grill—in short, trying to write a Christmas book in summer is very much like making ketchup when you’re not sure how it’s supposed to taste.

If all goes well, Christmas Mourning, the sixteenth Deborah Knott novel, will be out next August and it will feel like a traditional holiday book.  It’s set in Colleton County again and I’ve spent the last week tweaking and polishing and adding a few scenes.  To further confuse me though, Sand Sharks, came out last month.  This means that while one part of my brain was immersed in Christmas, the other part had to focus on the beach, the heat, and the judges’ summer conference that Deborah was attending because I’m still giving readings and signing this book.

After I finish the rewrite on CM, my editors will send it to a copy editor, who checks for spelling and punctuation and consistency (someone who’s been charged with blowing a point-ten in Chapter 3 should not be pleading guilty to blowing a point-twelve in Chapter 6, nor should a character with blue eyes have brown eyes forty pages later.)    

                                                              

I figure this book should be whipped into shape right around Halloween.  Just in time to start planning for Christmas.  Pass the ketchup, please.  Oops! I mean the cranberry sauce.