December 31

Winter, not quite whites.
Happy New Year, everyone. 
Here we go!

 

The morning after/ I am my Mother's daughter

 

The whipped cream doesn't come off my fingers very easily as I attempt to wash it off. I found a smear of it on a metal container sitting next to the incredible Buche de Noel (AKA Yule Log) that Anna Maria made. This was during clean up the morning after our Full Moon/Chirstmas Potluck Extravaganza. Whip cream fingers sent me to the sink for removal. The whipped cream persists, requiring soap and vigorous scrubbing. I contemplate what it does to my throat that objects to eating cream. It swells up a little and generally lets me know this is not a good food for this body. But every now and then it is so worth it.

Our extended family of friends put so much care into their  dishes. If I were truly my mother's daughter I would have made the whole dinner, baked a dozen varieties of cookies and decorated the house till it was completely bejeweled with decorations and lights and a sea of presents. My mother's finest hour came when she discovered that she could adhere Christmas balls to the ceiling with museum putty.

I didn't bake any cookies and only made a portion of the meal. But Jon and I did move the furniture around to accommodate 11, reupholster kitchen seat covers, rehang  art and  mirrors and give the house an industrial strength cleaning  for our friends who came despite their cat allergies. The highlight for me is playing with the flowers to make little vignettes. Everything else is merely the backdrop, the place to put the flowers and other botanical wonders. Flowers, flowers, flowers. At moments like these I hear my mother's spirit whispering in my ear;  just one more little something for over here and over there what about...? 

My sister and I have always wondered why we never felt the desire to recreate the Christmas tradition of our mother. Ours is very pared down comparatively. My experience was that there was a cost in our household of extreme stress and anxiety. My dear mamma had every good intention to create a magical experience for her 3 kids.   Sadly I came away with a bad taste for that kind of excess that has always lasted. This holding back is  not necessarily good in creative lines of work. Part of creative work is excess, sloppy, pushing the boundaries.

Bringing together friends and family (when possible) for a special dinner has become the heart of my Christmas experience, more important than any gift under the tree. This year my preparations went up a notch and I find myself in my mother's territory of over the top-ness, nothing like hers to be sure, but pushing my comfort zone. I learned something about letting go in creating my own version wholeheartedly but not going so crazy I was too tired to have fun at my own party. Hallelujah!

 

Deck the Halls, I forgot the holly

But that's because it's not native around here and it's inclusion seems to make more sense in other parts of the country, at least in the northeast where holly trees abound. To come across a holly tree in the grey leafless northern forest is quite dramatic to the eye.  And there is that pokey aspect; I would have been running around daubing people with peroxide and handing out cute little Christmas themed band-aids. 

So for our wreath making workshop, I brought a smorgasbord of the greens from our hood: Olive, Doug Fir, Redwood, Red Toyon, Privot, Eucaplytus.... There were a lot of people new to wreath making and all happily plunged in. Then a number sort of stalled for awhile, getting their bearings. 

Then it was as if someone pressed the play button and off they went. Not everyone's got photographed and that is my bad, I'm sorry about that, because each and every one deserved it's wreath moment in the spotlight. Thanks everyone. I hope to see you next year for round 2!