Merry Christmas to All!

I’m a real night owl, I hate to get up in the morning. But at the same time, I love the very early morning. Once I get out of bed and get started, I love the quiet and serenity of it. Being the first one up, or living alone, either way every morning has a balance of mystery (What will happen TODAY?) and anxiety (What will HAPPEN today?) in it.

I loved my childhood mornings in summer, on the days when we were going out on my grandfather’s clamboat. Our big Buick would park by the mooring and so many people, babies, fishing gear, picnic baskets and towels would tumble out of the car that if we had been in an accident, the cops would be looking for the other car.

I’d lay my towel on the square bow of the boat and lay down as the boat slowly chugged out. My mother would put a towel over my legs and give me a warm, buttered Kaiser roll, fresh from Fritzi’s Bakery. A simple roll, the hot sun on my back, the smell and feel of cool salt spray on my face, the sound of the engine and water slapping the bow. I had not a care in the world beyond hoping I’d get one of the blow up rafts when we got to the big shallow spot. The problem with happiness is that you don’t know it when you’re in it, it’s something you remember.

I remember the hundreds of morning when my kids were small. I got up at six a.m. to insure I had some alone time to dress, make-up, and have coffee. I’d stand outside for a minute to check the weather. It was that wonderful hour when the birds were starting up, you could smell the last of the night air wafting up from the ground. After I ditched the kids at school, I’d grab a coffee from Pat & Steve’s and go down to Wades Beach. I’d just open my windows and let the ocean breeze blow through the car and my brain and cool off my coffee. I was always a tiny bit sad when it was time to leave and start the day.

Then there’s Christmas morning. We never get to put up all the decorations we wanted. We didn’t get all the gifts for everyone that we would have liked to get. We never seem to be ready for Christmas, but when it comes, the morning is always special. If other people are in the house, I get up early so I can have alone time while the Nutcracker Suite plays softly in the background as I sit by the tree. I feel happy just looking into the pretty lights.

I think the magic of Christmas is right there, in those quietest moments, hiding in the spaces between the lights and in the beats between the tip toes of the Sugar Plum Fairies.

The Twelve Movies of Christmas

As part of the holidays, I have a ritual of viewing all the classic Christmas films. I try to be open minded to new Christmas film in the hopes of adding to my holiday viewing list. So far my assessment is, although the newer movies have better production values and have cost small fortunes to make, apparently all the writers have been edited to death to produce the absolute blandest and broadest appeal movies to benefit the sponsors.

Here’s my viewing schedule: I always watch Miracle on 34th Street as my first Christmas movie.The movie starts with the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, so I watch it after the live Thanksgiving Day Parade. You can watch it in black and white, or color. There are several updated versions of Miracle, but I find all the writing to be too schmaltzy and trite. I know its not the writers, because there can’t be that many lousy writers. I know their scripts have been hacked at to accommodate what the sponsors want; which is to include everyone, offend no one, and maintain political correctness at all times.

Next I watch the first filmed A Christmas Carol from 1938 starring Reginald Owen. Each Christmas Carol movie seems to differ slightly from the other. Next is the definitive Christmas Carol that we all love with Alistair Sims from 1951. This remains the best of the lot. It doesn’t matter if you see it in black and white or color, it looks the same either way. Industrial England in the winter didn’t have any colors. It was all black, white and grey. Color only shows up at the end on Bess’ dress.

Since 1951 there have been many versions of A Christmas Carol, but I can only recommend three. In 1970, Albert Finney did a musical version, which I rank right up there with the Alistair Sims classic, if you haven’t seen it, try it, it’s wonderful. George C. Scott did an excellent version. Patrick Stewart gave it a go, his Scrooge was fair, but I’d stick with Sims or Scott. Other than these few exceptions, none of the newer versions measure up. I think its just lame to try to interpret this story with a female Scrooge, or set it in a modern setting. Actors struggle with dialog that tries to be more profound than the original.

I have discussed the problem of the newer Christmas movies with some passionate movie lovers on the Island and the consensus is this: Hollywood often fails to realize that nothing can improve the original. You can’t remake Gone With the Wind, Casablanca, Wizard of Oz, or the Alistair Sims Christmas Carol, filmed in England in the winter. The Shelter Island Library shows films and I know they get a good turn out for classics. Great movies make you want to talk about them and keep enjoying them long after you see; The End.

There’s just one new movie I like seeing now. I can’t recall the title because these days I have to look at my driver’s license to be sure of my own name. It’s about a single mother returning home one winter to the small island she was raised on, where she finds that time has nearly stood still. She finds a job, falls in love, the kids are happy, and they all live happily ever after on the tiny island - I think it’s off the coast of Maine because I remember lobster signs in the background. Seems like such a typical story, I can’t imagine why I like it. Oh, wait - lobsters - they all got lobsters at cost from incoming boats, yup, that’s it, lobster. Never did meet a lobster I didn’t like.

Three Legged Squirrels

My mother is obsessing that Christmas has come too soon and there’s not enough money to get all the gifts and decorations she wants for the holiday. I’m trying to remind her, we never remember the gifts, we only remember the company; drinking eggnog, listening to the Bing Crosby records, and admiring our tree. We’re all flush or broke at Christmas time. We all want the Christmas’s we remember as children. It was all magical then. It’s the encroachment of age that steals it from us. But then we find the magic again through the children. You’re always as happy as you decide to be.

I had a really great Christmas several years ago. I was renting a house on Worthy Way that winter. It had a sliding glass door and the woods began just a few feet from the deck. I love birds and I always threw out generous handfuls of seed on the deck. I must have hit upon a Cardinal haven, because I never saw so many Cardinals. I counted thirteen pairs and four single males. I spent so much time watching them, I got so I could distinguish several individuals. They were surprisingly aggressive and if I didn’t have that seed out by 7:30AM, they started pecking at the glass door. I put out suet balls and lots of treats and they’d hang around on the railings of the deck talking to each other. They were so beautiful hopping around an occasional carpet of fresh snow. It made my Christmas and all it cost me was birdseed.

My most favorite Christmas was when I was six. We were living with my grandparents in Sayville at the time. I was the only grandchild, except for my little three year old brother, followed rapidly by three more brothers and twelve first cousins. But I was there first, green eyed, reddish haired and insufferably cute.

My grandfather was a carpenter in the winter and clammer in the summer. He had a true love of animals. He found an injured three legged squirrel and nursed him back to health in his cellar. He named him Petey and built him a sort of squirrel condo in the huge maple tree in the backyard. My grandfather built a bench all around the tree. He built Petey a tiny ladder. He made wooden toys for us, so he really knew how to build ladders for disabled squirrels. The rungs were tiny dowels perfectly fitted into slats and all varnished. It went from the bench to the first giant limb, about five feet up. I wasn’t allowed to touch the ladder or try to pet Petey. My grandfather painted red lines on either side of the ladder that I was to stay behind. However, I was allowed to put saltines with peanut butter in the forbidden zones and watch Petey climb down and eat. He was missing a back leg, so he sat funny. I thought he was just wonderful.

I didn’t see Petey in the winter, because cold makes him sleepy, however, my grandfather assured me he wouldn’t miss Christmas. Taking him to Mass with us in my grandmother’s purse on Christmas seemed to be out of the question, but I could make him a little tree and leave him some treats. I make a very extravagant noodle tree, painted gold and full of red glitter. It was a true work of art. My grandfather tacked it up high on the limb so Petey could see it from his nest. I left him a little plate of peanut butter cookies and some stuffed dates.

My grandparents assured me that, thanks to me, Petey was going to have a wonderful Christmas. It’s not like every squirrel on Long Island could see a genuine golden noodle tree from his nest. And so few squirrels got cookies and stuffed dates delivered to the door at that time. It’s not like today when they could just order from the internet.

That Christmas I got a card from Petey. It came in the mail, so it was official. He thanked me for the tree and all the treats. Furthermore, he planned to come out on St. Patrick’s Day, if there wasn’t any snow. I looked at that card for a long time. Finally, I asked my grandfather how Petey could have written that card. Nobody was going to fool me, I was sure Petey didn’t know any letters. My grandfather explained that Petey knew all his letters, he just had to ask my grandfather to make him a very small pencil...