And just like that, it’s the holiday season. First, there’s that (snow) flurry of family, friends, football, and food we call Thanksgiving. It’s late this year, and for some of us, there’s less to be thankful for, but nevertheless, most of us will gather around a laden table on Thursday and celebrate this bountiful land we live in. And whether we trace the origins of our feast to 1621 and a ragtag band of pilgrim immigrants and a generous band of Wampanoags, or to George Washington’s Presidential Proclamation in 1789, let’s all agree to put aside our differences for a day and come together in gratitude. Amen!
But as soon as we wobble away from our respective Thanksgiving tables, that’s when the fun will really start. First, there’s Black Friday, or as it’s now known as Black Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. There’s just nothing like running up your credit card four weeks before the main event—Christmas, or, if you prefer a different December blow-out, Chanukkah or Kwanzaa. Plus, in my not-so-little family, there are a couple of birthdays and a wedding anniversary that fall within the bounds of the holiday season to keep us focused and chubby.
Don’t get me wrong: I am NOT the Grinch and I don’t rue these holidays (or, as I like to call them, these holidaze). Just color me a little dubious. Sure, maybe we should celebrate a good harvest, or a critical religious event, or our various cultures, but just don’t forget: these modern celebrations are just recreations of pagan ceremonies centered around mystery, darkness, and rebirth. They are shadows on the wall of Plato’s cave, and, like it or not, we are all still prisoners of that cave with no knowledge of what lies outside it. But never mind; in the meantime, let’s all eat, drink, and be merry, or, at least, pretend to. What have we got to lose besides a few pounds in January?
But I digress. There is just one more wrinkle to this year’s holiday agenda. A weekend hence, our little town will celebrate Charles Dickens and all things Dickensian. Men will don top hats and spats; women will cinch their waists and put on bonnets, and for a day or two, we will all be transported back in time to that sooty Victorian Era. And if that were not enough, for reasons that lie beyond my ken, my wife and I have agreed to open our home for a few hours to visitors who have signed up for the Dickens Weekend house tour. Of course, this means that as soon as the Thanksgiving dishes are done, we’ll have to start decorating for a Dickens of a Christmas.
But fear not! My wife has a keen eye for arranging and decorating, and Mr. Dickens is just whom she needs to keep her company during the holidays. Boxes relegated to the attic for eleven months of the year have already come downstairs for their precious few days in the spotlight. There are wooden carolers, a Navajo crèche (don’t ask), and a small tree with several bagpiping Santa ornaments in the living room. Spode china, candles in a polished silver candelabra, and a home-made boxwood table scape will adorn the dining room. There will be festive lights in the windows and a wreath by the front door; a Christmas swag for the gate and pine rope along the fence. And, to top it all off, we’ll put up a tree with oyster shell ornaments and a silver star on top in the front yard. We have neither chimney nor fireplace, so, alas, no stockings, but there are bows to be tied and bells to be rung. And should my wee Christmas magician see something slightly awry, she’ll tweak her artistry until she gets it just the way she wants it, at least for the next few minutes. Her art is always a work in progress, but I will say that when it all comes together, it’s always perfect.
So, even though we’re just getting started, I wish you the joys of this madding season. May all your days be merry and bright!
I’ll be right back.
Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His new novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon.
