December 30: Italian Cold Cuts, New Year's Eve Party, Letter of Recommendation, Calvin and Hobbes

Earlier in the day Ives had walked over from the office to Ninth Avenue during lunchtime, to buy boxes of Italian cold cuts and pastries, and these were set out on a table as a buffet...

Ives is buying Italian cold cuts and pastries for his annual Christmas tree decorating party.  Family and friends and children come to his apartment, and, while the adults eat and drink, the kids decorate his Christmas tree.  It's an Ives' family tradition.

This evening, I went shopping with my sister for our annual New Year's Eve party.  We have been having this party at my parents' house since I was a twelve or thirteen.  I sort of started the tradition because I got tired of seeing my parents and older siblings disappearing on December 31st and coming back well after midnight wearing party hats and blowing horns.  I was missing out on something.  So I decided that, if I couldn't go to the party, the party was going to come to me.

It used to be a much bigger shindig, with almost fifteen or so people attending.  But, because of relocation and choice and death, the party tomorrow night will be a much smaller affair.  Seven adults and three kids.  There will be food and games.  At midnight, we will put on hats and blow horns and gather around the piano to sing "Auld Lang Syne."  It will be a good time.

This evening, I had to write a letter of recommendation for a former student of mine.  She is applying to graduate schools, and my recommendation was due on January 1.  I really didn't want to take time out of my New Year's Eve party to write my recommendation, so I did it tonight.  Just submitted it.

Now, I am going to take some Nyquil and go to bed.  Long day.  Long night.  Short time to sleep.

Don't forget to vote in Saint Marty's book poll.

What will next year's book be:

• The Road  by Cormac McCarthy?
• The Color Purple by Alice Walker?
• Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard?
• The World According to Garp by John Irving?

Are you perfect?

November 21: Italian Cold Cuts, Happy Chaos, Issa, Two Haiku, Confessions of Saint Marty

Earlier in the day Ives had walked over from the office to Ninth Avenue during lunchtime, to buy boxes of Italian cold cuts and pastries, and these were set out on a table as a buffet...

To prepare for his annual Christmas tree decorating party, Ives buys food.  A lot of food.  Ham and salami and pastrami and cannolis.  Family and friends gather in his apartment, listen to Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney on the record player, and the kids decorate the tree with ornaments and fire-hazard lights that bubble and blink.  It's happy chaos.

I think that's the best way to describe holiday family gatherings.  Happy chaos.  This coming week is going to be filled with that kind of craziness.  On Monday or Tuesday, I'll bake my pecan pies.  My wife will throw together her double-layer cream cheese pumpkin pies.  On Thursday, pies in hand, we will attend two turkey dinners--one in the early afternoon, one in the evening.  There will be joking and tension, laughter and resentments.  That's family.

And I am thankful for this happy chaos.  Everyday life is too crammed with worry and stress.  It seems, some days, that I just move from crisis to crisis.  At night, when I climb into bed with my wife, I'm just happy that I've survived without landing in the hospital or worse. 

I used to thrive on the hectic quality of my life--two jobs, church organist duties, the publish or perish mentality of the university.  Now, I find it a little exhausting.  Given the choice between a quiet night at home watching the Food Network and performing in a Christmas concert, I would probably end up on my couch with a bag of chips.  Peace over turmoil.

I know this coming holiday week will not be without it share of drama.  But it's a different, more relaxed kind of drama.  Certainly, this first Thanksgiving since my sister's death will not be easy.  However, there will be the happy chaos of children and family, crowded into the kitchen, fighting over hot dinner rolls and mashed potatoes.  A blessing of busyness to combat sadness.

Saint Marty will be in the kitchen, knocking people out of the way to get his share of turkey skin.

Two Haiku

by:  Issa

     Windy fall--
these are the scarlet flowers
     she liked to pick.


     The pheasant cries
as if it just noticed
     the mountains.

Confessions of Saint Marty