Boxing Day

A number of years ago, I realized that there was something missing from my Christmas season. On December 26th, my friends were in their homes, lolling on their sofas, trying to work up the energy to clean up after their festive Christmas Day and contemplating the refrigerator full of leftovers. I, on the other hand, was sitting in my house, full of energy but a little regretful that I’d had no one to cook for. Thus was born my idea of giving a dinner party for friends on the evening after Christmas. Twelve years later, it has become a tradition for them and for me.
My friends often refer to this as their “French dinner”. But I have come to realize that it is actually a meal that pulls all the strands of my life together.
First, it allows me to resurrect a holiday from the first 19 years of my life – Boxing Day. Until I was 15, my parents and I spent this day with my godparents and their children -- a second Christmas, complete with turkey dinner and more gifts.( I liked it less in Jamaica. All my friends were busy with their families and I had to wait another day before seeing them.)
Christmas crackers were something else I hadn’t seen since I was 19. But you can buy them in Charlottesville and pulling them has become the traditional opening of my Boxing Day Buffet. It makes me smile to see even some of my more reserved friends eagerly reading out their silly jokes. They even wear their crowns for at least part of the evening.


The menu is as eclectic as my life. For the cocktail hour, I serve a non-alcoholic punch as well as wine.


Helped by friends, I make a selection of canapés, because they look and taste great.


The first course is always oyster stew. This was part of Christmas Eve dinner at my grandparents’ before I was born. Tales of those Christmases were part of my childhood. My father, who hated oyster stew, wouldn’t allow my mother to make it. But it stuck in my mind as a Christmas thing to have. Sorry, Daddy.

Following the French tradition, my main course is different every year. This year, after much cogitating and a telephone consultation with my former tenant in Florida, the decision was made
 Chicken breast stuffed with prosciutto and fontina cheese with a Portobello mushroom sauce
 Christmas rice (with diced red and green bell peppers)
 Spanakopita ( a side dish for most and a main dish for my vegetarian guest.)


After salad and cheese, a decent four hours later, it was time for dessert:
 Christmas cake imported from England (a rich fruitcake with a thick marzipan icing) and homemade mincemeat tarts – treats from my childhood.
 Homemade chocolate cookies and iced sugar cookies in Christmas shapes.
 Christmas candy – some homemade, the rest bought at two of Charlottesville’s gourmet shops.
(Sorry no pictures. Everyone was too busy eating and talking.)
Every year, one of my guests says “This was the best party ever!” Sorry you couldn’t be there. Maybe next year.
The next day, as I loll on my sofa, trying to work up the energy to clean up after my festive Boxing Day and contemplating the refrigerator full of leftovers, I feel my Christmas is complete.

Réveillon American Style

My French friends, knowing I have no family in Charlottesville, sometimes ask anxiously; “Where will you spend the "réveillon"?” I always appreciate the concern. Christmas is “family only” in France. I know of no expat that has been invited into a French home for Christmas. Even foreign students living with a French family for the year are usually expected to go somewhere else for the holiday.
Some of you may not know what the “réveillon” is. Traditionally, people were expected to eat little and go to church a lot on Christmas Eve. The culmination of the religious part of the holiday was midnight mass which was followed by a huge feast.
Few of my friends go to midnight mass any more and the “reveillon” has become a long and elegant family dinner, starting at about 9 p.m. and ending……. well whenever it’s finished, but well after midnight. Foie gras, oysters, smoked salmon and/or lobster are featured as first courses. The main course can be, but is not always, turkey. And it is often different each year. I still remember my female colleagues agonising over “what to serve for the réveillon”. Dessert is often a "bûche de Noël".
I never bother to explain that there's no “reveillon” in the United States. “I go to friends”, I reply and they are reassured that I won’t be alone.
As it turns out, I do have a kind of “reveillon” as Fred and Nancy, my hosts for Thanksgiving, also have a big dinner for friends and neighbors on Christmas Eve. Considering the time difference, I’m enjoying my Christmas dinner when my French friends are enjoying theirs.
The atmosphere is more informal. The menu is similar to our Thanksgiving feast and the guest list is much the same.

For the younger guests (and not only them) the memorable part of this celebration occurs between dinner and dessert when we have a Yankee Swap.

Originally gifts were supposed to be cheap and ridiculous. As the years have passed, more and more people are bringing “real presents” but the fun stays the same. Numbers are drawn from Edna’s hat.

She was an elderly guest who always enjoyed the party until she died a number of years ago. She was known around Charlottesville as “The Hat Lady”, for her numerous and extravagant hats.
Presents are opened one by one to cheers and jeers.





There are always one or two presents that are coveted by all. Family members with higher numbers try to recapture a gift a less fortunate family member has lost earlier.
In due course, all the gifts have been opened.

Dessert is served.

Thanks to a local bakery and one of the guests, we even have a bûche de Noël.
Private trades take place so the teenaged boy doesn’t usually leave with the teapot or the middle-aged lady with the “Buns of Steel” video. (Unless, of course, they want to.)
Soon afterwards, people take their leave. Some still have Christmas wrapping to do. Others go to midnight mass. Some just go to bed, knowing they’ll be up early the next morning. Christmas with the family will take place on December 25th as it always does in the United States. But to about 40 happy people, thanks to Fred and Nancy, Christmas Eve with friends and neighbors, is also a fun part of the holiday season.

White Christmas

Many Virginians, brainwashed by years of hearing Bing Crosby sing “White Christmas”, watch the weather forecast hopefully in late December. This year gave new meaning to the old saying “Be careful what you wish for.”
The weatherman said it would snow on December 19th. He said there might be as much as 16 inches (40 cm.) but I didn’t believe him. Charlottesville snow doesn’t usually amount to much,though warnings are frequently given.
At 4 p.m. that Friday afternoon, the first flakes fell. All over Facebook, pictures were posted and excitement reigned. The weather forecasters were right. Next morning, I went intrepidly out to record the historic “Biggest December Snowfall Since 1969” even before it had stopped.

My tenants – one shovel and a bucket between them – were hard at work.

Progress had already been made

though the task was daunting.

All up and down the street other intrepid snow-shovelers toiled.

Few other creatures were stirring

except those who had four wheel drive cars they could, at last, prove were necessary -- and a few using alternative means of transportation.

It was a true “Winter Wonderland” as the other, even older, song says.



We gathered at a neighbor’s Sunday evening for an impromptu “post-snow shovelling, early winter solstice” party.

(Jeanne was kind enough to invite me, too, although I had only recorded others’ labor.)
The snow had stopped about 5 p.m. Saturday. The official record was 19.5 inches (49 cm) though most people, in forgivable exaggeration, talked about “2 feet of snow.” Aside from being tired, my neighbors and I were all fine. We live on a main road that leads to a major hospital, so one of the few plows the city owns had been our constant companion all weekend. Our heat, light and cable TV were all in perfect working order.
Over the next few days, we heard of other friends – a few living not far from our street– who had less pleasant stories to tell. Some had not gotten home from work until about midnight on Friday. One or two had not made it home at all. Many cars were abandoned by people who had gotten stuck. All cars behind them had nowhere to go and the Highway Patrol and snow plows had a hard time getting through. One friend spent the night in a fire station just a few miles from home. Another had no heat, light or water for 3 days.
The University opened its main Fitness Center as a shelter for its maintenance workers and about 50 hapless undergraduates who hadn’t been able to leave campus before all forms of transportation shut down.
No shopping was done on that last weekend before Christmas in Charlottesville.
Public transport wasn’t fully operational for 5 or 6 days.
We learned that White Christmases are only romantic and fun in places where towns have enough snow plows and cars have snow tires.
By Christmas Eve everyone was mobile again, though there was still snow on the ground. The new storm that threatened on Christmas Day brought only rain.
We’ll be boring our out of state friends for years with our snow stories from Christmas 09. Dreams of a White Christmas may reappear. But moderate ones. Just an inch or so of snow. Enough to make it pretty. We’re not greedy. Send the rest to Buffalo and Minneapolis. They know what to do with it.

Five days later.

O Christmas Tree

A friend with two daughters in their early twenties came to visit at Christmas. “Oh,” she said. “You have a tree!” She touched it. “And it’s real!”
I smiled and cheerfully answered “Yes. Always.” and we spoke of other things. But this is what I really wanted to say.
Of course I have a tree. If I didn’t, how could I hang up my first Christmas stocking and my first Christmas card? What would I do with the little angel I made out of pipe cleaners and kleenex when I was 8 and other family "heirlooms" that have been on Canadian, Jamaican and American Christmas trees over the years? What would be the point of the ornaments I bought in South Africa and Holland when I visited those countries? How useless would be those given to me by friends for the last 22 years!
And, of course my tree is real. That’s what it’s about. Bringing a real tree into your home. Did the Egyptians bring an artificial date palm into their houses during the winter solstice to symbolize life’s triumph over death? Did the Romans decorate their homes with synthetic trees at Saturnalia? Would the Druids have been able to keep evil spirits from their dwellings with “a discount ticonderoga pencil tree with convenient hinged branches that comes with a one year warranty”? Would little German children have been as impressed by a candlelit fake fir?
Of course, a non-driving person couldn’t do this alone. Over the years different friends have helped me get my tree home and obliging tenants have helped me set it up.
For the last several years, I’ve been helping a friend keep her own Christmas tradition alive as she helps me bring home my very own Christmas tree. Sallie and Jay used to take their three sons out to Nelson County, a largely rural area south west of Charlottesville, to get their tree from Mr Napier, a friendly Virginia gentleman with a small tree farm. Now those sons have moved away and had children of their own and Sallie and Jay go to far away to visit them for Christmas. So, Sallie takes me to Mr Napier instead.
He cuts my tree.

He measures it to make sure it’s the right size.

He ties it on Sallie’s car for us.

Then, I take her out to lunch at a nearby restaurant to say Thank you and we go back to Charlottesville.
I always imagine I’m going to put Christmas music on, make myself a cup of tea or hot chocolate and leisurely and calmly decorate my splendid tree, humming along to my CD. The reality is I work to deadline during the commercial breaks of a Hallmark Channel Christmas-themed movie a day or two before my first guests arrive.
But doesn’t it look splendid?

Beautiful Music

One of my friends described her son to me recently. “If we do something once, he thinks it's a tradition.” How well I understand! And, in my opinion, there’s no better time for traditions than Christmas. One of mine is attending Christmas Concerts-- connecting me all the way back to when I was a proud participant in our school choir’s Christmas concert.
Every school, church and choral society gives a Christmas concert in Charlottesville. Over the years, I’ve chosen my favorites. Each has a quality that adds a dimension to my Christmas season. I sometimes go with friends. Supper before or after a concert is a way to see people at a time when everyone is running in different directions. If no one is free, I go on my own and enjoy the music and the other audience members.
The following is a pictorial tour of some of the fun I had last month.

December 2nd was the Winter Concert of the Charlottesville High School String Orchestra. Listening to 140 teenagers playing classical music and jazz together was a treat.

The 69th Christmas Concert of the Virginia Glee Club took place on December 4th. The Glee Club is a male a capella group founded within the University of Virginia and still largely a student-run organisation, although it is no longer a part of the University. Part 1 of each Christmas concert is a showcase of their serious talent.

Part two shows their raucous undergraduate humor

especially the traditional audience-participation version of The Twelve Days of Christmas. During this, different sections of the audience represent different “days of Christmas”. The Glee Club reserves “5 gold rings” for themselves -- and change the words with each repetition. “Five kegs of beer” and “five first year girls” come up regularly. The last repetition lasts forever. Antics take place on stage

and other club members range the audience throwing candy. It’s hard to be morose after this concert.
December 5th was the Consort concert. This is a group of 35 adults, amateurs but very good ones. Their director’s choirs for children and teenagers also sing.
Some audience members come only to hear one singer

Others, like me, enjoy the whole choir.

The director chooses joyous music and enthusiastically explains each piece they are about to sing.
As we file out at the end smiling broadly, choir members sing and play one more song as they hand us chocolates. It makes you want to rush out and be kind to all you meet.


My favorite event of the musical season took place on Dec 8th – the 41st edition of the Messiah Sing-in. Upwards of five hundred students and community members come together to sing large selections of Handel’s Messiah with a volunteer orchestra under the direction of the Professor of Music (now emeritus) who started it all in 1968.


December 12th brought another mood entirely as I attended a concert by Zephyrus, the most professional of the groups I hear. They specialize in 16th century sacred music and are a joy to listen to.

The Zephyrus concert was particularly special to me this year as one of my new tenants accompanied several of the pieces.
There should have been one more concert on December 19th but it was cancelled because of the snow. But that is another story.

Beautiful memories.

Merry, Happy and Busy

All twelve days of Christmas are over. I’ve been back in Paris for nearly a week. And only today have I found time to tell you about my Christmas holiday -– a clue as to how busy I've been, as always during this season.
French friends who ask “What do you do in Charlottesville in November and December?” are puzzled when I answer “Christmas”. "What is there to do," they wonder, "besides getting a few gifts -- which the stores gift-wrap -- for members of your immediate family, especially the children, planning an excellent and sophisticated family dinner for December 24th and getting a small tree up and decorated by Christmas Eve? How can that take an entire month for a person without husband, children, parents, siblings or in-laws?"
My North American friends understand better, but wonder how someone who doesn’t work, doesn’t have to bake cookies for the office Christmas party and doesn’t have to juggle visits with family in far away places or share married children with their in-laws, needs the entire month of December to prepare for the holidays.
Neither group understands that, for me, the preparation is the holiday. Over the years, I’ve developed my own form of celebration allowing me to blend past and present and bring together all portions of my double life.
Right after Thanksgiving, my den becomes a workshop.


Christmas shopping is finished early in December – not because I’m so organized, but because everything has to be wrapped and sent -- to France, Italy and Canada as well as various places in the United States. “Why don’t you order off the internet and have things shipped?” asked one friend recently? “I like to wrap”, I answered. But that isn’t the whole answer. While I wrap, I listen to Christmas music, think of the people the gifts are for and remember past Christmases or other times when we were together. Clicking “gift-wrap” on an internet site wouldn’t provide me with nearly as much pleasure.
Christmas cards take up the rest of the month.

Scene of many happy hours writing my cards.

I send cards to the normal range of friends and family members I’m in touch with throughout the year. But Christmas is a time to remember. So I remember some of my friends from elementary school in Canada and one of my father’s former secretaries. I remember friends from high school in Jamaica, my Latin teacher, the widow of one of the salesmen who worked for Daddy as well as our next door neighbors and the wife of the son of one of Daddy’s business associates -- now living in Canada. I remember friends from college, a couple of professors and a 90 year old lady from Texas my mother once met on a riverboat trip. I’ve never met Geneva Thell but we’ve carried on a great correspondence for over twenty years and I spent a delightful evening at the Moulin Rouge with one of her daughters and sons-in-law a few years ago when they came to Paris. All these people have touched and enriched my life and continue to do so – if only at Christmas. And no hard-nosed and practical organization specialist will ever make me drop them from my Christmas card list.
“Is that all you do at Christmas? I hear you asking. Of course not. But this is a start -- to let you know that I haven’t forgotten you. Look for more in the days to come.