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| London Aged Two |
I love Christmas. I love the scent of pine, the exuberant DIY lights, the rainbow flocked trees of Los Angeles, the silly mottoes in Christmas Crackers in England, and, of course, the drunken revelry. Even the herds of wicker reindeer wandering the winter landscape, as large a population as the infestation of their living counterparts, make me smile.
Nothing is nicer than making a first Christmas for your baby; their presence multiplies the seasonal pleasures and one of the big secrets of child rearing is revealed - you get to play with their toys!
Pinky's first Christmas was spent with her grandparents in CT. She got an amazing toy from her Uncle Henry and Aunt Laurie that was a very arty create your own tune cranked music cylinder. They clearly knew who was going to play with it.
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| Gloggomobil |
Besides having no Christmas responsibilities at 9 months, Pinky was well taken care of by everyone, especially the family dog, who must have licked every exposed part of her for at least an hour while the grown ups, spiked eggnog in hands, looked on benignly.
Pinky's first Christmas party was a very very chic and intimate gathering for the best people (obviously I was invited) given by my friends, Jed Johnson and Alan Wanzenberg. There were edgy and important people in attendance, Pat Hackett, Fred Hughes, Francisco Scavullo, and Richard Gere. Richard Gere actually turned his attention to my little daughter because she looked so wonderful in her pale yellow smocked onesie with lace collar from Bonpoint. I have no idea what I was wearing, probably whatever it was it had little snail trails of slobber on it, a gift from baby to me.
With the first Christmas came the first Christmas card featuring Pinky. I started making my own cards the first year I was on my own (a woodcut of Santa, a poem, and a recipe for apple butter). Pinky's arrival let loose all the crazy in me and I started a collection of wonderful images and found quotations in which Pinky now refuses to participate. I have no idea why.
When we lived in the States we alternated Christmas between Connecticut, his family, and California, mine.
The Central Coast, California, Christmases were home made gifts (best one was a candy striped jump rope that my mother had made for Pinky by the boat builders in the marina in Morro Bay), walks on the beach, and ferocious competitive bickering between my mother and her sister. We met in Morro Bay, a family gathering spot pioneered in the 1940's by my Uncle Meach who was an avid hunter. It is still one of my favorite places in the world. Still there, since before my childhood, are Dorn's (originally the Breakers, amazing gigantic breakfasts, French dip sandwiches for lunch, sourdough toast & homemade salsa for anytime),
the Morro Bay Aquarium. The aquarium is the source of many of my award winning photos; the tanks are surreal space capsules of cement and cinder block, unsettling, but impeccably weird. I was allowed once to take pictures early in the morning before feeding time, great because the creatures were extra lively. I was told that once in a while the giant octopus would escape its tank and invade the crab tank for a midnight snack. They are very clever.
And the Shell Shop
And See's Candies
The Connecticut Christmases were extravaganzas of gift giving, decorations, and fabulous meals. The time between opening stockings and opening presents was excruciatingly long. When we finally got to the presents, each had to be opened individually for all to see and comment on. There was a scribe, usually Grandmother, who wrote down a description of each gift and it's giver on a yellow, lined, paper pad. The assumption one makes is that this was for Thank You notes, but none were ever sent. I think those lists can be counted on to appear in an archaeological dig, centuries from now, and the purpose is sure to perplex.
Each Christmas had it's particular seriously stressful moments. The root of this was the love of competition, apparently strong in both genetic lines, lucky Pinky! I remember that one year my sister-in-law made a perfect replica of the modern Fishers Island house in gingerbread. Wow.
I had a 13 foot tree and a dictatorial hand with regard to decorating it. I stayed true to my inner rebel on one limb of the Christmas tree. There is always a gap in the branches; Martha Stewart glue guns a branch into it, most people put it at the back, but I have a special use. My talented friend, Nancy, gave me a handcrafted Santa Elvis in a white felt jumpsuit; I stand him up in the niche and suspend a miniature glittering crystal chandelier over his head. Voila, Blue Christmas.
The Central Coast, California, Christmases were home made gifts (best one was a candy striped jump rope that my mother had made for Pinky by the boat builders in the marina in Morro Bay), walks on the beach, and ferocious competitive bickering between my mother and her sister. We met in Morro Bay, a family gathering spot pioneered in the 1940's by my Uncle Meach who was an avid hunter. It is still one of my favorite places in the world. Still there, since before my childhood, are Dorn's (originally the Breakers, amazing gigantic breakfasts, French dip sandwiches for lunch, sourdough toast & homemade salsa for anytime),
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| Take Out Too |
the Morro Bay Aquarium. The aquarium is the source of many of my award winning photos; the tanks are surreal space capsules of cement and cinder block, unsettling, but impeccably weird. I was allowed once to take pictures early in the morning before feeding time, great because the creatures were extra lively. I was told that once in a while the giant octopus would escape its tank and invade the crab tank for a midnight snack. They are very clever.
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| Go Soon, Will Be Torn Down |
And the Shell Shop
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| Shell Shock |
And See's Candies
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| Place Your Order |
The Connecticut Christmases were extravaganzas of gift giving, decorations, and fabulous meals. The time between opening stockings and opening presents was excruciatingly long. When we finally got to the presents, each had to be opened individually for all to see and comment on. There was a scribe, usually Grandmother, who wrote down a description of each gift and it's giver on a yellow, lined, paper pad. The assumption one makes is that this was for Thank You notes, but none were ever sent. I think those lists can be counted on to appear in an archaeological dig, centuries from now, and the purpose is sure to perplex.
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| Typical Christmas in CT, Yellow Pad, Front Right |
I had a 13 foot tree and a dictatorial hand with regard to decorating it. I stayed true to my inner rebel on one limb of the Christmas tree. There is always a gap in the branches; Martha Stewart glue guns a branch into it, most people put it at the back, but I have a special use. My talented friend, Nancy, gave me a handcrafted Santa Elvis in a white felt jumpsuit; I stand him up in the niche and suspend a miniature glittering crystal chandelier over his head. Voila, Blue Christmas.
My best Christmas recipe is a simple one. Buy a tin of Moravian Ginger Snaps ( as thin as potato chips), make a big bowl of whipped cream tempered with sugar and a whisper of vanilla and maybe brandy, serve for dessert like chips and dip. Delicious, simple, unusual; you will win the competition.
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