A week till Christmas Day. But—the party is over. The Great Ornament Party. My one party. Shoot, getting ready for Christmas day is NOTHING after this thing.
For this the house is scoured, the halls are decked—a years’ worth of handwork, planning, gathering—even cooking. A gathering of old friends, dear friends—thirty-two years’ worth. We’re loud and silly and funny with private jokes that are thirty two years deep. This is an evening of such affection, surprise, delight, sentiment, sarcasm, reminiscence—new friendships formed and strengthened, children turning into beautiful adults. On this night, we keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor’s household should (allusion anyone?).
Here is an actual visual account of the second stage of the evening (eating is the first): me laying down the rules of the ornament game. It’s very important that I do this because we are actually a terrible gang of dastardly cutthroats and emotional manipulators who will do anything—anything—to get what they want. Thus, we have rules. And I am very firm when I remind everybody of them.
See what I have to deal with? Reminds me of my teaching days.
You have the young unrulies.
And then the deceptively respectable ones. The ones who’ve been giving me a hard time since WE were the young unrulies.
And don’t think time doesn’t go by fast. Or that we, the dowager queens, have actually grown up much.
Doesn’t that grin look like trouble to you?
Uh-huh.
This man is mine. The kid down the street thinks he’s Santa, and has thought so for a year. Two weeks ago, the kid found G at church, walked straight up to him, eyes hug and mouth agape. Actually, his eyes are about at G’s knee level. He was staring up into G’s face, didn’t say a word, just extended his hand—and G took it, solemnly.
The pile of wrapped ornaments. I put two pictures of this in because I liked them both, the faces. I love the faces. (Shooting in this room is problematic. There are about twenty light bulbs in there, and they’re all different kinds – everything from tungsten to florescent – which makes white balance almost impossible. And Cam was taking these.)
And now, the ornaments:
Murphy’s funny, clever tree.
Cara’s. Wool. Charming. Actually a character out of her children’s picture book, Snowmen at Night.
Rachel. She was fairly sure this was the awfullest, silliest Santa ever knitted. But when she brought it over to prove that to us, Chaz and I fell in love with him. I didn’t shoot him well – SUCH a great little hilarious guy. I wanted him. I planned to get him. I didn’t get him. Guy says the eyelit yarn looks like sparklers. YOu can see him better here.
Johanne’s beautiful heart. It came with a beautiful note.
Ginger’s sparkling star, absolutely soaked in microbeads – shimmering, lovely.
Lynn and Gordon took antique silver spoons, cut them down, hammered them out, embellished them. They make shining ornaments.
Chelsea’s magnificent fabric dragon, embroidered and embellished. There was a terrific fight over him. He ended up, through the machinations of my children and Lynn, in the hands of our Dragon writer novelist buddies. I have such wonderful children. And friends.
The second beautiful spoon. I don’t know if this is Lynn’s or Gordon’s.
Bob hand carved two Christmas whistles.
The back of the first. Cool, huh? Bob’s carving is really cool.
The face of the second.
And here’s the cool thing: they WORK.
Jeanne and David, who are stained glass artists, fused two sweet little Christmas scenes.
And Mark, the fireman, cut, shaped, burnished two copper moose, one for Tricia, his wife, and one for himself. The moose changes color as he turns in the light.
This is actually a tiny, original painting done by Mark Beuhner, my favorite children’s book illustrator. Cara wrote Snowmen at Night and Fanny’s Dream and many others. Mark illustrated them. Buy their books. You won’t be sorry. In fact, you’ll be delighted. End of commercial. I wanted this one too. Didn’t get it. I loved what I got. I just wanted – well – everything.
The second fused glass scene. Christmas star and all.
The offering of Tracy Hickman, our famous fantasy author, was an amazing, charming Santa board game – that he and Laura MADE UP and had fabricated. I’d put the link to them, but I don’t know where it is, darn it.
Clever and adorable playing pieces.
Laura’s elegant broken china ball. I think it was a Santa something before it became – pieces.
Laura – M’s better half? This is her ornament – Monop-holly. Clever, eh?
Terry always does incredible petite point. I don’t know how she does it, but they are always elegant, always perfect. Chaz opened it on her turn, then hid this ornament in its box so that everybody forgot about it. Then someone remembered. And she lost it. But then – got it back again.
The back of Chaz’.
The front of Chaz’. This is actually her Homage to Terry. She freehanded the deer and then designed the borders on the fly. She now swears that she will never do petite point again. Ever. But she has to. Because I want one. Cam and L won this one.
These are terrible shots. Blew them out. Debbie always makes a charming and witty mobile. I have one with fat wonderful sheep on it. This one, as you see, is full of busy birds.
Oh. Phooey. I want this bird, too.
And this is Lind’s carved wooden spoon. I have a collection of his carved wooden Santa faces. Top shot no good.
But here’s the detail. He’s WONDERFUL.
His wife, Mer’s angel. Mer and I have been making ornaments at each other for three decades. I keep saying this because I’m trying to understand it. Lives – we have actually lived these long lives. In the middle, you don’t feel the flow of time – but there comes a point when you look back and are amazed at the distance you’ve done. Ours is marked by full fir branches.
Cam’s. He calls it My Homage to BOB. Bob, who did the whistles, often does captive balls – captured in open squares, opens swirls of wood. So Cam did his own carving, except in styrofoam. Which can be carved in much less time. This is a portrait of an actual snowball imported from the North Pole. L also had a cool ornament made of styrofoam, but when Cam painted it, he used the wrong paint – and it sort of melted. Like the Wicked Witch. Right there before his eyes. M won
it.
This was Dick’s. I’m not sure what it is, but it was cool. The thing about Dick is that nothing is ever what it seems, and my rules? They don’t exist in the realm of Dick. In fact, he does his best to dismantle them – that has been his creativity in connection to this game. And believe me, the man’s creativity in whatever arena, is not inconsiderable.
And last of all – badly shot, I apologetically admit – Gaye’s first try at knitting (being a crocheter and quilter and singer): the tiniest Christmas Stocking ever.
THE END OF THE ORNAMENTS.
GROUP HUG.
Then comes the singing of carols, the mingling and talking, the drifting – with empty platters and bowls – toward the door; this is a slow process, peppered with much short conversation.
And some last minute eating.
And reading.
And laughing.
Till next year. For as long as we last on the planet.
