First things first

I love the stretch between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the lights and the decorations and the smells (cookies!) of the holidays. It annoys me to no end when retailers start pushing holiday wares and exuding forced Christmas cheer early in the fall, when we haven’t celebrated Halloween (or even Labor Day, in some cases!) yet. Once Thanksgiving has arrived, though, it feels as though Christmas is now “permitted.”

No doubt this is partly related to the fact that, when I was little kid, my dad announced that “once you see Santa [in the Macy’s parade, which we watched on television every year], then the Christmas season has officially begun.” Like most people, I reached a point during my childhood when I realized that my parents didn’t know everything after all. On this, however, I still think my dad is right. Maybe that’s why, even though every year I tell myself that “next year, I will start my Christmas crafts in July so I have time to get them done!” I just can’t just find the right mood for them before November.

I am especially fond of Christmas music, even the schmaltzy stuff (though the Muzak versions and midi files definitely rank low on that list). Even though I am somewhat allergic to the word God, I actually like the sacred music more than the profane. And I like the old music more than the new. I’ve nothing against songs about Santa’s travel itinerary, but when it comes to stirring the pot of emotions they don’t hold a candle to songs about the religious aspects of Christmas or rousing tunes about wassails and boar’s heads. It’s sort of like walking into a huge, old cathedral in Europe and just feeling the waves of belief that built and sustained this amazing piece of art and culture, even if you harbor no such faith yourself.

Every year after Thanksgiving I pull out our books of Christmas music and start doing my best to fill my house with decent renditions of those songs. But because I haven’t played them at all for eleven or so months, they don’t sound so good. I’m a fairly capable sight reader at the piano, but it still takes me a bit of practice before a song sounds just right.

So this year, I broke with my own tradition and took out those books back in October. Opening them up was like greeting old friends: King Wenceslas, Jeannette Isabella, the three ships that are ever sailing. The “Nuns in Frigid Cells” were there, too. And I made some new acquaintances, too: “Masters in This Hall” (an Old French tune with lyrics by William Morris), “A Day of Joy and Feasting,” “Whence Comes This Rush of Wings,” “Shout the Glad Tidings,” “Noel, Nouvelet!” (late-15th-century French).

It felt a little weird to be playing Christmas tunes on deliciously warm, Indian summer days. At the same time, it was kind of nice to get an early, totally noncommercial glimpse of the upcoming holiday. And now (especially after the piano tuner finishes his work this morning) I feel prepared for Christmas on at least one front!

It’s been a busy weekend. October ended with a Halloween double-whammy: Sylvia’s first holiday celebration at school (complete with a parade of costumed kids, followed by a concert of songs sung by the kids for their parents—and their camcorders, of course), and trick-or-treating. Sylvia chose to be a “flower fairy” this year (completely her own idea), so we put together an outfit made up of stuff she already had in her closet: tutu, fairy wings, polka-dotted tights, purple shirt, cardigan handknitted by me, black shoes. Jan and I made her a flower wreath (out of pipe cleaners, florist tape, artificial flowers, and ribbons) and a wand (out of a dowel, plus everything that was in the wreath except for the pipe cleaners). She loved it. We spent about five bucks, and she got a costume that was totally unique. Awesome.

Yesterday we headed to the Adventure Aquarium in Camden, New Jersey. Tickets for the three of us were priced at $53. Thanks to one of Jan’s coworkers—who is a long-time volunteer there (he scuba dives into the shark tank to clean it)—we had free passes for the day. WOOT! When we told Sylvia where we were going, she wasn’t really into the idea…until we described the aquarium as “like a zoo for fish.” Then she couldn’t wait to get there.

We had a great time there. The giant tanks are just amazing. They’re well lit, located in dark rooms and (of course) covered with glass, so most of my attempts at photography didn’t turn out too well. One of the best pictures I took was this one, in the area two hippopotamuses (the singular of which is not, as Allan Sherman sang, “one hippopotami”) and an African porcupine share with lots and lots of bird.

This morning we went to church (where the minister talked about the Unitarian and Universalist legacies of working toward justice and urged everyone to vote on Tuesday*), then headed to Winterthur, one of the DuPont estates in northern Delaware. We met up with some friends who live in the D.C. area, and our three kids had a ball running around together. (How is it that two-, three-, and four-year-olds can play outside in not much more than long-sleeve shirts and pants while their parents—bundled up in coats, hats, and gloves—and freezing? Seriously—I wonder if there’s been any scientific research on age-related temperature tolerance.) The fall colors were at their peak. In another couple of weeks, I suspect most of the trees there will be bare.

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*She used an interesting device: an imagined conversation among the ghosts of Joseph Priestly, Dorothea Dix, Robert Gould Shaw, and other prominent, dead Unitarians and Universalists. I wish the wrap-up section had been more…well, more exhortation and less purple prose. I can appreciate the UU unwillingness to tell anyone what to do, but in this case I would love to hear someone stand up and say, “Hey! If you’re here because you believe in justice and human rights and the inherent value of all people and beliefs and want to save the planet, then you need to vote for the candidates and proposals that support your beliefs!” Obviously, a minister can’t tell you to vote for a particular candidate or party, but he or she can certainly prod you more engagingly—more energetically and strenuously—to vote for your beliefs. I went away from the service feeling not particularly inspired (even though I’m certain my minister and I are on the same page politically)—in agreement, but not fired up.

Jan attended a costume-required Halloween party last weekend. Once he decided on his costume earlier in the week, I knit this hat for him in two evenings.

Can any of you guess what it is?

(By the way, Gina and Katie aren’t allowed to answer this question, because they both saw me knitting the hat and we discussed it at length.)

I really, really want to put a pumpkin dragon in my yard this yard…

Halloween is around the corner, so start knitting up some pumpkins with a pattern than works with any yarn, gauge, and needles you like.

After that, it’s time for Thanksgiving. And really, what is Thanksgiving without turkey finger puppets?

If you’re trimming a tree, don’t forget your own handknit-and-felted Flying Spaghetti Monster ornament. And if you’re not a tree decorator, well, I’m sure this little fellow can fit in just about anywhere.

Here’s another tree-trimming idea: knit mini-mittens. I bet they would look cute hanging from an I-cord across the top of a window, too.

The Jingles Bells hat comes in sizes to fit infants through adults, so you can torture delight everyone you know with the gift of festive headgear.

If you’re feeling particularly sadistic, whip up a knitted baby Santa suit and stuff a defenseless infant in it before he or she is told enough to resist.

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As I’ve mentioned before, Jan and I aren’t big on getting gifts for each for holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, etc. This is especially true of Valentine’s Day. Now, I appreciate having an occasion to tell people that you love them (but really, shouldn’t we do this every day?). But the gift aspect of this holiday drives me nuts. Especially the woman-focused gift aspect. Especially the idea that a man should read a woman’s mind and get her the “perfect” gift on this day. And especially the idea that the “perfect” gift is defined by roses, chocolate, and diamonds. (I really hate that sexist crap.)

So I was a little surprised when a FedEx driver left a rather large box on my doorstep yesterday afternoon. As soon as I saw it, I thought, “Hmmmm. I wonder what’s going on.”

(Note the toys under the piano. The collection includes sit-and-push-with-your-feet vehicles [car, tricycle, and bike] as well as two toy lawnmowers. We call that space “the garage.” The front hall, kitchen, dining room, and living room are all connected to each other, so Sylvia can ride/push one of those toys in a circle around most of our first floor. When her friends are over, there are enough wheeled items for everyone to get one, and it’s like a parade.)

I opened the box to discover a dozen beautiful roses in different colors.

(These flowers were sent direct from the grower in California. Each stem is stuck into a water-filled plastic test-tube with a rubber stopper at the top, and there’s one of the refreezable ice packs in the box. The arrived in perfect condition.)

Don’t they look lovely?

The card (handwritten!) was the best part: “For the three of us…because we rock!”

(After dinner last night, Sylvia got to choose any rose she wanted—she zeroed in on the one that looked most purple, of course—to have her own little vase.)

Throughout December, lots of bloggers wrote about their families’ holiday traditions. One person (I can’t remember who, unfortunately) even ran a contest on the subject, promising yarn to one (randomly selected) person who posted a comment about their own traditions.

Some families have pretty unusual traditions (like sending the same Christmas card back and forth for thirty years, or hanging the Christmas tree upside-down from the ceiling). But my family’s traditions were pretty mainstream: decorating a Christmas tree, opening presents on Christmas morning, and eating a big dinner (usually roast turkey or ham, though we did do barbecue spareribs one year, but never the pizza I always longed for) that afternoon.

With a two-and-a-half-year-old around, Jan and I find ourselves thinking harder about holiday traditions and actively deciding which ones we want to adopt, change, or abandon.

Our neighborhood sets out luminaria on Christmas Eve. Not everyone does it, but I’d say over half and perhaps as many as three-quarters of the several hundred homes in this forty-year-old neighborhood put them out. We didn’t know about it the first Christmas we were here, and then we were out of town or completely forgot for the next three. But this year we managed to get our act together and set out white paper bags with sand and tea lights at the bottom, just like most of our neighbors, and the effect was absolutely beautiful. By morning, the candles were long spent, but the paper bags remained as reminders of the previous evening’s loveliness.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but my husband is quite an accomplished baker. (Look here to see a gallery of some of his recent work.) Last winter he baked a lot of bread, and the year before he decided to perfect his croissant and pain au chocolat technique. Two years ago he also made Rose Levy Beranbaum’s caramel sticky buns for Christmas for the first time. We didn’t have them last year because we were in Illinois visiting my parents, but this year he made them again, and we’re all decided that they are a permanent addition to our Christmas morning. They are amazing. The brioche dough takes two days to prepare, and the buns are stuffed with toasted pecans, cinnamon, and raisins (optionally soaked in rum), and the whole thing is smothered in homemade caramel sauce. I think I just had a sugar rush and gained five pounds just by describing them.

And of course there’s Santa. Jan and I grew up Santa households, and we are telling our own daughter about him, too. Our across-the-street neighbors have a near-life-sized animatronic Santa on their porch, which only adds to Santa’s mystique in Sylvia’s eyes. We haven’t gotten into the “good children, bad children” thing with her—I’m hoping we can avoid such morality tales altogether. She knows (from reading books and seeing pictures) that Santa has a list of the children he will be visiting, but in her mind “Santa loves all children,” and as far as she’s concerned everyone is on his list. I like that way of thinking, and I have no plans to discourage it.

When we started baking Christmas cookies a few weeks ago, she was very adamant that some be saved for Santa. Because the title character in Raymond Briggs’ Father Christmas (one of her favorite holiday books) drinks some hot cocoa before going to bed, she decided that Santa would get some hot cocoa with his cookies, too. So on Christmas Eve, before going to bed, she helped make a batch of hot chocolate, then carefully—oh so carefully!—chose a selection of cookies to leave out for him. The next morning, she was delighted to discover that he’d thoroughly enjoyed her gifts to him!

As with our anniversary, Jan and I generally don’t buy each other birthday or Christmas gifts, either. When Sylvia turned two last May and really “got” the idea of getting (and opening!) presents, we decided it was time to modify this practice a bit in order to teach her about gift giving, too. So for my birthday (also in May), Jan took Sylvia out shopping for a gift for me, and for his birthday (later in May—yes, we are all three born in May) I took her out to find something for him. In both cases, we asked for specific gifts, and Sylvia helped purchase them at the store and wrap them.

For Christmas this year, we decided to expand her participation in this process and let her choose the gifts herself (within some parameters, of course), both for us and a few other people. This was an interesting experience, because she often gravitated toward stuff that she liked, which offered opportunities to discuss how gift giving is all about choosing something that the recipient might like. She’s not an expert at this yet, but after a while she definitely got a sense of how it all works. Some of her choices were quite charming, such as a carved, blue, wood tree ornament for her grandmother, “because Nana likes blue!”

I suggested to Jan that he take Sylvia to the yarn aisle at Michael’s and let her choose a skein or two or yarn for me. She’s well accustomed to my knitting and knows that I like it. I told Jan, “If you can, try to gently steer her away from the Fun Fur…but you know, if she really wants to get that for me, that’s fine.”

So late last week, the two of them went out to the store in great secrecy. In this case, “great secrecy” is defined as Sylvia loudly promising, as she and Jan are putting on their coats and I’m in the next room, that “We’re going to get Mommy a present, and it’s a surprise.” They came back with a puffy-looking bag, and Sylvia was fairly bursting with the news. But she didn’t tell me! Well, not quite…

As we opened our gifts on Christmas morning, Sylvia chose her two gifts for me to open first. I picked one up and said, “I wonder what this is!” She replied, “It’s yarn!” then looked at Jan and said, “Is it okay if I tell her?”

And here is the yarn she chose for me. Jan tells me that when they got to the yarn aisle, Sylvia quickly picked out the Wool-Ease, announcing, “Mommy likes brown.” (Brown does indeed happen to be my favorite color.) Then she saw the Jiffy Thick-and-Quick, and its bright colors (including purple, which happens to be Sylvia’s favorite color) instantly captivated her. She declared that I would like that yarn, too, and so they bought both.

Yeah, I hate pretty much all acrylic yarn. Loathe it. But this stuff? It’s my new favorite yarn.

Now that the packages are on their way—and the recipients aren’t likely to read this post before opening their gifts—I can reveal what holiday knitting I’ve been up to.

For my mom, I knit two ball-band washcloths, with the colors reversed in the second one. While I was visiting her in October, she admired one I was making, and I decided then and there to knit some up for her. The small sachet is made of a linen-cotton yarn and knit up in linen stitch on something like size 3 needles. I filled it with dried lavender—yum.

My dad has a Sunday-morning ritual of going to a bookstore and browsing the shelves (and usually coming home with a new book) while drinking a mocha latte. For him I knit up a (reusable!) wool sleeve for his coffee cups; I used the Noro Kureyon that was left over from Kevin’s hat. I cast on 32 stitches and did a simple k2p2 ribbing all the way up, which is just right to keep this snugly on the cup. This wool sleeve will surely keep a beverage warmer much better than a paper one!

For my brother I knit some fingerless mitts out of Cascade Pastaza, which is 50% llama and 50% wool. I liked working with the yarn (though the tips of my needles split it occasionally), and I knit everything except the thumb on a 12″ Addi turbo. (And let me just say this: I am never again using DPNs to knit in the round unless I absolutely have to.) My brother lives and works in Manhattan, so he does a lot of walking around outside. I figured full mittens would be too “dorky” for him, but these will keep his hands warm while preserving some of the manual dexterity necessary for key/coffee-cup/cellphone handling.

I’ve been fortunate to stay in touch with four friends with whom I went to college. (We even have our own Google group.) Over the years the five of us have kept in touch through law school, graduate school, marriages, babies, cross-country moves, international travels, deaths of family members, career changes, and pretty much any life change you can think of. This year, I knit them all moebius scarves (these are short—more like cowls) out of KnitPicks Suri Dream. I asked my friends about their favorite colors at the beginning of the year (I bet they’ve completely forgotten this) and chose the yarns accordingly.

These last two items, a small pouch made of bamboo yarn and a drop-stitch scarf made of recycled silk sari yarn, were made for someone I’ve never met but who’s on my mind pretty much every day. Her name is Heather, and she’s one of my mother-in-law’s oldest friends. In our office at home we have a watercolor painting that Heather made of the Dutch irises that Jan’s dad took to her house when he had dinner with her one evening while Jan’s mom was in the hospital after giving birth to Jan. Heather very generously gave us our beloved All-Clad LTD cookware when we got married, and she gave us Sylvia’s super Britax car seat when she was born. She’s been so generous to us, and I really wanted to send her something in thanks. She lives in Santa Barbara, where the weather is pretty much perfect year-round—no need for woolen knits, but hopefully she’ll enjoy and be able to use these.