Everyone writes about the evils of social media, and yet this morning I read a post from a woman who wrote that every Christmas Eve morning her mother would light a bayberry candle on the kitchen table and let it burn all day until it extinguished itself. (This was supposed to bring good fortune in the coming year.) And I was reminded, for the first time in years, that my mother did the same thing.
An interesting interview with Rick Steves in yesterday’s New York Times magazine, particularly when he talked about the personal costs of travel (though they were similar to those experienced by many workaholics). And he somewhat downplayed the environmental costs. He claimed that, if suddenly rendered unable to travel, he would embrace the situation, taking as much joy in the pleasures of home as he did those of the road. It reminded me of Jonathan Raban’s acceptance of, and fascination with, the stroke that ended his traveling life (which he brilliantly chronicles in his memoir Father and Son). Good travelers possess an innate optimism, and curiosity about things, that serve them well wherever they are.
Early last month my “40s Junction” channel on Sirius XM was temporarily taken over by “Holiday Traditions.” It seemed a little early to me – I didn’t start listening till after Thanksgiving – but perhaps, I thought, they wanted to make sure they got in all of the great Christmas carols and songs.
A week before Christmas, I now realize they wanted to bombard us with a few select standards: “Jingle Bells,” “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” “Little Drummer Boy,” “Joy to the World.” Even carols I love, like “O Holy Night,” I’m getting a little tired of. I have not heard “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” (a beautiful Advent carol), let alone “In the Bleak Midwinter.”
I don’t know why I expected more. The situation is the same on the pop stations. Gordon Lightfoot, according to Sirius, wrote two songs: “Sundown” and “Carefree Highway” (in my opinion, two of his least interesting). OK, sometimes you hear “If You Could Read My Mind,” but never “Approaching Lavender.” With Simon & Garfunkel, you get a handful – “Sounds of Silence” and of course “Mrs. Robinson” ad infinitum – but never “Old Friends” or “April Come She Will.”
In a country, and a time, that’s all about diversity, we get very little of it on the radio. And don’t get me started on television.
Billie Eilish was interviewed by Terry Gross on “Fresh Air” yesterday and as she spoke about her appearance – and the thinking behind it – it occurred to me that she is the antithesis of Taylor Swift. And it struck me as odd that two of the biggest female singers were such polar opposites, both in their physical presence and their musical styles. (Pop music – a genre that contains multitudes.) Of the two, I find Eilish’s music the more interesting by far.
Picking up the mail yesterday evening I found, amongst the bills and Christmas cards, a priority envelope from the U.S. government containing my new passport.
I don’t know what number this one is, but I do know I’ve had a passport since 1968, when, as a junior in high school, I went on an Easter trip to Italy with the Latin Clubs of New Jersey. This is the first one I renewed online – a surprisingly easy process – and the first one that carries a picture of me without my glasses. (Seeing the mug shot again, I was reminded of the wag who said that if people really looked like their passport photos, nobody should be allowed to travel.) Happily, like my driver’s license, which also shows me bereft of spectacles – what I think of as an instance of facial nudity – it’s a document that only people who don’t know me will see, officials in uniforms who, hopefully, will give it only a cursory glance.
Saturday morning we drove to Palm Beach. Carols emanated from the large tree on Worth Avenue and Santa strolled the sidewalk past parked Jaguars and Bentleys. But the wind, whipping off the ocean, kept the crowds away.
After lunch, we drove to The Breakers but weren’t allowed in; the guard was very apologetic but said three conferences were currently at the hotel and he wasn’t letting visitors through, not even for a quick glimpse of the decorated lobby. It was, he insisted, a one-time thing. So we drove across the bridge and had tea and pastries at Johan’s Joe, where the staff were preparing for that evening’s Swedish Christmas dinner.
At home I got on my bike and rode to the New River. East of the Seventh Avenue bridge docked boats with Christmas lights appeared, including a tug that sported a marlin, a peacock, a pink flamingo and a Santa in a Hawaiian shirt. Farther along, I found people sitting in folding chairs in front of the closed Downtowner. More people sat past the Third Avenue bridge, and a man was making tacos in front of Masa & More, the restaurant with possibly the windiest outdoor dining in Fort Lauderdale.
Then yesterday afternoon we drove to Trinity Cathedral in Miami for the service of lessons and carols. A few of the lessons were read in Spanish; one of the carols was sung in French. Over a hundred people joined the Anglican Chorale on the familiar carols – “Joy to the World” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” – and for a few moments, there in the century-old sanctuary in the heart of Miami, all did seem wonderful and bright.