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.
Forty-three years ago today, General Wojciech Jaruzelski imposed martial law in Poland:
“The news on television was now being delivered by a man in a military uniform. Tanks and soldiers patrolled the streets. Schools were closed until after the holidays; theaters, cinemas, and concert halls were closed indefinitely. Telephones throughout the country had been disconnected; the borders closed to citizens. Solidarity’s leaders were being interned; General Jaruzelski jokes were being minted.” – from Falling into Place: A Story of Love, Poland, and the Making of a Travel Writer.
Last night I received on my phone the Christmas issue of The Spectator, the annual double issue with a beautifully illustrated cover. My delight at being able to read the magazine during the holidays, which I was never able to do when I received the paper edition, is tempered by my regret at not being able to hold in my hands, and then save in a drawer, the aesthetically pleasing product.
I’ve been writing my Christmas cards this week – keeping them brief, per my belief that making your own card gives you license to be succinct. While I go through my increasingly, distressingly outdated address book, I listen to old broadcasts of Christmas shows on the Millennium of Music website: A Medieval Christmas. A Baroque Christmas. A Mediterranean Christmas. A Bohemian Christmas. Musical journeys in time and space.