Ho, ho, ho! Still Time Left to Buy a Tree!

see also: the lovely willingness of my partner.

Ahhh, Day of Wonders!

...Or at least, one of copious sugar, a bubble bath with a damp novel*, and a much appreciated "bang trim."** It has been a surprising day, with the best indicator being my Jewish fiance standing on a curb like so:

He was gamely waving and ho-ho-ho-ing. He spoke with a curious accent: jolly, sure, but originating from where exactly? "Get your Christmas trees HEEyuh!" Cars were honking. The handful of Christmas trees remaining in the Washtenaw AlAnon lot were small in stature, but not overtly Charlie Brownish. 

It was too cold for Santa to not have Santa gloves.

<-- Javier said my smile when I pulled into the parking lot was the biggest he has seen in a while. Gleeful mockery aside, you can probably see the inner child is all "SAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYNTAAAA!" 

My actual child, meanwhile, was inside, being hefted by Javier's dear friend (and snazzy elf, to boot); and sheltered from the cold and her recognizable-but-odd Papa.

they emerged for a photo op.

We are in our early stages of navigating different religions/cultures. Last Fall I had stressed that baby aside, I *definitely* needed to continue having a tree, though I understood that it was not a shared necessity; this season, I got a smaller one that would fit outside of Baby's area, and have been super super happy that Javier has approved its compact twinkliness. It probably helps that it makes me gleeful and more prone to bake things like snappy anise stars / dark chocolate pistachio bark / chocolate peppermint bars. We currently lack a menorah, but this will most certainly be rectified before this time next year.

& babbles at fake greenery that sprung up overnight

She eschews the spoon, wears bibs she can not read

I like to think we'll raise a child who will be savvy at navigating through different cultures, religions, schools of thought, and who will embrace that which appeals, question the questionable, release that which does not resonate; and not interpret confusion as overly alarming, or as a lack. Tall order? And maybe this, too, is self-justifying blather from someone who tends to get sucked in by visual trappings and rituals, but is, by no means, devout. Which is not to say that I'm apologetic for not being a person of faith; I think self knowledge is of the utmost importance and faith in any kind of higher power can never be forced on anyone who doesn't already contain a germ of this within themselves.

As of two days ago, our daughter turned 9 months old. Curious and strange to consider that her life outside my body has now surpassed the one she had within it. Curiouser and curiouser to consider Javier and I have been on this collective journey for over a year and a half now. I blogged about it, three days ago. Imagine a good post here: solid, kinda funny, with a few surprising twists. It was worth your time. I shifted my own perspective through the writing of it, and temporarily felt more settled, as I do after satisfying posts. I was, however, writing in a restaurant with dodgy internet, and the connection must have cut out wayyyyyy early in my writing, because the entire post evaporated. Gone, gone, gone.

So! Suffice it to say that I haven't lost my essential self, the baby is and shall be a crazy handful, the Cakeasaurus picture book is humming along (only 4 pages left that need to be drawn from scratch! lots of carving ahead for 2016), and Tiny Expo was a wonderful re-entry into shows. I'm not sure how many shows I'll want to take on in the coming year, but this one was a great reminder of why I (sometimes) love doing them -- inquisitive and enthusiastic people, bonding over mutual loves; healthy sales and new art discoveries. Why is it so refreshing when strangers find you funny and/or odd? Not a bad way to mark the year's end. In the next few days, we are Pennsylvania- and Florida-bound for our families -- many more plane flights for baby, oodles of Baby love, and hopefully some hours drifting in the Ocean. Happy Holidays, Winter Solstice, New Year's All!

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*Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behavior -- so good!: "...she was dismayed by the crowd of people who stood close together on her own front lawn, all facing the house as if expecting it to perform. They looked dressed for a camping trip, in boots and backpacks and puffy down parkas. As she drew closer, she saw some white cardboard placards. And heard chanting. A lot of energy directed toward a house where no one was home. Don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes, she thought, a directive that was never meant for nearsighted people." This passage in particular reminds me of Tom Drury's dry wit, though the story's sense of yearning, constraint, is more front-and-center than its humor. 

**The latter comes just in time for our holiday visit home to my family, which will likely bolster my mother's anxiety that our daughter will be "confused," what with two parents having (nice, streamlined!) short hair. As discussed, we are already providing numerous confusion points for her, but this is a favorite for my Mom. But truly, if the babe is foiled by hair length, we're clearly in trouble. I'm more confident about the baby's future ability to navigate gender and sexual norms than I am that I'll escape the current stage without being savaged by her four newly descended teeth. She has bitten me with the lower two, and that was alarming enough for all involved parties. Hopefully my past exclamations are recalled just enough to fend off more experimental momchomping.

Always Hang the Golden Apples; Plug in the Pig.

I expected the tree would be a lot smaller, and it was; a happy little table top fiber optic model which sparkled a shifting rainbow of colors through its branch tips. It was duct taped to the side table at its base (to foil human clumsiness rather than any felines, who, friends tell me, feel compelled to scale such things). From my childhood, I remember the annual Wrestling of the Tree Box from attic to third and second floor, to first. It was a frustrated affair, with shouted invectives preceding and following the sound of corners banging into walls; though naturally there was a happy ending. It was understandable when at some point, my parents abandoned the practice of bringing the entire tree down, in favor of erecting only the topmost section of the tree. I'm still sorry that I never actually witnessed this intermediate step, but happy for them that they eventually settled upon a more feasible solution. This shift probably happened years ago, but you know how it is -- when you're not present for the evolution, you tend to freeze things at various stages.

The ornament box naturally also shrank. What surprised me was how delightful it was to rediscover ornaments I grew up with -- shiny baubles from the 50s, small "stained glass" ornaments that my sister baked in the oven (which foretold her stained glass making in college), and tiny little figures which seemed to have always existed.

First and best! Little pine cone elf! With his feather quill!

 

 

The angel, oh my goodness! Can you believe it, people?

Some things remain relatively constant: my father spent most of the time pouring over a transit book, as his preferred manner of interacting is to read nearby, and occasionally insert a statement, pithy remark or rhetorical question. MSNBC was featuring video snippets from a "rogue internet videographer," who chronicled his outrage over police officers parking too close to fire hydrants, alleged prostitute activity, and other various infractions of the law. "Who IS this pain in the ass?" wondered my father, barely lifting his eyes from his book.

Added since I have been gone. Birds are always nice.

One of the best of the old ornament boxes! Always loved the color and shape.

Meanwhile, my Mom was delivering hanging guidelines, with a sense of foregone conclusion, though I had no memory of these preferences. I learned that one of her oldest friends had originally given us the two pine cone elves and that they are always hung together, a practice which I had failed to pick up on. But now that I knew that, it seemed only right. I gestured to various boxes: Should we hang these? Oh, yes. The golden apples have to go on! Oh yes, we always hang the white hearts. The gold pears, too: a must.

I commented on an ornate painted wooden ornament hanging from a nearby lamp:

"That's from Andy*!" my Mom exclaimed: "Don't you remember that??"

"Oh! Really? Nope, I don't remember that at all..." 

Mom shook her head. "I have always loved the drummer, I hang it every year! He fits very nicely into the lamp base. But then you gave Dad those little wooden birds and I like to have them nearby as well."

*An ex boyfriend from -- no exaggeration -- 20 years ago.

We finished the little tree over a couple sessions, with my sister also adorning it. A much more mellow affair. And on Christmas Eve there was such a nice sweetness to opening my shipping box and distributing presents; and then seeing the folks disappear to their separate hiding places and emerge with variously colored boxes that were then sprinkled around the base. Happens most everywhere, I know; and to all the parents out there, present distribution is old hat -- but somehow, the pooling together of presents, as seen activity, as adults -- struck me as lovely. Christmas afternoon, my sister and her boyfriend easily doubled the present mass with their festive offerings. There was much admiration of thought(fulness) and thing; warmth, affection, and laughter; and confections at every turn. Hope Everyone's holiday season has been as lovely!

Parting note: bonus lights tour, courtesy Sister. Here's a smattering of shots, more of which can be found here. The Tuckers and Valenzas don't fool around!

Tuckers: Firefighting and Cartoon Love, in a Small Front Yard

Valenzas: Lit-Up Winter Wonderland.

Snowman, menacing visitors with his broom.

Rarely seen Porcine Claus, on side street.

Closer to home, but not home. Parents say it grows each year.