This afternoon! Two o’clock at the Oysterville Church! The (sometimes) annual Oysterville Christmas Program will begin!
I’m not even sure “program” is the right word these days. A hundred years ago when my mother was a girl, it was a Program with a capital P. All the school children were involved – each one reciting “a piece” – and there was a Christmas tree with presents for each child and, also, for the “bachelors” and others who lived alone. It was at the churh because the schoolhouse was too small. The whole town attended and sang carols and shared in the joy of the season.
The only all-inclusive Christmas programs I remember, by the time of my own childhood, took place in the local schools. In those days (and even during the sixties, seventies and eighties when I was teaching) we could still sing songs about the baby Jesus and the shepherds watching their flocks by night. And we could still call them “Christmas Programs.” Now… the celebrations are for “the holidays” and everyone tries to be politically (or, perhaps, commercially) correct, at least in the schools. Church is another matter, thank God (ahem!).
In the nineties – the 1990s that is – when Leigh Wilson-Codega still lived in Oysterville, she and her sisters often invited the neighbors over to the church to sing carols with them and to hear Nyel or another of the attendees read the Christmas Story from the Book of Luke. No one called it “a program” or anything else, for that matter. It was just an “are you going over to the church this afternoon?” sort of thing.
It was soon after Diane and Hal Buttrell moved here (ten years ago???) that Diane picked up Leigh’s idea and suggested a Christmas Carol sing-along at the church. Gradually, she urged the Bayside singers to become involved and now the “tradition” has segued into part ‘program’ part community carol-singing, and the participants have expanded far beyond just the Oysterville neighbors.
So… perhaps we’ll see one another there this afternoon! Hark! and Joy! and Alleluia!
As I crept through the house toward that first cup of coffee on this early morning, I spied the lumps and tell-tale ribbons peeking out of our Christmas stockings. And, the tears did come… Not that I ever doubted you, you dear old elf. But there were moments this year when I wondered if our little family would ever again spend a Christmas together in my beloved Oysterville. In this old house with all its echoes from holidays of long ago.
Santa, in all your many guises this year – as family members or neighbors or friends or even people we’ve never met – thanks for being there and for never giving up on us. All year long! Those are the thoughts that came surging forth and manifested themselves, unbidden, in streaming eyes and that shaky, need-to-sit-down feeling that sometimes overtakes us. Or, at least it does me. It’s probably an old lady reaction, Santa, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s the equivalent of the little-girl ‘tummy-wiggles’ I remember from Christmas mornings long ago!
So, dear Santa, Happy Christmas from our little corner! As long as you are with us, there is hope. And, truth to tell, the whole world needs a lot of that right now!
Jim Henson and I were contemporaries so it stands to reason that it was my children’s generation who grew up with his Muppets – though, truth to tell, we didn’t have television during most of their early years. Kermit and Miss Piggy and the Cookie Monster were probably not as influential to them as book characters such as Maurice Sendak’s Wild Things or Tomi Ungerer’s Three Robbers.
Why the Cookie Monster has taken up residence is far easier to determine. Cookies! Dozens of them! Our house, which year in and year out seldom sees sweets of any kind, has become some sort of giant magnet for cookies. Boxes of cookies! Tins of cookies! Fancy Christmas Bags of cookies! There has been a parade of friends dropping off the most amazing (and delicious!) assortment of Christmas cookies imaginable.
About ten years ago, the Cookie Monster became sensitized to the problem of obesity in children here in the United States, so his tune changed a little. In an appearance in a 2007 Martha Stewart TV program, Cookie Monster explained his new philosophy that “Cookies are a sometimes food.” Thank goodness for that! Otherwise, we could have a problem on our hands. We are assuming that once the holiday is over and the cookies magically disappear, the monster among us will disappear, too. Meanwhile… we sure are glad that ‘sometimes’ is now!
A year ago on this day, Nyel was taken to Portland by ambulance. That proved to be the beginning of a roller-coaster year involving five hospitals, countless doctors, fifteen (or was it sixteen?) hospital stays and more than 100 nights away from the comforts of home. Whether we’ve wanted to or not, we’ve learned a lot about congestive heart failure and, more importantly, about the particular complicated physiognomy of Nyel’s big heart.
Even more importantly, all the things we thought we ‘knew’ about the value of friendship have been reinforced many-fold. From long-time friends and forever relatives, to new-found acquaintances and even strangers, people have reached out to help in many unexpected ways! They’ve brought meals and reading material. They’ve sung us songs and played live music for us. They have tended our chickens and hosted pre-scheduled gatherings here at the house. Most of all, they have not given up on us, even though we’ve been unable to hold up our end on so many, many occasions.
Last night, some of our local friends came over for our ‘usual’ Friday Night Gathering. It was fabulous. Fred brought his guitar and, after we had caught up (sort of) on recent happenings, we all sang familiar old Christmas songs and carols. And for me, hearing Charlie’s and Marta’s voices among the others was the most precious gift of the season – something that hasn’t happened in many, many years! This year — twice! At Sunday’s Christmas Vesper service and last night right here in our own library!
Today marks the twentieth day in a row that Nyel has been home from his latest hospitalization. If it’s not a record, it must be close to one. I wish I could say that everything is going perfectly – but as we all know, it’s not a perfect world. Not even in Oysterville. We are holding our collective breaths and have fingers and toes crossed that there will be no ambulances called to our doorstep in the next few days! That would, indeed, make this the merriest of Christmases. Ever!