Christmas Party 2021

I do believe that I am about the worst hostess ever.  It’s not that I don’t subscribe to the “mi casa es su casa” philosophy.  I do!  In fact, if there were hostessing words to live by, those would be mine.  Furthermore, it’s not that I don’t love having the house full of friends and relatives.  I do!  The more the merrier is my fervent belief.

So what is my problem, anyway, you may ask.  I wish I knew.  Probably basic insecurity plus a healthy dose of DOC (Dread of Cooking).  Which, of course, extends to buying food, stocking pantry and fridge, and trying to accommodate the vegans and vegetarians and gluten intolerants.  I often think I should take a page out of the legendary book of  Len and Miriam Atkins, earlier owners of the Sou’wester Lodge in Seaview.  Posted in their communal kitchen was the audacious sign, “And fix your own damned breakfast!” or something to that effect.

Of course, anyone who has stayed here since Nyel’s passing in 2022, doesn’t need such a sign.  They know that Nyel took the kitchen magic with him.  Nowadays, my loved ones often arrive fully prepared to fend for themselves and for me, too, when it comes to meals.  That my guests return time-after-time and that I always enjoy every minute of their stay should put a stop to my hostessing angst.  But, of course, it doesn’t.

In 2011 – At My Surprise 75th!

And, having said all that… I am looking forward to my cousin Alex’s arrival later today and as many of his four sons and other relations as can be here for the New Year’s weekend!  I hope Alex brings a copy of his new book!  And will Sam bring his guitar?  Long ago, when Nyel and I, in our turn, moved into this big old family house, we knew that the two of us were not enough for its generous walls to enfold.  I am so glad for its loving hospitality — despite the idiosyncrasies and deficiencies of the current-day hostess!

Christmas Dinner at Tucker and Carol’s

When Charlie pulled out this morning headed back to California,  I didn’t cry exactly — surely, one or two tears don’t count.  Even though it was just the two of us again this year, it was a lovely relaxed time.  We laughed, we visited, we ate (and ate some more) and reminisced and talked about our health and compared notes on the aging process.

That’s one of the things about becoming a parent at a very tender age.  There comes a time when you realize that you and your offspring not only “grew up” together but are now sharing some of “the secrets of old age” as my mother referred to some of the mysteries of her later years.  I wouldn’t trade these visits with Charlie for anything!

The Three Christmas Angels!

And, even though the week went by all too quickly, we squeezed in a lot of socializing with my friends, many of whom have become Charlie’s friends, too, over the years.  That is especially pleasing to me.  Charlie and I have not lived in close proximity to one another since he went off to college in 1974.  That’s nigh unto fifty years!  And for more than forty of those years I’ve been here on the Peninsula with Charlie (and periodically Marta) visiting only once or twice a year.  So… it all stands to reason, but it happens so gradually that I don’t count those blessings as often as I should!

No telling WHAT the Raggedys were up to after the Christmas fun was over for the evening.

The days of trading off — my driving south every other Christmas — are long gone, unfortunately.  I do occasionally have this fantasy of  Morgan Freeman driving me down to L.A. and back in that 1949 Hudson Commodore of Miss Daisy’s or, perhaps more realistically, of going on one of those Viking River Cruises with Charlie some Springtime.  (Like when “my ship comes in” as we used to say.)  Charlie and I even talked about that possibility, but it’s a fantasy that hasn’t gone anywhere… yet.

No complaints, though.  It was a grand Christmas visit.  I feel truly blessed.

Charlie, Charlie, Charley and Charlie

I’ll be the first to tell you that there is no easy way to entertain — holidays or not — if you are having a dinner party for eleven people! Especially if several of the guests have never before met.  But my neighbors Carol and Tucker did find a way to make conversation and “please pass the…” about as stress-free as it could possibly get.  Their answer:  all of the men (except for the host) were named Charlie!  Or, in one case, Charley!

My Charlie!

I mean, what are the odds?  Now, if all the women (except our hostess) could have shared a name…   but wait!  That might have been total chaos.  As it was, the Charley/Charlies all took the situation in stride.  I don’t think there were any social gaffs that could have been a “Charlie-did-it” sort of thing.  And it wasn’t like the olden days when the telephone rang and the Operator said there was a long-distance call for “Charley.”  Or maybe it’s just that we women have long trained our men to smile and answer politely no matter what name they’re called.

And most interesting of all (at least to me) was that all of the Charlies said that sharing Christmas dinner with even one other Charley/Charlie had never happened to them before!    I didn’t think to ask Carol and Tucker how they were so clever in planning their guest list.   Wow!  I wonder if all the women will share the same name at their next dinner party?  And whose name will it be?

Bleary-eyed After The Long Trek from L.A.

Charlie rolled in about half-past dark laden with bags and boxes and ho! ho! ho!  I am much relieved that he has arrived safely.  (Why is it I don’t think about him driving day in and day out in L.A. traffic, but the minute he’s headed this way — and until he’s safely home again — I worry?  It must be a genetic motherhood thing.)

Oh Boy! Presents!

I’m happy to say that the the Lucy Van Pelt Christmas tree received his stamp of approval as did this year’s toy theme which was prompted by Tucker’s Christmas card featuring Albert’s fire engine.

We had pasta and a salad and talked about holiday plans — tomorrow a “dressy-uppy” Friday Night Gathering with good friends,  and maybe a little music.  And afterwards, Charlie will be making a couple of pumpkin pies — his holiday dessert specialty —  while I get the table ready for Christmas Dinner #1 to be held here on Saturday.

Nothing like chocolate to perk you right up!

That’s about as far as we got in the Planning Department.  Our dessert was coffee and a couple of pieces of See’s candy from an “Open Right Now” box from Marta!  Then a few pictures of Charlie’s cats from his pet-sitter Marcello — both looking annoyed that the Boss has disappeared.  Oh well.  Their loss; my gain.  And I don’t think they’d like the pumpkin pies, anyway!

A White Christmas in 2013

Yesterday’s Christmas Vespers program at the Oysterville Church was perfect, in every way!  Todd Wiegardt set the festive tone with festoons of greenery and bright amaryllis flowers.  Pastor Steve Kovach was decked out in Christmas finery as were Tucker Wachsmuth (who told his Beulah Slingerland mud pie  story) and Dobby Wiegardt who read the traditional Christmas Story from the Book of Luke.

But the pièce de résistance, of course, were the Oyster Crackers whose songs of the season emphasized peace on earth and good will to all.  They left the traditional carols to the rest of us.  Accompanied by Suzanne Knutzen on the piano our voices rang out — “four part harmony!” I heard someone say.  And later, I came across a woman who had gone outside for a minute of coughing “and I really didn’t want to go back in,” she told me.  “It was absolutely magical to hear those wonderful old carols ringing out from within the little church into this silent, darkening village!”

The Raggedys came downstairs after all!

And after Pastor Steve’s inspirational closing words, there were so many warm greetings and holiday blessing exchanged — friends from the length and breadth of the Peninsula and from Chinook and maybe even from Astoria.  I was overwhelmed, as I so often am, at the magical draw that the little church has.  I felt Nyel and my mother and father, my uncles Edwin and Willard, my  grandparents, and even dour old R.H. all smiling down on the little church that was so late in coming to Oysterville and has become so beloved by all of us.

We are all enriched by having so many volunteers who give of their time and talents to keep the church going — especially the musicians who value its acoustics, its intimacy, and the way it effortlessly connects us, past and present, with one another.  We are indeed blessed!   And even though a white Christmas would be glorious, I do believe I am content as is!

Next Sunday (the 17th) there will be a Christmas Vesper program at the Oysterville Church from 2:00 to 3:00.  Among the participants will be Steve Kovach, Vespers Spiritual Leader; Tucker Wachsmuth with an “Oysterville Moment” —   a holiday remembrance from old Oysterville; Dobby Wiegardt reading the Christmas Story from the Book of Mark; and the Oyster Crackers, presenting a program of familiar seasonal music and leading the congregation in singing Christmas carols from the old hymnals.  Come as you are to celebrate with us!  And please forward this message to your friends and loved ones.  All are invited!