December 2020 – Fleur-de-Blog

Ideas on how to celebrate COVID 19 Christmas have been all over the airwaves and cyberspace.

But the other day I was charmed by an email from a Kutztown friend telling of his family’s Christmas Past, and how it is being adapted to Christmas Present. He and his wife, his sisters and brothers, and their families always had a traditional get-together.

This year, they will visit via Zoom—maybe. The planners are trying to come up with a way all family members can join in, or at least observe, their singing of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”.

“Would you believe, our Great-Grand daughter suggested to me that maybe Zoom is not the way to go … there is another platform that allows mutable voices to be heard at one time,” he writes.

“That’s why the next generation of grandkids are called Greats!!!”

It got me thinking.

What are the 12 things that mean Christmas to me? Midnight Mass in a Liege Cathedral is not going to happen. Zooming with the kids is a life-supporting but weekly thing. How can I make Christmas Christmas on my first Christmas totally alone?

I realize alone is relative. I am with my four-legged, mop-of-a-pup Sandy 4.0. Friends and family are a Skype or phone call away. But there will be no breaking of bread, scooting next to each other in a crowded church pew, or hugging ‘round the Christmas tree. I’ve been lighting candles, listening to holiday music, writing cards, and staring out at the snow-covered landscape, trying to permanently etch it in my mind.

But what are the 12 Delights of Christmas that will warm the holidays for me?

Fresh chestnuts. Each slit with a knife to let the steam out and roasted in a pan. I remember one night with my Italian grandmother Nives (we called her Nene) when we roasted chestnuts. I must have been 21 or older. We each had a goblet of red wine. We’d peel the leathery, burnt shell off each roasted chestnut and place the still-warm nut on the top of a stick of butter. It would melt a little puddle, then we’d each pick up our chestnut with thumb and index finger and slurp it into our mouth. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Soup. This has been the season of soup. Last night, it was Coconut-Butternut Squash Soup. For the days after Thanksgiving, Turkey-Rice soup. I’ve got dried beans waiting for ham and bean soup in 2021. And, I am proud to say, I made my batch of homemade tortellini (169 little navels of Venus) a few weekends ago. I’ll cook a handful from the freezer in chicken broth for Christmas Eve dinner. The rest I shared with family and friends in totally unglamorous Ziploc bags with cartons of broth, complete with simple directions.
Chocolate-covered cherries. As the oldest, I used to elbow out my sisters for the special gold-wrapped chocolate-covered cherry in an assortment box. Nowadays, I can buy myself an entire box of a chocolate-covered cherries and limit myself to one a day, which is doable, thanks to Belgian chocolate. (I have a supplemental stash of Belgian chocolate-covered candied ginger that came in the mail from Ghent.)
Pears. I must be indoctrinated by Harry & David giftboxes of Christmas Pasts. Don’t get me wrong, I love apples, but during the holidays a slice of melt-in-my-mouth D’Anjou pear and I’m floating over snowbanks. Chop a half pear into my oatmeal, sprinkle on walnuts or pecans, and I’m on a dreamy holiday.
Cookies. Again, Nene would bring a red-and-saffron tin of Lazzaroni Amaretti di Saronno. Each pair of bite-sized, domed cookies are wrapped in colorful paper. One crunch and the almond-sugary goodness dissolves into a wide smile. My mother (with five daughters and a dog underfoot) also baked Grammy’s (my mom’s Polish mother) pinwheels, Moravian sugar cutouts, and spice cookie cutouts. I did the same with my kids. This year, I got a care package from my friend Terese with her perfect molasses cookies topped with red sprinkles. One a day, with a pinch for Mr. Sandy 4.0.
Peppermint. No Christmas tree this year. Just couldn’t rationalize sacrificing a conifer. Besides, my ornaments are packed away. Instead, I clipped a few yew branches (before the deer got them) for a front door swag. Without the Christmas tree, no need for Santa to bring candy canes … but Laurie found a bucket of Peppermint Puffs at CVS for a little peppermint freshness. And Tim won’t be around to plop them in the turkey gravy! (Sorry, family joke.)
Sweet Fruit Dressing. It’s on my to-do list. If you type Sweet Fruit Dressing in my blog’s Search box, you’ll find the recipe. Christmas Eve I make a salad with greens, pomegranate seeds, clementine sections, avocado slices, pistachios, and drizzle this dressing on top. It also works well any other time of year with salad and your choice of fruit and nuts.
Brie. On toast, crackers, baguette … my finger.
Eggnog. Pour into a coffee mug, grate nutmeg on top, sip. Middle-of-the-night elixir.
Cranberry Upside-Down Cake. My Christmas morning breakfast treat. Again, type the name into my blog Search box if you’d like to try it.
Prosecco. From Northern Italy with bubble love.
Spirit. Breathe deep. Send love. Give thanks. Relax. Get outside for a walk. Pray for a healthy 2021. And sing to myself, “On the first day of Christmas …” Laurie Lynch.

More than a year ago my mom went to my sister Larissa’s house for an afternoon visit. Marie sang bits and pieces of songs, such as, “You’re in the Army now,” “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth,” or “Shave and a haircut, two bits.”

Larissa and Earle had an Echo device and alerted Alexa. Alexa would play the entire song from the snippets my mom sang. They had great fun with it. So, last Christmas they bought Marie an Echo for Christmas.

Earle borrowed my phone and set it up, getting the appropriate passwords, etc. I was thankful—no hassle electronics.

We used it a lot. “Alexa, please play The Sound of Music.” “Alexa, please play the soundtrack from Grease.” One of her nurses came to the house and asked Alexa to play Yo-Yo Ma. I’d say, “Alexa, please play Jacques Brel.” Alexa would correct my Belgian-French pronunciation, and then off we’d go with a collection of Brel’s top recordings. We all enjoyed the varied, on-demand music.

“You don’t have to be so polite, Alexa is not a person,” Richard occasionally pointed out. “Well, OK.”

Alexa and I didn’t start out well. I kept calling her Siri—I was too used to Siri giving me directions, I guess. Then, the bill came. Turns out Alexa has a monthly charge that was coming to my credit card. Well … OK.

One day, coming home from work, I walked down the steps from the garage into the living room. “Oh, Alexa’s home,” my mother said, in absolute seriousness.

Not OK. That ruffled my feathers a bit.

As the year went on and my mother was confined to a hospital bed in her bedroom, we moved the whole shebang to her bedside. There, Alexa stayed, quietly playing soothing music until my mother took her last breath.

By July, I returned Alexa to the living room, within shouting distance of my Covid-19 remote workstation. Marina visited and thought Alexa was a bit disturbing. Celso, our dear Brazilian friend from Kutztown High School-Rotary Exchange days, came for a visit and started laughing when he realized we had Alexa.

He told a tale of how he spooked his NJ mother-in-law by synching the Alexa app “drop in” feature on his phone with her home Alexa system. Throughout the year, he would “drop in” and using his best creepy voice say something like, “I can see you,” just messing around. He did this several, random times. Never said a word to his in-laws. Then last Christmas, he recorded a Christmas card with the same spooky voice to let them know the jig was up.

“I’m proud of the joke,” texted Celso. “It was one of my best.”

I must admit, Alexa provides some comfort and company. When I can do little else than make a pot of oatmeal, I mumble, “Alexa, play WPSU,” for a morning of classical music. On occasional sleepy Sundays when I seem poured into the sofa, I’d say, “Alexa, play Joni Mitchell.” On and on, until one of us, Alexa or me, is edging toward suicidal. I decided it was probably best to quit the non-stop hours of Joni. I switched to Bonnie Raitt, Joan Baez, and James Taylor (until then, I had never heard him sing my all-time favorite song, Moon River. A delight!)

Alexa is someone (besides Sandy 4.0) I can talk to. But sometimes she talks back.

Around the time I started being not-so-polite, “Alexa off!” the music would stop, and two seconds later, a little blip, lasting less than a micro-second, echoed through the room. Was Celso playing games or was Alexa?

Then, one evening I found myself entertaining a 10-year-old. He had already exhausted Sandy 4.0 who climbed to the back of the recliner in hang-dog form, body draped like a rag doll, paws dangling.

Alexa to the rescue.

“Let’s play a game,” I suggested to the energetic youngster. Food groups. “Alexa, play a meatball song.” She played The Meatball Song by Andy Mason. He was amazed. “Alexa, play a banana song,” and on came I’m a Banana by Onision. “Alexa, a song about watermelons.” Watermelon Sugar with Harry Styles. “Alexa, play a bean song.” We listened to The Bean Song by Jawbone. Soon, it was time for the youngster to go home. Mission accomplished.

Then, along came Amazon Sidewalk. I kept getting emails that Amazon Sidewalk was coming to our Echo device. All I could see was dollar signs for something I didn’t want or need. They sent “disable directions” but, being technologically disabled, I was unable to disable. So, I figured I’d soon receive a hike in fees. I was feeling like an irritated 60-something. Couldn’t they simply give directions to add Amazon Sidewalk if you want?

Right then and there I grabbed an old credit card bill, called Amazon and said goodbye to Alexa. Regular exercise is my goal for 2021. Imagine all the extra steps I’ll log on my iPhone Health app just walking over to turn on the radio and turn it off again.

“Alexa, thank you.” And loyal blog readers, have a happy and healthy holiday and new year. Laurie Lynch