Listening to Dave Brubeck playing O Tannenbaum on Ultimate Calm Christmas Jazz. It is the required relief from Handel’s Messiah and Mantovani’s Greatest Songs of Christmas. Appropriate to have some music on Christmas morning or indeed any morning for that matter, as I have always done while munching my sliced green apple and reading the overnight email. I caught myself staring blankly out the lanai window over the boat slip onto what at first I thought was a flashing light from the second storey balcony of the townhouse opposite. It proved to be an overnight light which remained lit this grey Christmas morning, hidden behind the tarnished palm fronds tossed about in the cold northern wind.
His Lordship reports that this evening’s celebratory meal will be tomatoes with Kalamata olives and basil, blackened flounder and shrimp with smashed potatoes followed by papaya with Greek yoghurt and stewed prunes and cranberries for dessert. Years ago we began making our individual meals, initially I perceived to His Lordship’s regret but he has since willingly abandoned his erstwhile passion for the labour of cooking. Pointedly we discovered our tastes were different even though I always enjoy the novelty of His Lordship’s meals when as today he feels provoked to re-enter the kitchen with formality. However for day-to-day nourishment we are both more restricted. Of the two of us, I am repetitive (which is to say, less dynamic). Apart from toast, I don’t cook. I am fundamental, which translates to raw fruits and vegetables, adorning the concoctions with little more than Maldon salt, olive oil and red wine vinegar. We eat two meals a day, which in my case is usually a late morning breakfast, then we both dine between 6:30 – 7:00 pm. This limitation does nothing to reduce our protuberant bellies. I have resolved to attribute the evolutionary characteristic to old age (that terribly convenient exoneration for everything from vulgarity to truth).
In the meantime I persist pursuing my regiment of a daily outing on my tricycle which I purchased literally within minutes of arriving on Key Largo almost two months ago; and happy that I did so. Otherwise my bum knee and whatever is going on with my broken arthritic ribs would prohibit me from any movement. As it is I have at least the semblance of activity. And motion. I have to be moving, somewhere, anywhere, constantly. Even reading and writing are distinguished by bouncing around from dictionaries and thesauruses to on-line searches and encyclopedias. Today I accomplished (if such a description is apt to the extent of my exertion) 2.40 Km. It was cold. My hands felt frozen. I wore for the first time here a jacket atop my Polo shirt and jersey. I don’t think I even brought a sweater. I did however see one of the staff (probably a gate keeper) arriving with furry white ear muffs.
Not many those mornings trod the piling streets: an old man always, fawn-bowlered, yellow-gloved and, at this time of year, with spats of snow, would take his constitutional to the white bowling green and back, as he would take it wet or fire on Christmas Day or Doomsday
A Child’s Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas
Bicycling along the narrow lane about the neighbourhood I saw a deflated Santa Claus bent over the walkway of a townhouse. Someone thought to stake an advertisement for Jesus on their front lawn notably in red, white and blue colours. A young boy (a child of about 8 or 9 years) experimented with his own new miniature (motorized) tricycle complete with flashing rear lights. His parents and older sister stood by watching with approval and a measure of consternation. There were chimes animated for the first time by the violent northern wind. White caps on the sea. And the indisputable whiff of turkey was in the air. The laneway was empty of people, not a soul fought the irreligious wind for a walk as is usual throughout the day.
Upon recovering my welcome dominion in the now heated townhouse I reviewed the latest emails from family and friends. Apparently the canine theme is common from Ontario to California to New Zealand. I can see from the accompanying photos that the masters and mistresses of these loveable creatures are deeply stirred by their pets. Is it a coincidence that none of them has children? I know His Lordship and I could add our contribution to that especial vote. Otherwise there is no limit, either by gender, partnership, marriage, gay, lesbian or straight. What an additional accomplishment awarded to our 4-legged friends! They too are seemingly indiscriminate; viz., either purebred, mix breed, domestic or rescue.
Upon that topic of love and fidelity there is little of substance that I may meaningfully add to Christmas on Key Largo. As our friend Nancy from La Crosse, Wisconsin remarked this morning, something to the effect that she is “…determined to forget talk about health issues and just enjoy all the blessings we have been given”. I sanctioned her focus and strength of example to us all.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.
A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863)