We Wish You…

The wind is gently rattling the windows.

The rain is falling in misty sheets, sideways. We are being very bad today, as we are ensconced in pajamas, sipping tea, reading; post-bath and post-nap and very cozy. This is the weekend of the Glasgow Faire, which means few people are coherent enough to be at work today anyway, since there was a big celebration downtown and on the Green from late Friday onward. Traffic was choked around George Square as hundreds of people crowded in for a concert Saturday night, and rainbow flags swished and swirled in the damp air. It was definitely a party atmosphere, which is why we’re home doing nothing particularly party-like. We went to a wedding this weekend and it was a big enough party (Froth! Feathers! Fascinators!) for all our needs for quite some time. And now, we just want to veg, and enjoy being home. Eventually we’ll get up, look responsible, and clear up the mess in the living room, which has limped along under a load of half-finished books and blankets, a couple of screwdrivers and a pair of wirecutters, for some reason. Eventually we’ll get dressed, and maybe find some lunch. Eventually, we’ll put in some wash.

Eventually.

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Years ago, when T. worked at summer camp (six long years of this, people, which makes her oddly less sanguine about the pitter-patter of little feet) her favorite time of year was Christmas in July. It was, of course, a conceit of great ridiculousness thought up by wily camp personnel desperate to give campers something else to look forward to in the long, heat-dense days of July. Christmas was the Other Big Thing in a year hemmed in by schoolwork and recess — after summer itself, of course. And July 25 was exactly six months away from the Other Big Thing.

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The whole week beforehand, after swimming lessons and Nature class, the nefarious little elves would gather, and instead of resting quietly or writing letters home during rest period as they were told, they would make Christmas cards with copious amounts of glitter and nail polish and glue, and plot what gift to give whom, and which cabin should be ambushed with water balloons under cover of night. (This was the girls, of course. The boys were probably having water fights and origami frog races and deciding which cabin should be booby trapped with the balanced bucket prank and festooned with toilet paper. There was just a lot of pranking going around, much to the staff’s collusion.) There was much shoo-shooing and giggling and many shrewdly narrowed eyes. The counselor lay in her bunk and pretended to be completely insensate, as was appropriate. You could also pair these with some flowers for your girlfriend and there you have the perfect gift.

The day itself was always almost anticlimactic; there would be an especially silly flag raising and line call — elves racing by on horseback with a stolen bag of gifts or something like that — followed by a huge, special breakfast, complete with cinnamon buns and hot chocolate (first thing in the morning, because having that any later would mean we’d be sweating as we sipped), with a short service of lessons and carols in the morning, and then the usual Go-Karts and BMX riding and trail rides and art classes and swimming lessons — with the swim teacher wearing a Santa hat and making the kids dive for silver dollars on the bottom of the pool. The fun would continue throughout the day, and then at last, supper, with a visit from a suspiciously Camp Director looking Santa, and the breathlessly awaited gifts and games in a garishly decorated cafeteria. The day was always rounded out with s’mores at campfire and an outdoor movie, usually something like the original Hayley Mills/Disney The Parent Trap, which was amusing to the staff as well as the campers.

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And then, late at night, when the campers were finally somewhat in bed, the staff would come around caroling, the one time of year when one can sing of sleepovers in barns, Infants in straw-lined mangers, shepherds on hills and a silent star, and have it make sense. (Really, can you imagine shepherds on the hills of Bethlehem in sub-zero climes? It snows in Bethlehem in December. Just sayin’.) From being a day filled with too much sugar and hysteria, the night tended softly toward the downright magical.

Fun memories, those.

The best thing about Christmas in July is that it is …anticipatory, yet completely offbeat and dare we say, weirdly juvenile. Which is why T. has decided we must do it this year. She has invited our friend C. along, with a garishly glittery card, to attend a supper and a movie – sadly not out of doors nor accompanied by a campfire; we’ll have to make do with candles — and is plotting the making of gifts and the settling on a menu of significant poshness. We must, of course, begin the day with hot chocolate and rolls (with orange zest and cardamom in the dough, of course), read T’s third favorite Christmas story, and then perhaps do something completely off the cuff — like go berrying at East Yonderton Farm, in Inchinnan, which provides a U-Pick of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries. (This will have to do, since we have no swimming lessons available, and no horses.) We’ll enjoy stuffed mushrooms and a roasted veg bread pudding starter, some sort of roast beast, garlicky green beans and butternut squash, a salad with slivered almonds and something, and then, our dessert – something or other with berries.

(As you can see, the menu is a work in progress.)

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We will force C. to play her recorder for her supper, because what else are friends for if not for force you to play the instruments you have in your house but allow to be covered by a thin layer of dust, and then we’ll settle in with our DVD of The Hogfather, an adaptation of the Pratchett novel which is not Death Takes a Holiday, exactly, but more Death Takes Over A Holiday, and we know C. is as weird as we are, and will enjoy it immensely.

It may be the only Christmas celebration that we’ll have this year, thus it’s doubly important. Instead of our usual trip home, spending six weeks among family and friends, we’ve decided to save our shekels for the inevitable interview trips D. will have to make the nearer his graduation looms. Jobs – money – things to pay off school loans – these are the sorts of things which occupy our minds just now. Occasionally, T. wakes D. up in the middle of the night and asks, “Where are we going?” He has no real reply, and since he usually isn’t too deeply asleep anyway (the long daylight is still making REM sleep a fond and distant memory just now), just makes up something vague yet promising (He is very good at this.) which allows her to let go of her nightmares of penniless wandering and go back to plotting the next three novels, and eventually to sleep.

Where are we going? What are we doing? And what happened to summer? Some days it seems like it’s all rushing toward us rather rapidly. In less than a year — finishing up, the summation, another novel due, an oral defense — And then we remember: only the weather thinks it’s October. We still have plenty of time to finish things, wrap things up, do our last deeds in this place. And we’re going to celebrate every day as much as we can, until we have to get serious about the future.

So, Merry Christmas in July. Here’s to not knowing the future, but feeling it bloom heavy with mystery and promise. Here’s to the days of anticipation.

4 Replies to “We Wish You…”

  1. How bizarre that this very morning I was journaling and asking those same questions. My answer was to get up and roast poblanos to make rellanos later today.

  2. I’d take the rain about now instead of this willy wally no sun in the summer weather we’re cocooned in. And wind. That would be nice as well. But you’re far more creative than I am with plans of Christmas in July. With a future just as fuzzy, I’m contemplating the grand task of changing my blog header and calling it a day. Maybe. Loved this post!

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