The New Year begins
Please open your door
And let us come in
With our wassail. . .
|Reindeer enduring the invasion of the carolers|
D. is at the airport waiting to board the red-eye to New York and I find myself without pressing engagements, rehearsals, performances, last minute cooking or sewing projects, packages to wrap or or send, or even laundry to do. Phew!
|View from the top of Queen Anne hill|
Wassailing is an old winter time tradition from the apple growing regions of southern England. It involved traveling around the local orchards singing and toasting the apple trees to encourage them to bear a good crop. Oddly enough, the first wassail we ever participated in was in Brooklyn. As far as I know not a single apple tree was serenaded at that event, but it was a great excuse for a progressive party.
Now we enter the deep dark days of winter, when the holiday decorations are packed away, the parties and performances are over, and the glittery, spangly, gaudiness is stowed away for another year. Time to focus on work and grimly hang on til February is over and we can start looking forward to spring. When we lived in England I used to think there was a good reason the second month was the shortest. It can be seriously bleak and dismal. However, my sister in North Pole Alaska assures me that the days are growing noticeably longer, so summer is on its way.