Happy Christmas to all...

Outside it's raining. Inside there's a fire in the fireplace, and the cat is drowsing on her very own hearthrug. I'm listening to a favorite album -



- so long a favorite that I bought it first on LP, then tape, then CD. Now I can pull it out of the air.

Earlier tonight we had a light dinner at Gainsbourg, in Greenwood - dark, spacious, a gas fire on one wall, old trunks used as tables in front of comfortable couches, good food, interesting cocktails, absinthe if you dare. Since it is named for the Serge Gainsbourg, there's a cocktail called a Jane Birkin, as well as a Brigitte Bardot. Not forgetting the old reliables - Kir Royale (my favorite) and French 75.

It's going to be the dinner-and-a-movie (or two or three) Christmas. After Gainsbourg, we went back to I & Z's house, and watched "Holiday Inn," a movie I'd never seen. Although it's famous for introducing "White Christmas" to the world, it should be equally famous for Fred Astaire's July 4 dance among exploding fireworks.

Tomorrow Ian is cooking dinner - and he has a lineup of film noir classics we MUST see. Since the rain is forecast to go on for at least the weekend, this all sounds perfectly reasonable.

Before I go to sleep, I'll listen one more time to Alan Maitland reading "The Shepherd," courtesy of the CBC program, "As It Happens." If you haven't heard the program, it's worth checking out (NPR carries it.) "The Shepherd," which runs every Christmas Eve, is a lovely ghost story.

Five days to Christmas Eve...

The tree survived, the wind abated, and this morning the sun is shining. From the deck the view looks like this picture, except that there are even fewer clouds.

I should be out walking, for the Vitamin D and the exercise and easing a gimpy back. Physical therapist's advice is to walk on even ground, but if you try that in this neighborhood, you'd be confined to the two blocks in front of the building. So I plod uphill & down, assuming it will all even out eventually!

Time to finish and mail the last of the holiday letters. As much as I enjoy staying in touch with people, the logistics of note-writing, folding, stuffing & mailing feel much more of a chore than the actual writing of the letter. That's hard (but rewarding) work, especially if one aspires to stay out of the "awful Christmas letter" category.

"Santacon" hit Seattle yesterday - hundreds of people dressed as Santa or his helpers, gathering at 12:30 p.m. at the Fremont Troll, then spreading out to walk, ride or bar-hop for the rest of the day. A giggling group got on a bus I was riding, and everyone smiled as they trooped by to take over the entire back section.

My favorite was the young woman dressed as Santa - in a short red dress, black tights and boots, a short furry jacket, and a long white stick-on beard and mustache.

Holidays

Outside the wind is blowing like crazy, and I'm watching the one remaining maple tree below the building lash back and forth. For years I've expected it to go down someday, but hope its roots are still strong enough to survive winds and saturated ground.

Earlier this week a large evergreen planted close to a neighboring building simply fell over, its roots no longer able to hang on. The tree came to rest against power lines and stopped, remaining in place until it was cut down, a day or two later.

It's Christmas, almost. This year we're still without a plan for the 25th, although something will emerge soon. L & D are going to the Methow for a much needed break. Those of us remaining here have kicked around various ideas - including a movie and Chinese food.

Here's a wreath for any season, courtesy of the Viena (sic) Bistro in Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) Romania.


And here are pictures full of sunshine, from the Playa de la Concha in San Sebastian, where this sculpture by Eduardo Chillida "combs the wind."

The car pix...

A long time ago - in May, to be specific - I posted from Durfort, France, on a day when we'd been enthralled by a fabulous assembly of vintage automobiles, parked for a couple of hours on the main square. I promised pictures, but never delivered.






So - late but better than never - here are the goods. Because the cars were tightly packed together, it was almost impossible to get good individual shots, so I cropped to show details - elaborate lettering, beautiful hood ornaments, unique solutions to everyday car problems (how to carry extra gasoline, for example) and most of all, the love and care lavished on these antique beauties by their owners.


Most of the cars looked as if they had just driven off the showroom floor (or out of the restorer's workshop.) There was one, however, that seemed to have arrived at the rally directly from a trans-Sahara trek.


Once or twice I have ridden in antique cars. Narrow tires and scanty springs make for a rough ride, but the stares and thumbs-up signs from other drivers make it all worthwhile.

And really - what a way to travel!

Ripping yarns

(Not to be confused with "ripping yarn," as in knitting, where the procedure is properly called "frogging." I asked why, and got the obvious answer: "Because you have to rip it rip it rip it." Oh.)

At the moment I have no knitting to rip out, but I do have a yarn to recommend: The Long Ships, by Frans G. Bengtsson. Published in Sweden during WWII, it appeared in an English translation in the 50's, but has been out of print for years. Now New York Review of Books editions has reissued the book, with an enthusiastic and highly readable introduction by Michael Chabon.

The book is "Once upon a time..." for anyone who loves a tale that makes a faraway place and time solidly real. The Long Ships takes place between the years 980 and 1010, and carries its hero, Red Orm, from his home in southern Sweden (in those days part of Denmark) as far south as Moorish Spain, to Ireland, England, and far out into the Atlantic, all in ships propelled by oars and sails.

Orm spends two years as a galley slave, matures into a fierce fighting man and a chieftain, serves the Caliph of Cordoba, turns Christian in order to marry a king's daughter, and has no end of ferocious encounters and hairbreadth escapes before ending his days as the wealthy patriarch of a large family.

Adventure stories are as old as the human race, and they never lose their appeal, especially when told with skill and verve. In his introduction, Michael Chabon celebrates the "deadpan humor" of the book, found on nearly every page. Bengtsson's extensive knowledge of the period illuminates the book, but never gets in the way of the narrative.


Well-written historical novels are a window into the past. While looking through this one, you may well wonder how descendants of these plundering, death-dealing, take-no-prisoners rovers of 10th century Scandinavia became the highly-civilized, forward-looking, peaceable Swedes, Norwegians and Danes of today.

Thanksgiving and after

Snow lasted long enough that we wondered if we'd spend Thanksgiving at home instead of at Vashon. Wind on Monday night brought down trees and major power lines all over the island.

Power came back to the south end Wednesday, about 2 hours before L & D and a friend arrived at the cabin. Roads were still a bit icy, but snow was supposed to start melting Thursday morning. By the time we started off on Thursday, all the main roads were bare and wet. On the island the side roads were covered with bits of fir branches - nature's own traction device!

Cabin holidays are the best - relaxed but festive. Good food, good company, laughter, games, books and conversation. The turkey was one of the freshest we've ever eaten - L & D raised an even dozen this year. Eight survived to become Thanksgiving meals.

Snow surprise

Otherwise known as #snOMG (its Twitter hashtag) or #snopocalypse. It's a given that we're weather wimps here, but when the forecasters predicted cold but dry, most snow to fall elsewhere, we believed it.

Today we got snow. And cold. And wind. And at 10 p.m., when it's supposed to ease off, and the storm warnings are scheduled to be lifted, it's STILL SNOWING.

People have spent hours traversing 20-minute commutes. Those who are lucky enough to live close to town (or at the bottom of long hills) are hosting slumber parties.

Daughter-in-law Zanne is spending the night, happy to walk here after seeing the chaos of chained-up buses blocked by stalled cars on a major arterial. I'm happy to be safe at home.

Earlier, I did take the bus to another neighborhood, mainly to go to the library to snag the last part of Your Face Tomorrow. If it's going to snow and be cold for the next few days, a good book is essential!

(This morning, the snow still looked relatively benign, especially when it was light enough to balance on the Japanese maple leaves.)