December

Descanso Gardens, December

In 1956, in a white frame house in a small town in North Dakota surrounded by snowy plains, my family gathered around our new television. We were watching a presentation of Amahl and the Night Visitors on a December afternoon. I was 10. Mother was pregnant with a baby to be born in six weeks, my only brother. The Christmas tree was beginning to accumulate presents under it, cards were taped along the woodwork arches between the dining and living rooms, and there was at least one “manger scene” arrayed on a bookshelf.

I was mesmerized by the deft staging of the opera, the gorgeous singing between mother and son, the easily understood story with its touches of dance and humor. Even my father, who normally disdained television, stood at the back of the room watching. Amahl became a Christmas tradition as I grew up. My music teacher in high school got the sheet music for some of the songs and we learned them in chorus.

Recently, I looked for and found on YouTube the version noted above. It is the one I remember best, performed in 1963. The songs ring in my head even now, and I remember the libretto almost by heart. Is that because it was imprinted on my 10-year-old brain?

December and the holidays are all about anticipation, about music, flowers, treats and most especially, communication. Will we hear from the friend who we haven’t seen in the last year? I can’t help but look forward to Christmas cards. We are far from family, but there will be virtual visits. And the music. Two other favorites are this presentation of Handel’s Messiah and this one of Benjamin Britten’s Ceremony of Carols. I don’t get through December without viewing each of these amazing works.

Some of us look forward to the winter solstice, the turning point on which the sun begins to last a little longer in the sky each day. Our sunrise comes up over a nearby hospital building. In December I watch to see if it will clear the building and come up in the trees beside it. I thought it did once, but I must have been mistaken. This morning, December 22, the sunrise was still blocked by the building.

I am always astonished that the high European version of Christmas has penetrated so far into every corner of the world. Our neighborhood in Southern California is plastered with reindeer, sleighs, blow-up Santa’s lit from within, glittering wreaths and evergreen Christmas trees brought in from who knows where. Advertising admonishes us to buy presents and wrap them cheerily to put under the tree. Lighting displays seem to be the chief attraction, in shopping malls, grocery stores and neighboring houses. Holly jolly Christmas pop songs follow us as we shop.

Does anyone think about why we are doing these things? Why we allow December to overwhelm us? In northern latitudes, lights blazing cheer the dark time of the year. But here, the weather has been balmy, the sun intense every day. As a kid, we were told our gifts were reminders of the gift of God’s grace in sending his son to redeem our sins. My parents had no use for the Coca-Cola Santa Claus. Don feels the same. “Me and Santa Claus in a dark alley. Wouldn’t be pretty,” he says darkly. To him, Santa is the epitome of how corporations turn us all into assets, demanding that we consume.

Innumerable holidays are celebrated in December. I have little familiarity with the ancient holy days of Hanukkah, though I know many people who must have them imprinted on their childhood brains. Also I do not know people who celebrate Kwanzaa, though it was created here in Los Angeles in the wake of the Watts uprising of 1965. Kwanzaa is based on the harvest celebrations of many different African tribes and is celebrated from December 26 to January 1.

In our neighborhood, the appearance of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Virgin Mary, to Juan Diego in 1531 in Mexico is celebrated on December 12 with feasts and processions. Our Lady told Juan to gather roses which she placed in his cloak. When the flowers were shown to the Archbishop, an imprint of Our Lady appeared on the cloak. This cloak is now preserved in Mexico City, though a small piece of it is enshrined here in Los Angeles at Our Lady of the Angels cathedral.

Despite the rituals, I find there is always some delightful surprise in December, something I didn’t expect. As when, Jesse River sends an advent calendar full of tiny jam jars from France. Or when I especially love a movie, like last year’s A Complete Unknown. Or the year my chocolate crème pie came out really well. Or when someone turns up you didn’t expect. Perhaps this year it was the gorgeous day we walked through the still blooming roses up to the lake at Descanso Gardens and saw the little waterfall shown in the photo above. You never know.