Our boss got us these presents before we closed the office for the holidays.
Via NewMexiKen comes Karen’s list of the “Top ten things I miss about Christmas in New Mexico:”
8) Christmas Eve midnight Mass in Spanish with the overpowering scent of frankincense filling up the overly warm church. Pure torture for a small child, but oh how I’d belt out the carols… And when we came home we could pick one present and open it. Gah! The torture of picking just one!
All I can say is that this list applies for my family almost to a tee — the only major differences being location-based (we never went to Old Town for shopping, since we were in Silver City and all). Also, my mom, sister and I would always go looking for a Christmas tree. We’d head to the Gila National Forest near Pinos Altos or around Bear Mountain.
And we’d spend hours searching and searching. And Aislinn and I would fight, eventually split up, and head off in search of the perfect tree. And, finally, we’d settle on a tree (sometimes after tears had been shed).
Now, cutting it down and getting back to the car was an entirely different story: one year, I used the saw on my Leatherman tool.
I’ll actually be home for Christmas this year. More specifically, I’ll arrive on Christmas, stopping to say hello to my sister at the airport in El Paso as she hops on a plane to come back to D.C. My poor dad, who gets to do all the driving.
And he was in it!
I joined my mom and sister for a production of The Nutcracker this evening, my first real trip to the ballet. The performance had a bit of a Washington D.C. spin (it was set in 1882 Georgetown) and incorporated not a small amount of Americana (Katchina dolls, the Western frontier, Frederick Douglass).
And former Virginia Gov. Mark Warner played a guest role as The Ambassador.
The performance was the first time on-stage for a seven-year-old girl (Isabelle Johnston), who’s father is a Marine serving in Iraq. Since her pops was going to otherwise miss the show, the production was taped, and will be broadcast for armed forces personnel throughout the world.
A conversation I’d like to have with my boss this week:
Me: Listen, I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in this week
Boss: Oh, no? What’s the problem?
Me: Well, I think I’ve caught a vacation.
Boss: I’m sorry, come again?
Me: Well, my mom’s got this week off from work, she’s going to be spending it relaxing mostly. I think she gave it to me. She seemed pretty contagious.
For some reason, I don’t think that will fly.
There you moved, in and out of the crowd, together but not really together. You’ve already seen the pictures hanging on the walls; you’ve read the descriptions and marveled at the quality. You’re not an expert, but you’ve been moved by the sheer technical mastery, and you now know something of this photographer’s journey.
She’s here, in this museum and gallery, for the first time. She’s visiting her in-laws for the holiday and interviewing for a fellowship. You’ve kinda stayed in touch since high school—more in recent years than before. She still has that wonderfully bright laugh, and the decade since graduation has sharpened her wit.
Lunch was quick, sprinkled with talk of careers, relationships, life. Afterward, you saw Venus, the dance of light, color and sound surrounding the Goddess, covering her. ((http://www.flickr.com/photos/agrinberg/2059315922)) Your shadows form in six places, and you become part of the art, entwined in it. You move up the stairs.
Winding your way through the hall for the second time in a month, you see her. You’re on different sides of the room, looking at different pictures, wary of the other patrons who are trying to grasp the insight of another person’s creativity. You glance back over your shoulder, and that’s when it happens:
She smiles.
She’s lost to the world right now, for this moment. She’s taking in the view in front of her, the work of a truly gifted artist. There’s something familiar about the photo, but seeing it here, now, among the artist’s other works, brings out some new dimension. There’s happiness in her eyes, knowledge in her face, and then you find you’re smiling with her.
She doesn’t know you’re watching her, engrossed as she is in the picture, in her inner reflection. You look away, suddenly conscious that you’ve invaded some private moment, tiny as it is. You experience some small measure of pride: this was your idea, to come here today.
She continues on, and so do you. You bump into each other several times during the next hour, as you finish this exhibit and then another. She tells you about her green-chile curry, and other experimental recipes. You laugh about tortillas. You’ll drive her back to Alexandria, and drop her off. And later, you’ll remember that instant when you saw your friend smile.
(This was a bit different for me, I know. Have you ever found pleasure in knowing that a friend or loved one is happy? It was an interesting sensation for me: one I’ve felt before, but somehow more meaningful this Sunday. I was compelled to write about the experience.
For those interested, we were at the Corcoran Gallery of Art in D.C., one of my favorite places in the city. We first stopped to see Loop, before moving on to the Annie Leibovitz exhibit. I can’t remember, as I write this, which photo triggered my friend’s reaction—so much for my reporter’s eye for detail. We finished with the Ansel Adams exhibit, which is amazing beyond words.)
My dad is in town, and a great friend from high school will be here all weekend as well, so I probably won’t be posting again until Monday. I hope everybody has a great holiday, and a wonderful weekend.