christmas eve 2022 wigilia

 

My sister-in-law decided I needed these socks to make it official.

To my Polish in-laws, the big celebration of the season isn't Christmas Day, but Christmas Eve, Wigilia, the Christmas Vigil. We don't eat meat that day (because on that day, the animals spoke, and you don't eat entities with whom you might be in conversation), so the meal is full of fish, cheese, and other non-meat comestibles -- and that means my soon-to-be-niece-in-law, who's pescatarian, can eat without suspicion or concern (we made sure to have Goldfish Crackers, but drew the line at Swedish Fish).

This is the first one without my mother-in-law, who was undoubtedly La Grande Dame (or whatever the Polish equivalent is) of the celebrations. It fell to The Excellent Wife (TEW) and me to host (who am I kidding? She did virtually all of the work; I was merely scullery and sous-chef). 

At dinner:

After dinner, there's the singing of Christmas carols, some in English, and some in Polish. We've got a couple of books of kolendy, Polish Christmas carols. I can read music, and can hammer through the Polish pronunciation well enough to sing along (the Excellent Mother-In-Law never really believed I didn't know the words, and was SURE I knew what I was singing, despite my protestations of ignorance). And then the opening of presents, glorious chaos.

It's both a very late night for me (who's usually in bed by 9) and over too soon. TEW and I spent the late night doing the dishes and making sure there wouldn't be general rot in the kitchen by morning; this morning I've dispatched the good silver to its storage, and we're packing up the Christmas china.

We've done our presents, and we're planning a quiet day, with another good dinner courtesy of The Fresh Market or Whole Foods or somebody (sheesh, doncha think TEW did ENOUGH cooking yesterday?), and then to a few loads of laundry and putting the house back together. Domestic life is good. One doesn't need drama and excitement all the time.

not ready to write an obit

 My mother-in-law died yesterday.

This post will not be enough to serve as an obituary, but I wanted to write some of my feelings about her and about her passing.

I frequently referred to Danuta Baginska Brzek (whom I called Babci, as her grandchildren did) as The Excellent Mother-In-Law, on the model of referring to my wife as The Excellent Wife (TEW). But Babci was excellent to me in her own right.

I used to joke that part of the reason that she and I got along so well was that there was only enough common language between us for each to be polite to the other, but that's not really true, and doesn't tell much of the story. Babci always seemed happy to see me. I think she knew that TEW and I got along well, and that her daughter was generally happy with me, and that made Babci happy. She also liked that I would share with her what little of my life I could do, given the language barrier (like most Americans, I have only one language; Babci was fluent in Polish and could make herself understood in English until a stroke took much of that latter capability from her).

I make no secret of the fact that my relationship with my family of origin was problematic. That never seems to have been the case with Babci; she always treated me with positive regard. When my wife would jokingly complain to her about some mistreatment I had allegedly perpetrated, Babci's response to her was often, "So what did YOU do first?".

Babci loved it that we were able to go on foreign vacations. She loved it when we would get dressed up for Christmas and Easter, and as time went on, I would dress up a bit every time I planned to see her. She was grateful for the little chores and maintenance tasks I'd perform around her house, and (as is common with Polish hospitality), would make sure I was fed, sometimes to the point of immobility.

Babci was always a happy face and always made me welcome, as few people to whom I am related have done.

I've not spoken about her experiences as a child in a labor camp during the second World War. I've  not spoken about how she and her husband sent all four of their daughters to college. Or how, with (at most) a sixth-grade education between them, they wound up with several houses, even giving one away to a nephew when he came of age. I suppose her real obituary will include that stuff. That's not what this post is.

I will miss her.

abroad 3

 Third of three posts about our 25th anniversary trip to England/Scotland/Ireland/Wales:

Later on April 22, we went to the Glyndwr Vineyard in Wales. The vineyard was neat, but the real attraction was the owner and host, who was this absolutely bonkers upper-class Brit fellow. I hope I'm descended from the same stock as this guy.

Of course he has llamas on his vineyard. Why not?

Sheep, too.

He's who I want to be when I grow up.

April 23, last day of the tour. To Bath:

Before we left, Laura OLPH asked me to try to bring her back some Mint Imperials, a kind of candy apparently sold in Britain. I had looked throughout the trip, and not found any... but in Bath was a candy vendor who specialized in the old-style stuff. He had them! So I have a small supply to deliver to Laura, when next I see her.

Then to Stonehenge. 

We would never have made a special trip just to go to Stonehenge. But I found it moving (and still do); I'm glad we went. I'm about as un-spiritual as they come these days, but there was something I can't explain away about Stonehenge.

We had one more night in the hotel, and the plane was leaving late the next day, and the Tate Britain was an easy walk away. So:

John Singer Sargent. 

Edward Burne-Jones. I'd never heard of him, and wanted to remember him.

There was a special exhibition of fairy paintings.The Fairy-Feller's Master Stroke is perhaps the most famous:

And now we're back, dealing with real life. And now I've got these posts out of the way, and can go back to normal anxiety and unrealistic self-expectation.

abroad 1

From April 12-24, The Excellent Wife (TEW) and I were on a trip to England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, for our 25th wedding anniversary (how on earth did THAT happen?). I've been resisting doing this post, because it's gonna be long, and because I have well over 2,000 pictures to cull.

When we landed in London on April 13, we went to see the Churchill War Headquarters (which was better than I expected, but I was so jetlagged that I forgot to get pictures). On the way, we passed the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace.

On the 14th, we took the London Ferry from Westminster to Greenwich.

On the 15th, we went to Kensington Palace in the morning.

From there, we took a bus (I am EXCESSIVELY PROUD of having managed the London bus, and we got to ride o the top of a double-decker!) to the Goring Hotel (a Michelin-rated restaurant) for lunch.

The onto a black London cab to the other hotel, from which our tour was due to leave. (I lost my cane in the cab, alas, but was able to get another, less excellent but more useful, the next day.)

The next day, to Stratford and the Birthplace:

... and then to York, where there was a street fair.

Below; atop the Roman wall in York. (Do Americans think we actually have history?)

April 17: a quick stop in Gretna Green. Apparently, in times gone by, the wedding requirements in Gretna were looser than elsewhere, and couples would head here for a quick wedding, now referred to as a blacksmith wedding (did blacksmiths perform them?). Well, we had to get the picture!

 Then to a steam train ride and boat ride along Lake Windermere. The boat ride was uneventful, but steam train!

 OK, this post is too long; I'm splitting it.