Silver Bells

We have a lot of food in our house this time of year. I know everyone does, but in our household there is a never-ending supply. Amanda is a very accomplished baker and cook, but she's human, and like all other humans who get distracted by Ukeleles and crazy friends, she may sometimes overcook a batch of Christmas cookies. I hope she'll forgive me for posting about it here.

I, on the other hand, am the weirdo who likes cookies slightly overdone. While Amanda was viciously cursing her culinary error, I had already stolen two of the "ruined" cookies, re-named them biscotti, and asked her to let me keep them. She adamantly refused my request, horrified by the idea of keeping her "bad batch" of cookies on the premises, so I gave them up for lost.

The other night, after I'd gone shopping for presents through festive (aka, pushy and crowded) Manhattan, I came back to my little home in Astoria and started making dinner when I saw a plastic bag of cookies on top of the refrigerator. Scrawled across the front, I read "Julie's biscotti", and realized Amanda had wrapped them up just for me. She laughed for about 20 minutes at my heartfelt, emotional response to this, and she'll probably tease me for dedicating this entry to her for it, but really - it made me think.

That same morning on the way into work, an elderly man whom I figured was undoubtedly homeless and/or crazy boarded my car with an accordion and began to play. To my astonishment, his rendition of "Silver Bells" was so beautiful I couldn't help but stare and smile at him. I got a dollar out for him when it was my stop, and when I handed it to him - anticipating a muttered incoherent word or something otherwise strange - his big blue eyes lit up and he broke into an enormous grin. "Thank you!! That was my first of the day!!" He cried, excitedly. Surprised by his normal, human response I stammered back how good he sounded and that I hoped he'd get many more tips, and left the train. But this exchange stuck with me the rest of the day. I couldn't help but wonder what his life must be like - if he has a family of his own to celebrate Christmas with and exchange gifts, and accordion playing just happens to be a hobby on the side. I much prefer that image to his tucking the accordion away behind him on the streets at night...

...I know I have been loved - even somewhat spoiled - in my life. There's no doubt in my heart that I have been blessed, and I don't take the time to believe the negative words and memories that infiltrate my doubting mind when I'm down. Still, sometimes I contemplate what ways love has been shown to me in my life, and really - the truest of that love has been shown in the least obvious ways. I've never needed fancy gifts from anyone - and no, I'm not saying that to sound modest. I'm really proud of the 13 inch TV I got when I was a Freshman in college, and Linus - the puppy I got when I graduated high school. (Among a lot of other kickass gifts). But when I lived in Paris, the notes Sera left for me on our bathroom mirror were enough; peppered with inside jokes she knew would make me laugh. Or the notes my Mom would leave in my lunch box every day, no matter how "too big" I got in high school. Or the time my Dad took my brother and me to the train museum because trains had become such a fascination in our house. I don't necessarily remember every time I was given flowers or chocolates by a boy, but I do remember the time a boyfriend asked me to go for a walk in the middle of the night to go get a 'hoagie' from 'Hoagie Haven' in Princeton and talk for hours.

 ...The random, silly notes to "Juju" by my beloved and hilarious cousin Lynn - just to say hi. (And of course, what I would give to see one of those now).

These gifts stick with me every time I think about this season. All of the ways we show each other we know each other, and are paying attention to who our loved ones actually are. We all get so busy - so self-absorbed and concerned with day to day nonsense that doesn't matter, and often goes completely forgotten.

The man on the subway, and his pure, innocent joy at a crumpled dollar bill from a complete stranger, was a lesson in modesty for me. Amanda, and the little things she never fails to remember to do for me or for the rest of her loved ones, is a lesson in true generosity for me. This season, I want to hang onto those joyful moments, free of ego, expectation or greed, and try as hard as I can to grow them into the year to come.

Happy Holidays, everyone.