January 2009
Happy Birthday Luis!
The after Christmas cleaning is finished. The village has been put away, for another year, and I now stare at the empty surface which only recently housed my own winter wonderland, of fantasy. The tree which sat by the curbside waiting to be picked up, has gone off to be composted and the garage which is never truly tidy, is home to the green Christmas containers which are waiting for the last string of lights or after-Christmas purchase to be stuffed in them, before being stacked overhead, for another year.
All of the anticipation and preparation have passed into history. There are still Christmas and New Years goodies around, mostly an inordinate amount of chocolate, but we are now beginning to move on, which means putting the house back to its pre-holiday state. I am always grateful during the holidays that I inherited my Mother’s love of linens, as I seem to have enough to see me through the Christmas Eve open house, Christmas Day dinner, and New Years Eve party. But the piper must be paid. The guest bed is covered in linens which need to be ironed.
I select Out of Africa, the movie, as my ironing companion. I am instantly transported by Isak Dinesen’s words. The Baroness Blixen has traveled to Africa after having arranged a marriage of convenience, apparently the only option available to her, at that moment. As the Baroness travels by train, to Mombassa, she first encounters Denys Hatton, the man who will become her love interest. Their initial conversation is anything but romantic. She admonishes him over the conduct of his employees, who while trying to load Denys’ ivory, are stomping over her crates of crystal and Limoge china. He sarcastically responds that he had no idea the crates contained crystal and china, and dismissingly ask her to deliver a message regarding the ivory.
I smile, as I iron the table cloth. I think of my last conversation with Nour’s Aunt, who along with her husband, Alex, had stayed with Nour over the holidays. His Aunt, the lovely and gracious Nadine, is French. We shared several meals together, and inevitably spoke of crystal and china. She too has Limoge china, like the Baroness. But what I remember, as I iron, is her telling me that her Mother, who spent several years in the States, before returning to live in France, had shipped her dishes and linens with her, when she thought she might permanently stay in America. Apparently, it was inconceivable to Nadine’s mother to think of setting up house, in a new place, without such things as her Limoge china and wedding silver. I feel certain I would enjoy Nadine’s mother, as much as Nadine.
As the movie progresses, Denys goes on to enjoy countless meals with the Baroness and to truly appreciate the crystal, linens, and china which he had once made fun of, conceding that they indeed helped to create a home; and as I iron the last of the Irish linen hand towels, I wonder when things changed? When did paper plates replace china, and does it matter? Of course it matters, I answer my own question before it is finished being formed.
I think of the Pioneer women who traveled in covered wagons to the West, with precious little space, choosing to leave behind clothing so that they might bring their grandmother’s china and silver tea set, knowing that a sod house with roughly hewn furniture could be made into a home, by laying a hand embroidered cloth, over the plank, which served as a table, and adding a vase of wild flowers.
The movie plays for hours, as I stop it to answer the phone and the door, to make lunch and dinner, and deal with unexpected email. After the ironing is finished, it must be put away. I open the large buffet which came to us from Tessie, Kate’s grandmother. It is part of the dinning room furniture, though the buffet is actually housed in the living room. I love opening the drawers and looking at my treasures of napkins, table clothes, and doilies, each with a history. Yet, there is also a slight melancholy which comes with the end of the holiday season, as I put the Christmas napkins away until next year. But, I leave the white, linen napkins handy as, I smile again, and think that they will soon be used to set the table for Luis’ birthday. Yes, I begin to think about his birthday dinner.
We do not celebrate enough. Luis and I have had this conversation, disagreeing on why we have occasions. He believes that we should live in a spirit of celebration, and not have special days when we wish each other Merry Christmas or Happy Birthday. I agree, we should – but we do not.
Life is lived hurriedly as we rush from obligation to obligation rarely stopping to enjoy the fruits of our labor. I counter Luis’ argument with life. We do not stop, we do not smell the flowers, and we do not wish each other well. We need to celebrate Valentine’s Day, whether or not we are in love is inconsequential – everyone should receive a chocolate heart. Being or not being Irish should not detour us from wearing green and enjoying corned beef and cabbage, on Saint Patrick’s Day; and everyone’s birthday should be a grand occasion!
It is no small thing to find a friend. Acquaintances are easily and commonly made, but it is not often that one encounters a being with whom a true friendship may be formed. Yet, if God is gracious to us, we occasionally happen upon that odd soul which bumps up against us and magically fits perfectly well; and defying all reason and logic we find a kindred spirit to hold our heart and share our dreams – we find a friend. Luis is my friend.
On Sunday last, we had a small, intimate dinner party for four. Kate adorned the interior and more importantly, the exterior of our home with sparkling, white lights, we put out the birthday cake flag, and hung up the Happy Birthday sign and spirally red streamers to mark Luis’ 32nd year of life.
Luis was a gift to me, given by Kate. She and he use to work together, and Kate would often tell me that Luis reminded her of me. In those days, they worked these horrible late night shifts, when I of course am wide awake, and at my most chatty. Luis too loves to talk and listen. Kate says that she would put Luis and me on the phone, to free her to work. Luis protested, as Kate told this story to Gus, our fourth diner, and Luis’ best friend since childhood; and I dare say an unexpected treasure – he possessed all of the fine qualities which Luis had purported, as well the unexpected love of history and outstanding appreciation of Dean Martin! What a pleasure indeed.
For Luis, I did what I have done for no one else – I subjected Kate to smells of fish stock. Kate, who has begun her own movement: Por Pescado, has a deep and firmly rooted dislike for all things considered seafood. Yet, Luis loves lobster bisque, and Kate loves me, and thus a house filled with either the sweet smell of the ocean or the stinky smell of fish – depending on your perspective.
I set the table with what was once Tessies’ china and a vase of pink Gerber daisy’s. The white linen napkins cradled the silver, well stainless steel, and the candles flickered as we sat down to celebrate life. It was a lovely evening. The conversation was lively, though not political, the stories were both charming and silly, and Luis’ older and newer friends were able to wish him a Happy Birthday.
Would it have been the same with pizza and paper plates? I suppose it might have been. I know Luis tends to fuss with me over how much time I spend in the kitchen, on his visits; but as I point out to him, there is no hired help. I do think there are moments we should mark differently than all of the rest. I think there are moments which deserve the extra effort of special dishes and fresh cut flowers. Friendship, I think should be celebrated in grand fashion.
I often think my values completely out of sink with the 21st century and occasionally imagine it might matter that I so poorly fit in with the world around me; but then there is one of those wonderful moments, where someone so clearly from the 21st century, walks into my early 20th century home and feels completely at peace, and I let out a sigh, thinking it is okay there is still room for me and my dishes.
I celebrate Luis and offer him sage life advice from the 19th century Edward Whymper, the first man to climb the Matterhorn, in Switzerland.
“There have been joys too great to be described in words, and there have been grief’s upon which I have not dared to dwell; and with these in mind I say: Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are naught without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end. We who have the habit of climbing mountains know just how far superior to brute force is the will to persevere and attain a specific goal. We know that every height that is attained, every step that is taken is the product of patient and difficult effort and that desire is no substitute for them. A great many difficulties will arise, a great many obstacles will have to be overcome and avoided, but for us the will to do something is the ability to do it. Educated at this rough school, we return to everyday occupation stronger and better prepared to face the obstacles along the road of life. We are made strong and serene by the memory of duties performed and victories won on the other fields of battle.”That is all for now. . .
