choir of angels (haloes)

December 25, 2001

Today's Reading
The Origins of Fruit and Vegetables by Jonathan Roberts

This Year's Reading
2001 Book List

Photos:

Choir of Angels (Haloes)

One if by Sea...

Ghosts of Christmas Past:

2000: red nails and green beans

Really, most sincerely, red...

1999: and so this is Christmas

Can Bobby fly?

1998: all we are saying is give peace a couch

 

Just how much is the Gross National Product of Bosnia?

 

1997: all i want for Christmas is my brain

You would too if all you had was a rubber pork chop.

 

1996: Faith

Miracles do happen.

Yes, it really contains a choir of angels. However, none of them seem to have haloes and a few of them are missing a wing.

And so this is Christmas...

The ritual offerings of world peace, coffee, and socks were exchanged. Elizabeth decorated BiB and Andrea photographed the results. Andrea counted the nativities, but all 10,000 are not set up this year. Not sure why. Has nothing to do with the load bearing capacity of the tree.

Santa Thomas did not let me down. The longed for heated ice scraper was under the tree with my name on it. Now of course I will not need to scrape the windshield once this winter. Also under the tree: The Origins of Fruit and Vegetables by Jonathan Roberts, This Cold Heaven by Gretel Ehrlich, Poetry Speaks, a wonderful statue of a lion lying down with a lamb accompanied by a dove (world peace - get it?), an Etch-a-Sketch key chain, chocolate bars & coffee, a hand painted (by Andrea mini sled) and an adorable snow man ornament.

Nancy gave me an LP of The Impossible Dream (a radio documentary about the 1967 Red Sox), a 45 rpm record of Tony Conigliaro in his brief crooning career, and The Golden Peaches of Samarkand, a delightful compendium of Tang Dynasty exotica. The section of Golden Peaches on book collecting in the Tang Dynasty is reason enough to justify the whole book. But, oh, The Impossible Dream! I spent last night disassembling my stereo system and rearranging my living room in order to revive my turntable to listen to it. I then listened to it twice. I fell asleep last night not with visions of sugar plums but visions of Jose Tartabull's miraculous throw to the plate and Yaz's catch for Billy Rohr dancing in my head. (Hard-core Red Sox fans of a certain age will know whereof I speak.)

Now that I can play vinyl again and the festivities have wound down for another year, I put Mahler's first on the turntable and curl up with The Origins of Fruit and Vegetables to at long last look up the history of broccoli.