photo courtesy of Spencer Greet
There are many Christmas stories in the naked city. This is one of them.
Well, there is nothing like two decades-old cultural references to reconfirm one's irrelevance (and advancing age). But no matter.
This story has nothing to do with the Jean Shepherd movie from 1983. It is more a story of a Christmas that was "belated" to use Spencer's expression.
Let's go back in time to Christmas Eve, shall we?
It had, of course, already been a busy week here at Lake Overcommitment (pop goes another cultural reference.) The previous five days had been filled events both secular and ecumenical, not to mention musical, what with the office Christmas party on Friday; a lovely Sunday morning Love Feast service at Lititz Moravian Church; an Episcopalian Lessons and Carols Evensong on Sunday afternoon sung by Norm and Spence in Lebanon, PA; a shopping trip to New York City on Tuesday, and a flurry of last-minute wrapping, cleaning, candy-making and shopping wedged in wherever possible.
So, we arrive at Wednesday, Christmas Eve, when Norm and I were scheduled to sing Christmas Eve service at our church, the Church of the Loving Shepherd (Jess and Allie sang and rang at Calvary Lutheran). We managed to get to the service where Spencer served as crucifer, sang a lovely selection of carols, and headed back home feeling pretty good about ourselves, with a bag of homemade cookies pressed on Spencer by a kind churchgoer and fellow singer.
Baked goods of all kinds are problematical for Spence, given his egg and peanut allergies. My attention was diverted when the cookies showed up, and I was not party to the discussion about the contents of the cookies (standard disclaimer language when something goes wrong). So, I took Spencer's and Norm's word that the cookies contained no allergens. Spencer proceeded to eat the cookies in the car, sharing a few with his parents along the way.
Not long afterward, Spence began feeling some symptoms that are, sadly, all to familiar to us. A metallic taste in his mouth, a lot of gas, a predictable progression that generally leads to, in this case, literally tossing his cookies.
The usual breast beating, accusations, acrimony and recrimination ensued, as we all played the "Who is responsible for this terrible breach of parental vigilance" game (one of my personal favorites.) Eventually, after an hour of anxious waiting during which Spence gave his girlfriend a play-by-play over the phone ("Wait, I think I am going to throw up. Call you back.") the cookies had indeed been tossed, and we thought the episode had cost us no more than a pleasant Christmas Eve.
We were wrong.
Spence continued to have some stomach pain which administrations of Benadryl did not alleviate. He was up a few times during the night, taking Tums. We still thought it was just the aftereffects of the cookies.
Until Norm awoke at 4:30 on Christmas morning violently ill.
At that point we realized that we were dealing with something other than allergies, since Norm does not share that issue with Spence.
Christmas morning came, and while Spence had bounced back, Norm continued to be bedridden. We called and cancelled our Christmas day dinner plans with my family, and decided to postpone our own Christmas until Norm could participate.
The day passed oddly, Christmas on hold, and by the next morning Norm felt well enough to at least get out of bed. We realized, however, that the house party for Norm's family planned for the next day (Saturday) would have to wait, since we did not know whether the virus Norm had would spread to other people (like, for example, me.) So, regretfully, we cancelled that party as well.
We decided to treat the 25th as if it had not happened, and declared the 26th to be Christmas Day (actually Boxing Day in the UK, so somewhat appropriate, given Norm's British heritage.)
Gifts were exchanged, the traditional pancake brunch was served, and with Vince Guaraldi's Charlie Brown Christmas music, cider, and eggnog on hand we celebrated quite nicely en famille.
Well, there is nothing like two decades-old cultural references to reconfirm one's irrelevance (and advancing age). But no matter.
This story has nothing to do with the Jean Shepherd movie from 1983. It is more a story of a Christmas that was "belated" to use Spencer's expression.
Let's go back in time to Christmas Eve, shall we?
It had, of course, already been a busy week here at Lake Overcommitment (pop goes another cultural reference.) The previous five days had been filled events both secular and ecumenical, not to mention musical, what with the office Christmas party on Friday; a lovely Sunday morning Love Feast service at Lititz Moravian Church; an Episcopalian Lessons and Carols Evensong on Sunday afternoon sung by Norm and Spence in Lebanon, PA; a shopping trip to New York City on Tuesday, and a flurry of last-minute wrapping, cleaning, candy-making and shopping wedged in wherever possible.
So, we arrive at Wednesday, Christmas Eve, when Norm and I were scheduled to sing Christmas Eve service at our church, the Church of the Loving Shepherd (Jess and Allie sang and rang at Calvary Lutheran). We managed to get to the service where Spencer served as crucifer, sang a lovely selection of carols, and headed back home feeling pretty good about ourselves, with a bag of homemade cookies pressed on Spencer by a kind churchgoer and fellow singer.
Baked goods of all kinds are problematical for Spence, given his egg and peanut allergies. My attention was diverted when the cookies showed up, and I was not party to the discussion about the contents of the cookies (standard disclaimer language when something goes wrong). So, I took Spencer's and Norm's word that the cookies contained no allergens. Spencer proceeded to eat the cookies in the car, sharing a few with his parents along the way.
Not long afterward, Spence began feeling some symptoms that are, sadly, all to familiar to us. A metallic taste in his mouth, a lot of gas, a predictable progression that generally leads to, in this case, literally tossing his cookies.
The usual breast beating, accusations, acrimony and recrimination ensued, as we all played the "Who is responsible for this terrible breach of parental vigilance" game (one of my personal favorites.) Eventually, after an hour of anxious waiting during which Spence gave his girlfriend a play-by-play over the phone ("Wait, I think I am going to throw up. Call you back.") the cookies had indeed been tossed, and we thought the episode had cost us no more than a pleasant Christmas Eve.
We were wrong.
Spence continued to have some stomach pain which administrations of Benadryl did not alleviate. He was up a few times during the night, taking Tums. We still thought it was just the aftereffects of the cookies.
Until Norm awoke at 4:30 on Christmas morning violently ill.
At that point we realized that we were dealing with something other than allergies, since Norm does not share that issue with Spence.
Christmas morning came, and while Spence had bounced back, Norm continued to be bedridden. We called and cancelled our Christmas day dinner plans with my family, and decided to postpone our own Christmas until Norm could participate.
The day passed oddly, Christmas on hold, and by the next morning Norm felt well enough to at least get out of bed. We realized, however, that the house party for Norm's family planned for the next day (Saturday) would have to wait, since we did not know whether the virus Norm had would spread to other people (like, for example, me.) So, regretfully, we cancelled that party as well.
We decided to treat the 25th as if it had not happened, and declared the 26th to be Christmas Day (actually Boxing Day in the UK, so somewhat appropriate, given Norm's British heritage.)
Gifts were exchanged, the traditional pancake brunch was served, and with Vince Guaraldi's Charlie Brown Christmas music, cider, and eggnog on hand we celebrated quite nicely en famille.
By Sunday Norm was back to his old self, more or less, albeit shy a few pounds.
And even though the weather was actually pretty good, I will close with a favorite quote from Marmion, Canto the Sixth, by Sir Walter Scott:
"Heap on more wood! The wind is chill
But let it whistle as it will.
We'll keep our Christmas merry still."
But let it whistle as it will.
We'll keep our Christmas merry still."
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