Christmas Eve, etc.

 

The fireplace on the patio flamed. The fairy lights, which Rick had hung there, reflected inside.

Rick, Sherlock and I snuggled on the couch, inside lights extinguished to watch the flickering fire through the glass doors. 

We could see our decorations, our living tree with the decorations Llara and I made a half century ago on the medieval chest. 

The London Philharmonic was playing traditional Christmas music. 

We felt at peace.

I thought about the wonderful day it had been so far. The regular Saturday market with all the decorations and music reminded me once again of a Hallmark Christmas movie in the best sense of the feeling. At the brownie lady stand, she and her husband served tiny cups of vin chaud.

We talked with neighbors, friends, found a German/Dutch couple who were friends with our Swedish friends. Another friend whom I hadn't seen in far too long shared a cup of tea with us at Mille et Une. One of the owners of l'Hostalet hotel was helping the Mille et Une owner serve the filled tables. We teased him he was in training, knowing of course, he could train those who wanted to work in the service industry to the highest standards of excellence.

Every where we heard Bon Nadal, Gladelig jul, Frohe Weihnacht, Joyeus Noël, Bonnes Fêtes, Merry Christmas or Happy Christmsas, the pleasure of the greeting all that was important and a relief from those Americans who get their knickers in a twist about the phrase Happy Holidays.

Some people commented on the Santa and Elf hats Rick and I were wearing. Others just smiled.

The Christmas market was still filled. What a wonderful job the village did on it. It was so uncommercial. Sales were from craftsmen in chalets. They had created a fairy land.

 

At home we had a fondue using the bread we had bought hot out of the oven from the bakery. It was heavy enough to use as a weapon, although that thought is un-Christmasy. There is enough for the fondue, the stuffing and pain perdue (French toast) for several days.

During the afternoon our friend RB2 came in, his presence a gift in itself. A year ago he was in a coma from an accident we weren't sure if he would live. Nine months of rehab and he is walking although he still faces more rehab and surgery. He is my wantabe brother, a friend with whom I've shared soul secrets. He officiated at Rick's and my wedding commitment ceremony and he's walking normally, a miracle.

His gifts were a split of D-L champagne for Rick and I and a box of luxury dog biscuits for Sherlock, who knew there was something for him, the second he stuck his head in the gift bag. A penguin sticker decorated the bottle, a recognition of my love of penguins. That's a tiny thing that is huge in the caring column.

This was to be a quiet holiday with gifts limited to a book to read in bed while drinking hot chocolate on Christmas Eve, an Icelandic tradition we've copied. Rick gave me a book of Margaret Atwood's essays and I gave him a book of John Le Carrè's letters. Both last night and when we were reading in bed before getting up this morning we shared ideas and writing from each of the authors.

I will do a toned down traditional turkey dinner. The butcher cut the turkey in half so it will fit in our oven. He vac wrapped the other half for us to freeze and cook another time. I have cranberry sauce bought at the American store in Geneva. 

We have a guest, an Irish friend who will share the meal with us. Her company is always a pleasure.

To anyone reading this Bon Nadal, Gladelig jul, Frohe Weihnacht, Joyeus Noël, Bonnes Fêtes, Merry Christmas or Happy Christmas and if it is after Christmas have a healthy and happy new year.