January column: Revels and Resolutions

“Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament.”                       – Hamlet, III. Ii.

My niece, Liz, is a fantastic hostess. At one happy juncture, we found ourselves living on either side of the Brooklyn Bridge, and we regularly enjoyed each other’s hospitality. Liz’s New Year’s Eve soirees were legend amongst her 20-something set of yuppie Manhattanites.

She would select a themed cocktail for the evening, and request that each guest bring an ingredient. One year, the theme was ‘Marvelous Martinis’. A week before the party, I received a cryptic missive from her: “You’re a peach! - Please bring a bottle of Peach Schnapps.”

I arrived, dressed to the nines, with schnapps bottle in hand, into a hive of activity. Little stations for each martini were arranged throughout the room. I milled about until I found my tribe - a small group of strangers gathered around a handwritten sign: “Peachy Keeny Martini”.

We introduced ourselves and huddled over our recipe. A wonderfully creative ice breaker, literally. We then saw the old year out by winding our way around Liz’s loft, sampling the delightful concoctions.

Not so delightful, however, was the resulting hang over. New Year’s Day was spent in a dim diner, in dark glasses, vowing to pursue better habits in the new year. Such post-holiday remorse propels my Manhattan chums, Kate and Abby, into a strict, annual detox. From the 2nd of January they forswear all food and drink, surviving for six weeks on a ghastly potion of purified water, lemon juice, olive oil, cayenne pepper and honey. I commend their effort, but have to laugh when I see them back on the booze and chocolates by Valentine’s Day.

That’s the funny thing about resolutions. The best of intentions can fall swiftly by the way side as old habits resurface ever so reliably. For this reason, I have always kept my resolutions hopefully vague: to be better (at nothing in particular); to do more (in a general sort of way) and to be happier (immeasurably). But this year, I have challenged myself to be less vague.

Fitness has been a regular part of my life. Running along the Hudson, walking Lucy around Washington Square Park, these were key features of my daily routine. I have lost both of these facets of my life, the latter most recently and painfully.

Grief can be overwhelming. Recently, I found myself faced with a decision: I could lie on the couch and cry, or I could go along to the new Aquafit class at The Glebe Hotel. I pushed myself, and went to the class. And, I am so glad I did. Afterward, I felt brighter, stronger and better able to cope.

The instructor, Trisha Quinn, was as bubbly and vibrant as a glass of champagne. In vivid colours, her business card offered me a daring proposition: “A Healthier, Happier Me!” I was intrigued by this bold assertion. How can she promise such a thing? Can she actually do it? I am resolved to find out.  

Coughs, Quizzes and the New Year

Since Christmas Day I have been bedridden and unconscious with an awful, cruel holiday bug.

As such, I have failed, Dear Reader, to share with you the highs and lows of this festive season, so very special in Barford. Though I promise in due course to re-cap soon the past year, a year that was and wasn’t in so many ways.

When the clock strikes 12 tonight I will shed a few tears in this year’s passing. Sad one and happy ones: the loss of Lucy, the gaining of my life-giving monthly column…and, etc.

I am looking hopefully forward to the coming year, a double-digit year, that the Chinese believe will be exceedingly lucky for us all.

Tonight should be amazing, I shall be living out one of my fantasies, and spinning the tunes at a massive New Year’s gathering. Finally, I am the DJ.

I'm also the Quiz Mistress for Tonight’s Big Party Quiz. So, dreams do come true!

Highs and lows, for me as ever: I shall be DJ-ing tonight, strung out on cough syrup and antibiotics. I have no voice at all, but have thankfully re-gained my will to live.

Happy New Year, one and all!

It's 2010!

3:00 AM

Amazing New Year's Eve.

Roast duck, fois gras, olive pate...yum!

The DEB & I won top prizes for our Beatles theme costume extravaganza!

Does it it count if no one else donned Fancy Dress?

I think so!

I felt like an idiot initially, in my Spaghetti Western wig...

But, a few comforting words from my Best Friend from NYC and I was fine!

The DEB & I came home after, popped a corked and danced till we could no more.

I hope wherever you are joy and mirth abound!

I feel a champagne hangover is on the horizon. 

Happy 2010 Everyone!

Happy New Year!

Just off to start getting ready for a "Fancy Dress" (costume) New Year's Party we've be invited to -- hosted by our fabulous foodie friends in Shipston-on-Stour.

Tonight theme is "The Beatles". I going as Yoko Ono, with a tan. 

I've drawn inspiration for tonight's portrayal from Edna Mode, my favourite character in The Incredibles. And, I'm being escorted by Sergeant Pepper himself...

Happy New Year to one and all!!! 

Thank you, dear Reader, for joining me in 2009, more to come in 2010!!

Holiday report

We're off "up North" later this morning. Celebrating New Year's in Cumbria with "the rellies."

Been up since half 6, working on a letter of recommendation for a former student -- some things never change! 

I have 10, 000 things to do to finish off our preparations, but actually I'd love to just sit here and write. So many things to catch up on and tell. Need to fill in how the D.E.B. and I spent Christmas Day and "Boxing Day" (Boxing Day, such a civilised and sensible idea. Something that surely should have spread to the colonies). The Queen's speech (I love the Queen!), the Times recently declaring this "The Year of the Wife" (interesting...)

And then, the New Year. Gosh, so much more to think and write about: change, uncertainty, hope for the future, new beginnings, the forthcoming Obama presidency (I love Michelle Obama, she shops at J. Crew!). How far things have come, and how far we have to go. Knowledge gained, lessons still to be learned. New challenges, and the same old doubts.

But briefly, for now: happy, happy, joy, joy. Blessings all round.

p.s. My tiara finally arrived (from California) late yesterday.  Just in time for some New Year's sparkle. 

Christmas is coming, and I need a tiara!

I’ve decided Britons are in unknowing and desperate need of another holiday. To be sure, Thanksgiving has merits on its own, but I do like the way this November holiday serves as a sort of buffer between Halloween and Christmas. Even if you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, isn’t nice to know there is something that will delay somewhat the run-up to and commercial onslaught of Christmas?

Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. What I don’t like is the flurry of Christmas lights and decorations in late October. By the time December actually rolls around, you are just sick and tired of it all.

Christmas has come to Barford in a very sweet, restrained and utterly Barfordian way. No lights or excessive decorations just yet. We are easing into Christmas here in Barford. The holiday season ‘kicked off’ last night with an amateur choral concert at St. Peter’s Church given by the Wellesbourne Choral Society called “Swing into Christmas.”

The singers did a beautiful job, and it was a lovely evening, though hearing those familiar American tunes (“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” & etc.) left me pining (as always) for St. Luke’s. In fact, I sat there quite tearfully, missing the magnificent, choral magic of St. Luke’s professional choir. What a treat they were every Sunday. I’m sure, as much as I loved it, I took it all very much for granted. My thoughts drifted to the wonderful Christmas Eve service I will miss this year, and walking home after in the crisp, cold New York night with my BFF, “Boy Genius Playwright”.  Tears welled up in my eyes as I considered how I have yet to feel “liturgically” at home here. Though the complimentary wine at the interval/intermission did go some way to ease the pain, as did the company.

The D.E.B. and I are becoming known and recognized in the village. (I should add, a couple we met recently remarked, “Oh, we’re new here, too.” They’ve been here for two years.) Anyway, it’s nice to go places and have people recognize and remember you by name, like Mr. and Mrs. MacBeth, whom we sat behind at the concert last night. And yes, they are related to the Macbeth Macbeth.

It was splendid start to the season, and I do feel very Christmasy at last. And it’s all go from here! Today was the Barford/St. Peter’s “Christmas Fayre”. Father Christmas, tombola (a sort of non-raffle raffle), lots & lots of mulled wine, mince pies, hot chocolate…and the D.E.B. bought me a lovely antique brooch. Which I am planning to wear next week when we go to…

“The Nutcracker”! I am a “Nutcracker” addict! I love it. At one time, I had the goal of landing myself in the Guinness Book of World Records as “The Person who has seen The Nutcracker more times than Anyone Else.” I first saw it as a child at Ballet Arkansas. I was transfixed. Since then, it has become a sort of Christmas tradition for me, and one that the D.E.B. thankfully supports.  We saw it together last year by the New York City Ballet at Lincoln Center in Manhattan, and this year we are seeing it at the Birmingham Royal Ballet. Our good friends, Fiona and Gavin are joining us, and the four of us are making a night of it. Fiona’s like me - any excuse to dress up is a good one!

Speaking of dressing up, I have decided that I need a tiara. Shocking, I know, that I don’t already own one, but I don’t. And why should brides, ballerinas and beauty queens have all the fun?

So, being the “outlandish, yet practical” girl that I am, I decided that if I wanted a tiara, I needed some place to wear it. Thus began the quest for a gala event that would be tiara-appropriate. Yes, I know that scores and scores of people wear tiaras as an everyday accessory, but I’m in it for the overall glamourous ambiance.  And nothing says “tiara appropriate” more than a New Year’s Eve Ball.

This is another reason why I think Brits need another holiday before Christmas. Bookings for the most splendid formal New Year’s galas go very quickly in these parts. The original plan had been to go out as a “gang” of three couples. But, by the first week of November, it was “every couple for themselves” and the best I could do was to get the D.E.B. and myself on countless ‘wait lists’ throughout the county!

To my mind, the best affair in Warwickshire will be the white tie, “Black & White Masquerade Ball” at Coombe Abbey. Can you hear the sound of me weeping into my champagne glass? When I phoned Coombe Abbey in the first week of November, and they had one, yes, one place left. For a split second I did think, “Well, I could sit on the D.E.B.’s lap…”

Here’s the thing. I bought this dress in the West Village, on the edge of Soho. A designer sample sale.  An Italian designer sample sale.

I was heading home from St. Luke’s along Bleecker Street, one bright, sunny, summer, Sunday afternoon. “Bella, bella!” A voice called out to me. A tiny Italian man, with a measuring type around his neck, “Please come in, and try.” How could I resist?

Rita Hayworth. That is who sprung to my mind when I saw “the dress”. It was the color of wood smoke, or fog in autumn. Classic, 1940s lines, floaty silk chiffon, with a satin panel rippling down the front from the plunge neckline. I put it on, and immediately felt tall, thin and screen-siren gorgeous. I stepped out from the makeshift dressing room, and everyone gasped: “Molto bella.” I had to agree, and I had to have this dress. How’s this for frugal: a $2,000 dress for $100.00? Only in New York City.

This dress is now in my closet in Warwickshire crying out to be worn, and it deserves a tiara! And a tiara it shall have. And an event worth of such an ensemble.

The D.E.B. looks stunning in a dinner jacket. I think men—British men, at least—secretly enjoy getting dressed to the nines as much as women do. It gives them a chance to live out those “Bond, James Bond” fantasies.

So, without much convincing the D.E.B. has agreed that a formal event is a “must do” for New Year’s Eve. And our plans are to go North to Cumbria. Formal attire, dinner and dancing, bagpipes at midnight, fireworks across the bay, bacon butties (sandwiches) at 3 a.m., and warming whiskey nightcaps at bedtime. Sound perfect to me. Now, I just need to find that tiara.