Holiday Gifts & Gift Baskets Blog

Archive for the ‘Holiday Sentiments’ Category

When I was a boy, Christmas was a time of great rejoicing and hilarity. It was kept up for twelve days, during which there was ball-playing, wrestling matches and games of various kinds. In every house was placed on the table a decanter of rum with a very large sweet cake, baked in a Dutch oven or a large iron bake-pot. Those who could afford it, in addition to rum, had also gin, brandy and wine placed on the table. All visitors were expected to help themselves.

Then there were the mummers - those who went around by day and those who went around by night. The day mummers - the men had white shirts over their clothes, trimmed with ribbons, with fanciful hats. Each man had a partner - a man dressed in women's clothes. Into whatever house they entered they recited their lessons, ate and drank, had a dance, their own fiddler playing the tunes. The night mummers were dressed in the most grotesque manner: some with humpbacks, cow hides and horns projecting, with hobby-horses, small bags of flour, which they used to throw over their followers. Then there were the boy mummers, who went around day and night. On two Christmases I had John Bemister as a partner. He acted as the Duke of Wellington, and I personated Oliver Cromwell.  

Isis was creatrix, protectress, healer, and deliverer from suffering. She also offered the promise and hope of rebirth and rejuvenation, and this seems to be at the core of her rituals. Initiation into the cult of Isis in antiquity was a mysterious process, and we know very little since the steps to conversion were private and guarded, rarely spoken about, just as the Eleusinian rites to Ceres were. Apuleius does give us a glimmer of the magic moment in which he was reborn: "I underwent a near death experience as I descended to the underworld ruled by Persephone. Yet I returned. It was midnight, yet I saw the sun shining in all of its majesty. I touched the gods below and the gods above. I stood next to them. I worshiped them.... I was born again".

Indeed, this is a very powerful statement describing a very personal moment of enlightenment and union with the divine. Isis promised rebirth and salvation to those who believed. During the Isia, on a special day called the "Finding of Osiris," worshipers reenacted the myth of Isis and Osiris, sharing the grief and the joy of Isis searching for the body of Osiris and finally finding it and embalming it. They shouted in unison, "Heurekamen, synchairomen," "We have found! We rejoice together!" It is also said that in one rite during the Isia worshipers gathered in a darkened room and mourned over a prone statue of Osiris. During the ritual, a light was carried into the room; a priest then anointed the throats of the mourners with oil and whispered, "Take heart, 0 Initiates, for the god is saved, and we shall have salvation".

Hope and salvation from all of our troubles and suffering, overcoming our fear of death, and living a blessed life on earth are promises that resonate in all religions throughout the ages. These words of Isis can find meaning for each of us especially during the dark and doubt-filled days of October, when the end of the year and darkness looms in the path ahead.

Modern Ritual of Promise and Hope: The Ship of Isis

In antiquity, a yearly ritual to Isis was carried out on a beach or near water. A model ship was prepared. It was painted with sacred words and text, bearing a special message for the year's prosperous journey. Worshipers gathered around the boat, first purifying it with flame, egg, and sulfur and chanting solemn prayers. They then piled it with small gift baskets, winnowing fans, perfumes, and incense and threw libations of milk mixed with grain into the water. The small ship was set adrift and allowed to sail away on its own, following its own course. Thus, the rite ended.

• Adapt this rite, adding your own very personal prayers and messages.
• Give a small offering to the goddess. remembering that she does not ask for riches or wealth, but commitment. In return she offers faith, hope, and love.
• Set your ship adrift upon the water to be guided by the goddess.

The Promise of Isis

Behold. I come to you in your time of trouble. I come with solace and aid. Put an end to your crying and tears, send your sorrows away. Soon through my benevolence will the sun of salvation rise up. Listen to what I say with great care.

You will live a blessed life. You will have a glorious life under my care and guidance. When you have traveled your full length of time and go down unto death, there also. I will be beside you. You will see me shining on amidst the darkness.

Through your religious devotion and constant faith, you may learn that I have it within my power to prolong your life beyond the limits set to it by Fate. Through me, you may be reborn.

On October 17, 1878, Sir John A. Macdonald became prime minister of Canada for the second time. In 1838 or 1839, Sir John served as the second in a duel and was dissuaded from fighting a duel of his own in 1849. Dueling has a long history:

• Judicial duels began in 6th-century Burgundy, as trial by combat to learn the "judgment of God." As recently as 1817, an accused murderer in Britain had to be acquitted because he chose the right to "wage his battle" over trial by jury, and no one wanted to fight him.
• On the European continent, the challenger in a personal duel had the right to choose the weapons, usually swords or pistols. In English-speaking countries, the challenged party had this right. In r843, billiard balls were the weapons in a fatal duel fought in France.
• Duels were fought in New France as early as r646. The last recorded fight in what is now known as Canada took place in St. John's in r873' The death toll in the years between: at least nine in New France, two in Lower Canada, five in Upper Canada, two each in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and one in Newfoundland.
• The last legal duel in Canada was fought on the campus of Dalhousie University in 1816. Although such encounters were consiered a crime, Canadian juries consistently refused to convict duelists if they thought the fights had been fair.

My parents have been married for over forty years. I cannot judge whether it has been a satisfying marriage, but it has endured through moments of crisis and great pain and so, on some level, it has been a success. In trying to come to terms with my own marriage, I find myself looking back.

From my own observations (and without the benefit of statistically significant sampling or scientific inquiry), it seems that marriages of long duration have rituals that form the fabric of the relationship. As in my parents' case, arguing is an important one.

I often think about the scene repeated year after year in my home during the Jewish holidays. On each holiday my mother and grandmother would buy Hanukkah gifts and spend a frenzied day completing the preparations for the evening meal - cooking and baking, seasoning and tasting, and seasoning yet again. Each holiday morning, as my father left for work, my mother would admonish him to come home early. That evening my father would invariably return an hour late with a wilted bouquet of flowers in hand, muttering about the terrible holiday traffic (which he seemed to regard as a completely unexpected development even though holiday traffic was bad every year).

My mother, of course, would be waiting at the door and, upon my father's arrival, burst into a litany of angry complaints about the ruined meal-how she had worked all day to prepare a wonderful dinner and now the pot roast was overcooked and the vegetables were limp and, worst of all, the family would have to rush through the meal so my father could get to synagogue on time. He would invariably throw up his hands and, in turn, complain about how hard he worked and how my mother always gave him a hard time regardless of what he did. A few minutes later we would sit down to dinner, all the while assuring my mother that the food tasted just fine.

After watching this scene year after year, I finally asked why she just did not prepare a simpler meal or start cooking later in the day, since she knew my father always came home late on the holidays. (And on every other occasion, since my father, as optimistic about travel times as he is about every other aspect of his life, always assumed there would be clear roads and strong tailwinds.) She rebuked me for interfering in an area that was none of my concern and then pointedly informed me that she and my father enjoyed having this argument.

At the time I was puzzled by her response. After all, it did not look like they were enjoying themselves. Now, after more than a decade of being married, I think I understand. The Jewish holiday fight was a safety valve for them, an opportunity to vent their frustrations safely. Since it was, after all, a holiday, they had to make up quickly. Moreover, it had become a ritual for them and gave them a sense of continuity and comfort.

In my own marriage, our arguments have essentially the same theme, which, come to think of it, is not so different from my parents'. Wife to husband: "If you really loved me, you would be more sensitive to my needs (that is, share more of the household burden, give me more emotional support, and value what is important to me)." Husband to wife: "If you really loved me, you would appreciate me for who I am, stop expecting me to change, and stop nagging me."

With a high degree of accuracy I can predict we will have this fight (in one variation or another) not on the Jewish holidays but on the first day of any vacation, on Mother's Day (the unnatural reversal of roles creates tension in our house), and before we go out (my husband puts on his oldest clothes, I express outrage, he tells me I am a nag and then changes into something acceptable, something he probably intended to wear all along).

Not only do our arguments have the same theme, but like many other couples, I suspect, our arguments have certain parameters. Fighting is unacceptable in front of certain people-professional associates, in-laws, acquaintances, and even certain friends-and is certainly restrained (but, for better or worse, not avoided) in front of the children.

More important, although we have never acknowledged this to each other, there are certain things we will never say, even in the heat of battle, because we know instinctively that, once said, these words can never be forgiven. The forbidden words relate to those areas the other person is most acutely and painfully sensitive about, the words that, dagger-like, quickly and sharply pierce the heart.

Reflecting on thee highly structured, repetitive nature of our arguments, it seems that they actually strengthen our marriage, rather than weaken it. We can let off steam within accepted boundaries; in ways we know will not "rend us asunder." We can secretly mouth the other's expected rejoinders when we begin to argue, and we know when it is time to stop.

In the end, I suppose, what makes a marriage last is not how much you love the other person but how the marriage provides structure, comfort, and predictability in a world that is chaotic, uncontrollable, and profoundly indifferent.

On May 3, 1915, about 7 A.M., it was a bright spring morning near Poperinghe, Belgium - the first spring of the First World War. The sky was deep blue, the larks were singing and circling, and a gentle east wind was blowing the poppies about. Maj. John McCrae, a 42-year-old doctor/soldier with the Canadian Field Artillery, was sitting on the rear step of an ambulance, composing poetry. In about 20 minutes, he wrote "In Flanders Fields." Some notes:

• The previous night, Major McCrae had buried his best friend, 25-year-old Lt. Alexis Helmer, who had been a medical student at McGill University when the poet was a professor of pathology. The young man, one of the brigade's best-liked officers, had been blown to bits by an artillery shell the previous day. (He was buried under cover of darkness for fear of attracting more enemy fire.) The barrage of The Second Battle of Ypres was in its ninth day.
• As the poet wrote, Sgt. Maj. Cyril Allinson arrived on horseback, bringing mail and supplies from the rear. "I saw (Major McCrae) sitting on the ambulance step, a pad on his knee. He looked up as I approached but continued to write," recalled Mr. Allinson, who was the first to read the work. "His face was very tired but calm as he wrote .... The poem was almost an exact description of the scene in front of us both."
• Major McCrae (who had been promoted to lieutenantcolonel in 1914, though the news did not reach him until June I, 1915) made several copies of "In Flanders Fields," with slight variations, and gave them to friends. He sent a copy to Punch magazine, which ran the poem on December 18, 1915, with no byline.
• The verses were reprinted around the world, but the author's name was not known. By the time it was, Colonel .McCrae's "perfect war poem" was famous. It has been called the bestknown Canadian poem.
• Colonel McCrae, who had been at the front from the beginning, was made consultant physician to the British 1^st Army in January 1918. Five days later, he was dead from pneumonia and a cerebral infection.
• "In Flanders Fields" was used in the first observance of Armistice Day in 1918, and this poem and poppies have been part of the November I I ceremonies since. "It never occurred to me at the time that it would ever be published," Mr. Allinson admitted. "It seemed to me to be just an exact description of the scene."