I was recently telling a friend about the box of gifts I get every year from Santa, with a charming note explaining why Santa thinks this year’s garlic press is better than the one he sent last year. Over the years, I have probably gotten three garlic presses from Santa, and five implements for sharpening a knife, and a lot of other stuff I’m very fond of: a Wüsthof knife, a red silicone scraper, my current garlic press, my current knife-sharpening implement (the DMT Double Sided Diafold, which is excellent), a pair of gizmos that can be used in tandem to get stubborn jar lids off, a particular silicone spatula I use nearly every day, and much else.
My friend thought that was perfectly delightful, and I have always concurred. Not two days later, I discovered that last year was the final year for this particular tradition, as Santa went green this year, “in more ways than one.”
Santa’s holiday letter, entitled “New Paradigm,” explained Santa had realized maybe it would be better to send the “wee ones on his gift list” ideas instead of “actual hardware.” He went on to describe the kitchen gadgets he currently likes, and I’m guessing that if I were to obtain them all, they could be had for $60.49, the amount of the check that accompanied the letter.
Santa also switched from Christmas cards to an emailed year-end missive, in which he struck the perfect holiday letter tone. I was admiring, but not surprised, since the letters that accompany Santa’s gifts are always just right—witty and informative.
Now I’m feeling a bit guilty about my own Christmas card habit. I suppose it’s time to give it up, and maybe 2008 will prove to have been the final year for Christmas cards. I recently bought a fresh supply of stamps, even as I wondered if I’ll have occasion to use that many stamps in the entire rest of my life, what with nearly all bills being paid electronically. I do still believe in the handwritten thank-you card.
On Christmas Eve afternoon, Tom and I took BART to Richmond and there boarded an Amtrak train to Sacramento. Tom had a special gift for one of his brothers—a used bicycle that he’d been working on and finding parts for for about nine months.
The train was so packed there were people sitting on the floor between the bicycles hanging from hooks. The train was not that crowded last year on Christmas Eve, and there weren’t that many bicycles aboard, either, I’m sure. It’s good that more people are taking the train and bringing their bikes aboard.
We were able to find a four-seat area to share with a young Indian woman and an elderly Dutch lady. She must have been a knockout in her day. She still looked fantastic at 80-something. She told me I looked very much like her beloved aunt, which I thought was very nice. She was eager to talk. Alas, with the train rumbling along and the fans blowing, I could make out very little of what she said, though Tom and I gathered she doesn’t care for Salt Lake City.
Christmas with Tom’s family was as magical and wonderful as ever. Tom’s sister-in-law Julie's mother, Diane, came from Michigan this year to join us. She had made every single person quite a quantity of chocolate goodies. It must have taken her hours and hours, and she must have spent a small fortune on the ingredients. I was so touched by that.
Tom’s niece’s live-in boyfriend was with his own family in Seattle this year. On Christmas Day, Sarah told us that a certain gift from the night before had been from both her and Josh. Tom’s brother Steve said, “Good. I was starting to think he’d stiffed us, that we’d gotten the full doughnut hole.”
Also, after we got the aforementioned chocolate, Steve said, “OK, I’m setting my chocolate RIGHT HERE and I expect it to be here later. I’M looking at YOU,” and here he made a gesture where he pointed two fingers at his own eyeballs when he said “I” and then pointed the same two fingers at my eyeballs when he said “you.” He really makes me laugh.
It was also funny when Chris, who is allergic to nuts, received walnuts in his stocking and said, “Walnuts—you remembered."
We spent Christmas Day afternoon with Ann and Mac—Ann made us soup, and Steve, Julie and Diane came over to help eat it—and then, before we knew it, it was time to get on the train to come home.
A couple of days later, Steve’s wife Julie came to San Francisco, along with her mother, Diane, who made us all the goodies. It was Diane's first visit to San Francisco. Tom and I met them downtown. Our goal was to ride the cable car, but that turned out to be the one thing we didn’t do, because the line was way too long both at the Market St. end and at the wharf end.
We met at 4th and Mission, and walked through the Bloomingdale’s mall to Market St. When we saw the cable car wasn’t going to be feasible, we took the historical streetcar to near the foot of Market St. and admired some giant Christmas ornaments inside and outside of what is possibly 101 California St.
We went to the Ferry Building and poked around—Julie bought us each a cupcake at Miette—and then had lunch at Fuzio in one of the Embarcadero Centers, a pasta restaurant where fresh-squeezed lemonade can be had. We took the bus to Pier 39 and looked at the water and the boats and the sea lions. I discovered, with regret, that San Francisco has a Hooters restaurant; it’s near there somewhere.
We went to Starbucks and had caffeinated libations and ate our cupcakes. Diane told us a funny story about, years ago, moving heaven and earth to get to New York, I believe it was, to join Julie and a friend for the opera. Diane and her sister were so exhausted, they ended up falling asleep at the opera and snoring.
By this time, it was dark. We took a cab to Chinatown, passing Coit Tower, which was glowing with beautiful red lights, and walked around Chinatown, including up an enormous hill. Then we took the 30 Stockton bus back to 4th and Mission, where we began, and walked through Yerba Buena Gardens, by the huge fountain, and admired another burning-red lit-up building, the Museum of Modern Art.
We ended up at the Thirsty Bear, where Sarah was working, and Julie treated us to snacks there. Then Tom and I took a cab home, dropping Julie and Diane near their parking garage on the way.
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