Christmas in Boston

Ahem. Before my rapidly-fluttering sentimentality takes wing, let's take another look at life in Boston, shall we?

"For preventing disorders, arising in several places within this jurisdiction by reason of some still observing such festivals as were superstitiously kept in other communities, to the great dishonor of God and offense of others: it is therefore ordered by this court and the authority thereof that whosoever shall be found observing any such day as Christmas or the like, either by forbearing of labor, feasting, or any other way, upon any such account as aforesaid, every such person so offending shall pay for every such offence five shilling as a fine to the county."

From the records of the General Court,
Massachusetts Bay Colony
May 11, 1659

Excuse me? This Irish-Catholic stronghold, this bastion of New England moral uprightness, this WASP-nest actually banned Christmas?? Yup, for 22 years under Puritan rule any such celebration was outlawed, and it was only in the mid-1800s that it was no longer considered a dishonor to God to forbear labor and raise a glass of spiced wine. The Puritans wanted to distance themselves as much as possible from old England, and, more importantly, the custom of poor people wassailing the wealthy (i.e., assailing them for food and alms through carols and cajoles) was getting out of hand.

What's odd is that at Christmastime, it seems like everyone in Boston celebrates Christmas. A creche appears on the Common with no conciliatory menorah; tourists from the bible belt book their holiday here, in the one Northeastern city that feels righteous enough to them; groups of carolers stroll through downtown singing of Christ and redemption. When I spent a few frozen hours singing 'Rudolph' and 'Silent Night' around Faneuil Hall last year, I would not have been surprised if our wide-eyed listeners had fallen to their knees and received the eucharist. Can you picture the same on 34th Street?

Oh, there I go again, Annoying NYC Lady, comparing Beantown to the Big Apple. But the odd lack of diversity (or rather, presence of a rigid class hierarchy) makes Boston a largely Christian town. I freely wish "Merry Christmas" to most every white or black face I see. If I'm wrong, well then, they ought to know that they are merely guests here in the Divine Commonwealth.

In any case, those party-animal Bostonians apparently put the 'ho' back in holiday after the ban was lifted in 1681, as evidenced by this loud tongue-clucking:

"The generality of Christmas-keepers observe that festival after such a manner as is highly dishonourable to the name of Christ. How few are there comparatively that spend those holidays (as they are called) after an holy manner. But they are consumed in Compotations, in Interludes, in playing at Cards, in Revellings, in excess of Wine, in mad Mirth ..."

- Reverend Increase Mather, 1687

So while you're enjoying your tasty Compotations, listening to Chopin Interludes, playing strip poker etc. etc., I offer you some mad Mirth from the archives of the You've Got to Start Somewhere Department:

Victorian carolers Amanda Keil (left), Ellen Peterson, Cyndi Geller, and Justin Dilley visited Globe Santa and his sleigh to sing a carol in Faneuil Hall Sunday. (Christina Caturano for the Boston Globe)

Can I confide in you?

I've had more than one occasion to look a companion in the eye and recite the following:

Wenn so lind dein Auge mir,
Und so lieblich schauet,
Jede letzte Truebe fliehet,
Welche mich umgrauet.

And yet, I've never brought myself to finish the verse:

Dieser Liebe schoene Glut,
Lass sie nie verstieben!
Nimmer wird, wie ich,
So treu dich ein andrer lieben.

But maybe I will sometime. Maybe I will.

(That's all I'll reveal! Gentlemen, start your Googles!)

fall

Oh cherubs….

My writing will have to be on hiatus for a while, as I wrap up this semester; meet application deadlines; prepare for, travel to, and execute auditions; catch up on missing work hours (from all that travel), and perform my little gigs in town. But in what seems to be a trend, I am also reckoning with some other obstacles.

I do well with the return of autumn. The refreshment of cold air, the comfort of long sleeves. While summer boils our senses and exfoliates our cares, autumn’s intellectual sunshine brings us back into balance, and our lives resume their rhythm.

So I’m fine until around mid-November, at which point nervousness seizes my gut like algae infecting still-water. It might happen only because I’m in school, and the cloistered fish-tank of vocal studies can make anyone claustrophobic. But these past couple of years, along with a aspirations for the future, I’ve nurtured a healthy crop of my own neuroses. At home with my parents over Thanksgiving, sleeping deeply in my childhood bed, I was in the eye of the storm. But the instant I’m back into the fray, my nerves spring to life, despite my best rational efforts to keep them at bay. As these feelings are better explored in my offline journal, I will sign off (did I mention I have a presentation tomorrow and I’m also supposed to get some work work done?) and lighten up. And there are plenty of things out there that make me laugh....

Or even better....