HEARTH AND HOME A New Attitude By SUE SUTHERLAND-WOOD Tradition takes center stage around the holidays, perhaps more than any other time of year. Much of what we categorize as “seasonal stress” is really the result of endless shopping, “must have” once-a-year baking and time wasted online watching with vacant eyes as other — calmer — people demonstrate the simplicity of winding cranberries around an old tree branch they will soon suspend in a pristine white hallway. In stark contrast, there’s also the gritty reality of holiday guests (fresh towels, roll out mattresses, lumpy pillow replacement) yet the bustle of everyday life still lopes on at top speed. The need to replicate each holiday the same way, every year seems vital to success. But a worldwide pandemic would radically alter the holiday season and everything in between. The spectres of Covid-19, possible job losses and brutal isolation from friends and family played in most people’s minds on repeat. Previous worries about how many rum balls to make suddenly seemed very trite indeed. Despite this, all sorts of heartclamping acts of kindness happened. I recall grocery shopping in the hoary frost of early winter mornings, placing items quickly and urgently in the cart while Sheryl Crow sang about soaking up the sun as if everything was business as usual. But the shelves were being calmly re-filled, and employees smiled with their eyes, nodding greetings. I welled up unexpectedly as I thanked cashiers, flooded with gratitude that I was heading home to make vats of burnished chicken stock from the carcasses (also hoary with frost!) in my freezer. That first winter of the pandemic, when no one really knew what was safe, made traditional get-togethers feel daunting, drawing a further curtain of sadness around the holiday season; however, since I have enterprising friends, one of them suggested a socially distanced winter walk. It was one of those dazzlingly bright but bitter winter days and we were well wrapped up in scarves and hoods. Before we set off, my friend wedged her coffee cup on top of a snow drift and beckoned for us to do the same. In a strange ritual, we approached with our own cups, backed up and watched in delight as she glugged Kahlua into each, her mittened hand working quickly. “Merry Christmas!” we toasted and set off walking in a companionable line, our footsteps crunching in the silence. There would be no Christmas tree that first year but like others on our street, we lined our windows with little white lights to chase away the 4 o’clock gloom that we had control over. Like many others, I also marked the time to go outside and “make some noise” in order to convey appreciation for exhausted and heroic front-line hospital staff. As snow swirled around me, I felt self-conscious and truly ridiculous banging a pot with a spoon and especially as the rest of our street remained in quiet darkness. But as I continued, an incohesive, jangling rhythm in the distance was being carried towards me as others began to join in. At a time when everyone felt so powerless it was an eerie, primitive collective expressing camaraderie and hope. As the holiday season grew near, I began to recognize that not having to cook The Big Dinner was not as upsetting as I had previously thought. We had noth- ing to lose but our festive chains – this in itself could be a kind of celebration, surely? But on Christmas Eve, I received a text message to look on the front porch and there, crouching upright in the snow was the largest turkey I have ever seen. My son’s partner had been given a turkey from her firm and neither their tiny oven (or fridge freezer!) could accommodate a 31-pound bird. She thought I might be able to use it? Once my initial dismay (and guilt!) had passed, I log rolled that turkey inside, poured myself a large glass of wine and wondered if this was how Mrs. Cratchit had felt. (Careful readers will recall that poor woman had just prepped a full goose dinner the night previous …) I did rally eventually, and soon the house was steaming with savoury goodness. (We even scored some last minute veggies at the market!) The next day we loaded up containers and hand- delivered a full Christmas dinner to each of my sons’ homes. My heart constricted to see their handsome, excited faces as they cheered through the window while we unloaded everything onto the porch. The holidays are all about forging memories but there is always a risk that in trying to preserve tradition too rigidly, the season will be rendered completely unremarkable by its very sameness. The pandemic was a disturbing and unwelcome wake-up call in every way, but it did wipe the slate completely clean, forcing all of us to re-imagine what is truly important. Going forward, I find myself leaning into a more pagan sensibility, favouring old tree branches to online sales gluttony, and getting just the right amount of cranberries to wind around. SUE SUTHERLAND-WOOD has contributed to many publications, both in print and online, and her short fiction has won awards. Read more of Sue’s work on her blog www.speranzanow.com 62 LifestyLe LIFESTYLE November/December FEATURING EATDRINK 2023 NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2023
Covent Garden Market Canada www.coventmarket.com @coventgardenmarketcanada 130 King St, London NOVEMBER 24TH - DECEMBER 17TH
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