ain Street in our town on the island of Martha’s Vineyard is three blocks long and one block up from the harbor. The freezing wind blows salt air, the charming old buildings are decorated in tiny white lights; the stores are serving cups of hot cider; the same guy, John, who’s been selling his Christmas trees next to the movie theatre for twenty years is there again this year; the Salvation Army bell is ringing, carolers are singing, shoppers are pink-cheeked and bundled up in colorful scarves and supporting our little town by buying up the place; and at the Art Cliff Diner (warm and cozy when you walk in, smelling like heaven and filled with people we know) there’s a full sized, stuffed green Grinch sitting on one of the barstools at the counter, wearing his Santa hat, like he’s a customer.
ou can take a ride in the old wooden wagon pulled by the sweet-faced work horses from Nip N Tuck Farm, clip-clopping through town and down to the ferry. The boat comes in hourly, loaded with people back from off-island excursions and coming home for the holidays. One thing that’s tying us together right now (except for maybe that Grinch), we’re all waiting for snow. We’ve had frost, it’s been cold, but we need those big heavy flakes to make it a winter wonderland. I sit in my studio in the front of my house, and watch out the windows, onto the quiet street, waiting for the gray to turn to white polka dot, which will be soon, I can tell. The mid-west is getting it now…hey over there, blow some our way!
ren’t they cute? I wanted a flower for the top, but my garden is frozen and poinsettias are too big! African violet is beautiful, takes a very good photo, but isn’t edible….No problem…. I didn’t eat it.
y own private Santa is on the floor under the tree….the tree is so cold it puts out waves of fresh frozen-ness into the room…. quite delicious!
nd voila! It’s Christmas! And smells like it too! I love the fluffy white faux trees I see at the store; I secretly want one! I’ve come very close, but: a. As he has made abundantly clear, it would be over my own private Santa’s dead body; and b. that pine-tree smell, how do you do without that? Maybe you just make more cookies!