We have a bottle of champagne in the fridge. We have had it since Christmas. Our intention was to drink it on Christmas morning. I suppose we forgot. There is nothing quite like champagne and caviar on Christmas morning.
(Lily Bollinger was asked "When do you drink champagne?" and replied: I only drink champagne when I'm happy, and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company, I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I am not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it - unless I'm thirsty.)
I wonder why I like champagne and caviar on Christmas morning so much. Perhaps because I grew up Jewish and atheist in Africa where it was summer at Christmas time.
This Christmas I was feeling a bit lost and alone, having just moved to our new home, city and state, ten days before.
My son came to visit and I still felt shaky and vulnerable, as we picked him up from the 30th Street Station.
I always seem to be starting over. Have done it so many times. The hardest part is being anonymous. Each time I move, I feel less and less like telling my story.
For example I went to a new dentist this past week. He asked me where I am from. "Buffalo," I said. The dentist smiled and said, "No, where are you from really?" Ah - my accent - the giveaway for my anonymity. When Israelis heard me speak Hebrew, they thought I was American. In England I am asked which colony I come from - although a couple of years ago when I went hiking on the Yorkshire Moors I was asked by an English shop-keeper, "Do I detect an American accent?" Everyone is talking about my antique Rhodesian accent which has acquired traces from other lands. I suppose that's what my dentist meant. "Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe," I replied. From that point on my mouth was open for investigation and I could only reply with "Ah ah," or "Hmm..." A relief. I just did not feel like going into my life story once again.
On the other hand, each time I move, the more I feel that everywhere is home as long as I am with Tom, Ada and Molly, and Gilad can come to stay. It becomes clear that home is within me. While I feel I am new and don't belong anywhere, at the same time I become a citizen of everywhere and belong to it all. It makes less and less sense to fight over any one flag - which one should I choose? It makes less and less sense whose God is right or whose Heaven is best. It all just becomes wide open and interesting. We all belong to the human condition.
He made himself a life among strangers, but always, in his poor yearning heart, he heard the distant song of his home (Isak Dinesen).
Cynthia and Dan welcomed us into their home and bosom of their family for Christmas dinner. I can always depend on the kindness of strangers. It was a wonderful day. Full of warmth, laughter, good food and generosity of spirit. I think about that day and so many others like it whether I have moved from country to country, town to town or state to state.
Now, I look out my window onto the wooded Fairmount Park covered in a sparkling white blanket, and watch little cardinals puffed out from the cold. They look like red poppies growing on top of the deepening snow. As they eat from the bird feeder, I filled for them just before the storm, Ada sits by me and clicks and chirps gently. I feel thankful.
When we arrived at Cynthia and Dan on Christmas Day, Bob greeted us with a quote from a Western Alaskan native:
The lands around my dwelling are more beautiful now that it is given to me to see faces that I have not seen before. All is more beautiful, these guests of mine make my house just grand.
I am glad we did not drink that bottle of champagne on Christmas morning. I think I will keep it for Dick and Nelle when they come to stay on Thursday. There is still some caviar left to go with it.
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