Shipwreck Rose: Deep, Crisp and Uniform | East Hampton Star

2021-12-13 21:33:55 By : Ms. Tina Yuan

The days are getting shorter and shorter. The sun was fading and disappeared at 3 o'clock. When night fell, I drove on the Long Island Expressway to buy a new mouthpiece for my son's trumpet. He reported from the back seat that the winter solstice would not come in two weeks; it would get darker. The snare drum of the "Little Drummer Boy" is played on the car radio, and the neon lights of the liquor and light shops on both sides of the Nakajima Expressway — the comfortable little horns that flourished in the middle of the century — flashed like lighthouses.

The older I am, the less happy I am in the dark afternoon. The sunset disappointed us. We must fight against the demise of light.

On the street, the twisted holiday lights on the lamp posts give them the appearance of a candy cane. The self-evident consensus around East Hampton Village seems to be that the all-white holiday lights are "comme il faut" (I like to say, pretentious, borrowing from Tolstoy’s Russian nobles in "War and Peace" I have started to reread the French language this winter. When I ate too many fingerprint biscuits by the fire, the troika race, the sleigh bells and the frozen soldiers of Napoleon’s army came to my mind). The trees of the hunting inn, the fence of the white house beside the town pool, and the blades of the windmill are all outlined by beautiful white light.

I insist on loving the old-fashioned multicolored Christmas lights-red, green, blue and yellow-just like the ones they still decorate their Christmas trees in Bridgehampton. Multicolored. We need a little happiness.

Loyal Star readers-readers of a certain age, sipping their winter licorice tea, gurgling at the distance between them and their children when they were riding a flexible aircraft down Mill Mountain-may remember that About 30 years ago or earlier, The Star conducted a poll to determine which East Hampton citizens preferred the shade of holiday tree lights in the village. . Voting was conducted at our front desk, with printed ballots and a ballot box decorated with wrapping paper. The choices are "exquisite white", "serene blue" or "joyful multicolor".

Jolly multicolor won the vote, and jolly multicolor was purchased by the village. .. The villagers who thought the colorful lights were a bit tacky objected angrily. The author of the letter to the editor complained that the polls had been manipulated, and the person who chose the wording on the ballot-that was me, about 20 years old! -They used their thumbs biased with the word "happy". The opposition to the happy camp-the supporters of the "veteran white"-also opposed, because the "Star" allowed the student groups of Bull Lane to Trinity School to vote, and the children naturally became as happy as children with an overwhelming majority.

And now, after so many years, I want to unfairly use my position as a columnist to add a little editorial comment: Christmas lights, like Christmas packages, should be a bit tacky. There is no way to make electric holiday lights tasteful. It tastes bad.

Just now, I sneaked into The Star’s digital archives, trying to figure out in which year the tree-light war broke out. When I stumbled upon the earlier Christmas tree-light controversy, I smiled. It was released on December 19, 1940. . This is the first time that trees have been erected. “Forty lighted Christmas trees have been placed around Main Street, North Main Street and Xinzhen Alley,” said The Star. “The village committee installed the Christmas trees and local residents and businessmen paid for the lighting. Although It is generally appreciated that many lights have been destroyed by the children, which discourages the merchants. If they do not stop taking the lights, the merchants say this will be the last year they will pay for the lights in East Hampton."

How bad are the children who lived here before! What a sinner!

This is the generation of my father's wayward and rascal. In December of that year, he was supposed to be 8 years old, and his parents who had been harassed before the deadline and edited the newspaper allowed him and a group of pranksters to roam the store freely. The problem of bad boys and girls unscrewing light bulbs from the strings and smashing them on the icy ground continued into my own childhood when high school and middle school students ran rampage in the new town, which was both blasphemous and endangering public safety. I have never broken any bulbs myself, please pay attention. (Although we fantasized about the past, the children of 1940 were wilder and the discipline system was gentler.)

Anyway, in the Edwards Lane house, our own Christmas tree has a happy multicolor. Our lights are LED, so we can turn them on around the clock until the tree is stripped and dragged outside on New Year's Day. Although I am very resistant to change—just as unreasonable and arrogant as I am stubborn—I have succumbed to the complaints of my daughter and son. This year our tree is not a felled white pine. Reese firs were purchased from the Vermont tree plot next to Par East Mortgage Company on Toilsome Lane for a high price of $90. I have always been proud of our white pine, boasting that I adhere to that unruly tradition, but my enthusiasm for decorations makes the thin branches of white pine unable to bear their burden gracefully. They succumbed under the weight of my huge collection of vintage glass bead swag and antique glass jewelry. The sad sack of the white pine tree, Charlie Brown appeared more drooping and sadder after he was completely dressed.

I like December, although the days are short, because of the tranquility and softness of the scenery-the rat-gray blur and the bare branch burrs are as matte and tender as the tongue of a kitten in the evening sky. This is also the only time in a year when we sing together. This is my favorite thing. I can hardly maintain a tune, but who cares when many voices sound? Carols are our true American standard: we know the lyrics because we hear them over and over again, when the teller licked her thumb and counted 20 seconds in the bank, as we drove home from the band concert in the dark. Contemporary America needs more carols to take us "wild lament through the wind and bad weather" ("Good King Wenceslas").

The older you are, the more interested you are in trees. (Trees are the air we breathe. If you don’t notice, the earth will soon suffocate.)

We were told that the entire Christmas tree was imported into Victorian England by Victoria’s German husband Saxe-Coburg and Prince Albert of Gotha. The same is true for received history records. We have also learned that our Christmas holiday rituals have borrowed from ancient pagan religions in which light and green plants are physical representatives of gods. The older I get, the more obvious it is to me. This is a step backward: Christmas on December 25 is not a Christian holiday borrowed from pagan decorations. It is a pagan holiday on which Christians nail their stars. Wreaths and red berries, beeswax candles, holly, evergreen garlands, Christmas logs. .. Of course, we need to bring living green things indoors at the darkest time. Of course, we need a bright holiday.

I plugged in our annual white flashing light on Thanksgiving, hung it on the side of the kitchen ceiling, above the sink, and did not unplug it until March 1st. At dinner, we struck a match and put it in the kitchen. The red candle wick in the wooden tabletop carousel, the heat drives the windmill to paddle on the top, the runner puts the deer on the carousel circle after circle; the smell of charred soft pine wood-wave from the accident of the oar on fire Don't go-mixed with the smell of chicken and dumplings. Our consumption of tea, Harney and Sons cinnamon spice and digestive ginger has increased dramatically. In the brass candlestick on the mantelpiece, we arranged a red plastic battery-powered cone from the Vermont Country Store. The balsamic garland is draped on the outside lobby, and a homemade boxwood garland is placed on the front door, but the garland light, the LED light on the automatic eight-hour timer does not work: one side of the garland flashes, and when the other side fades in and out, The Christmas glitch marks part of the internal chaos.

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