“Fiddler on The Roof” is one of my earliest movie musical memories; I was very young when I first saw it in the theater with my parents, but it definitely left an impression. My affinity for Tevye and his daughters was solidified my senior year in high school when the play was chosen as our spring musical production, and I played in the orchestra. A story about Jewish Russian peasants circa 1905 may seem like an odd lead-in for a story about Christmas in the U.S. circa 2017. Suffice it to say that I’ve been known, on occasion, to spontaneously sing “Tradition.” Times change, traditions change, people change, locations change. But, fathers still love their daughters, and hang on to them, and traditions, as long as they can. – PAT
Christmas in Connecticut
or, My Journey to Nineveh, Part Two
I’m a traditional kind of guy, inasmuch as I enjoy my traditions. There are little traditions – like visiting the same ice cream shop at the beach every year (Cow-A-Bunga in Imperial Beach, CA, if you must know) – and there are bigger, more important, traditions – like candlelight service on Christmas Eve and Tenebrae on Good Friday. Like most things, though, traditions change as we change over time. Things that we may have enjoyed as a child fade away, favorite traditions may become combined with those of our spouse, or new traditions develop. One of my favorite ‘new’ traditions is my wife’s ‘old’ tradition of the Thanksgiving walk. Every Thanksgiving morning, we go for a long walk as a family with each person taking a turn saying aloud something they’re thankful for. This is all recorded on paper, which later serves as a sort of centerpiece during dinner, where we can look back at all the many blessings we have enjoyed throughout the year.
When our children were younger, we also adopted one of my wife’s favorite family traditions at Christmastime; the gift of a new book from the Bookworm on Christmas Eve. This served the double purpose of giving the kids something to open on Christmas Eve, while also keeping them occupied, even if briefly, in the midst of the anticipation of the coming day.
As our family grew, new traditions would develop. For many years, while the girls were still little, we created new Christmas Eve traditions, a mix of the old and the new. Midnight service was replaced by church at a more civilized hour, just as much for myself as for the benefit of sleepy children. After church, we would return home, put the kids to bed, and perform the necessary rituals of preparing for Christmas morning. When I say rituals, I am referring to the annual employment of the engineering skills necessary to assemble Barbie houses, Playschool kitchens, bikes, trikes & scooters, and the like; as well as the several hours required to free dolls, animals, and various fantasy creatures from the layers of plastic, zip ties, and plastic-coated wire that held them in bondage.
Our efforts complete, we would retire to the sofa with a glass of wine, a light snack, and snuggle in together to watch “Christmas in Connecticut.” Out of the plethora of Christmas-themed movies available, “Christmas in Connecticut” had become our favorite to enjoy together as a couple. Although, to be honest, it doesn’t actually have much of anything to do with Christmas. Like most of the Christmas movies of today (those we lovingly refer to in our house as Cheesy Christmas Movies, or CCM), Christmas isn’t the point of the movie as much as it serves as the backdrop to the story. The major differences between the cheese of today and this gem from 1945 being style, substance, the pure star power of Barbara Stanwyck, and a joyful undercurrent of optimism.
The story centers around Stanwyck’s Elizabeth Lane, a popular writer for a national magazine (Smart Housekeeping, an Alexander Yardley publication) who writes about her idyllic life on her Connecticut farm with her husband and new baby. Housewives across America eagerly await her recipes every month, to try each new sumptuous treat in their own kitchens. The main problem with all of this is that Elizabeth Lane is actually a single woman who lives alone in a drafty New York City apartment, with no husband, no baby, and no Connecticut farm. And those delectable recipes? Courtesy of her Uncle Felix (S.Z. Sakall), restauranteur, master chef, and steadfast supporter of Elizabeth; who also steals every scene he’s in and is, by far, the funniest part of the movie.
Hilarity ensues, as they say, when a young war hero is invited by Alexander Yardley (Sydney Greenstreet), owner and publisher of Elizabeth’s magazine, to spend Christmas at her farm. The invitation is the result of a heartfelt letter to Yardley from a young nurse, who is infatuated with said war hero, and is convinced that Christmas in a wonderful familial setting such as that written about by Elizabeth Lane will convince him that he needs a home of his own, preferably with her as his bride. In order to save their jobs, Elizabeth and her editor create an elaborate ruse set at the Connecticut farm of architect John Sloan (Reginald Gardiner), who has his own thoughts of marriage, to Elizabeth. If it sounds confusing, it is, and purposely so. It is, by any measure, a classic 1940’s screwball romantic comedy.
“Christmas in Connecticut” is perhaps not great cinema on par with Barbara Stanwyck’s best movies, and the burgeoning romance between her and our young hero is somewhat squeamish, given that she’s pretending to be married to another man. What it is, though, is comfort food. Originally released in August of 1945, mere months after the end of the war in Europe, and literally within days of the end of hostilities in the Pacific, the movie is buoyed by an end of war optimism that must have been sweeping across the nation during the latter part of 1945. It’s this sense of optimism, the emerging notion that things could be normal again; as well as pride in those who served, both at home (witness the several female characters who were working at the local factory) and abroad, that always endeared the movie to me. As I said, holiday comfort food.
It was with a bit of irony then, after many years of enjoying this particular holiday comfort food, that I found myself faced with an actual Christmas in Connecticut. Loss of a job in New Mexico had resulted in a relocation to Connecticut, away from family, friends, and traditions. To say it was a shock to the system would be an understatement. From wide open spaces to confined and congested roadways; from endless blue sky to a daily dull gray; from a view of Sandia Mountain to a view of the dumpster behind TJ Maxx. From holiday celebrations packed with family, young and old, to a more reserved holiday with our family of four.
The Connecticut of 2016 bore little resemblance to the idyllic Connecticut of 1945 portrayed in the film. (To be fair, I’m sure that the film bore little resemblance to the Connecticut of the time either.) Instead of quaint New England farms with pristine snow-covered fields we found acres of concrete and blacktop, covered in dirty, black snow. Instead of horse-drawn sleighs we found ourselves sharing the road with 400 horsepower BMWs with inexplicably angry drivers.
All was not bleak, however. Everyone we met was exceedingly nice, and there were small town celebrations to partake of, like the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony on the Town Green. Modern day Connecticut may not be pleasing to the eye, but it’s inhabitants were certainly kind and welcoming to strangers.
It became a season of transition for us as a family. In addition to a somewhat traumatic relocation, our children were no longer young girls, but young ladies. Barbie and American Girl clothes were replaced by new school clothes suitable for sophisticated young women. Picture books were replaced by Kindles and novels. The annual freeing of the Barbie dolls was replaced by snipping tags from sweaters. And “Christmas in Connecticut” was replaced by Christmas in Connecticut.
Change is inevitable. We change as individuals, our children grow up, we grow older, old traditions fall away, and new ones take their place. Perhaps we long for simpler times, like post-war America in 1945, or perhaps we just want our children to be children again, if even for a day. Perhaps we long to be somewhere we’re not, somewhere other than where God led us. We long to be anywhere other than downtown Nineveh.
Change is inevitable, yes. But amidst the change, amidst the longing and the turmoil, God is constant. In the midst of our seasons of change we have the blessed assurance of Emmanuel, God with us. Some 2,000 years ago the Creator of the Universe decided to invade the planet earth. Not as a conquering king with armies to command, to subjugate the earth through violence and power; but humbled and vulnerable as a human baby, to save us from ourselves through peace and love, and through His own personal suffering.
Change is hard, but God is good. The God who is with us, who comforts us in our lonely exile, and who came to earth to ransom us. As we celebrate yet another Christmas in Connecticut, another Christmas of change, I focus on the meaning of the season; God made flesh for our salvation. Wherever we may be, Christ is with us, in us, and ever leading us to our true home, to make safe the way that leads on high. Wherever we may be at Christmastime in this earthly realm, God is with us, and we are with one another. In the immortal words of noted philosopher Dr. Seuss…
Welcome Christmas, bring your cheer, cheer to all Whos far and near.
Christmas Day is in our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp.
Christmas Day will always be, just as long as we have we.
Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart and hand in hand.
P.A. Tennant – Christmas Day, 2017
Soli Deo Gloria
Photo: IMDb
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