During the years I was teaching in Athens, I would fly back to Amelia Island to spend Christmas and New Year’s with my mother.
In 1994 mom was celebrating her eighty-fifth Christmas, her eighth on Amelia Island Plantation. She had certain traditions: hosting Christmas lunch at her house, including my older sister, her husband and two sons, all living in San Marco, and any other of my siblings with their families if they came east; going to the festivities surrounding the lighting of the Christmas tree at the Ritz; and celebrating New Year’s Eve at the Ritz dancing to the wonderful music of Les DeMerle and Bonnie Eisele.
I usually arrived at Amelia Island on the 20th, my birthday, and the traditional time when my family would decorate our tree with the ornaments that had traveled from Chicago, where I was born, to New York and Washington, DC before arriving here on the Island. These delicate hand-blown ornaments were wrapped carefully in tissue paper, placed in sectioned boxes, and kept in a storage area under Mom’s staircase. Before succumbing to the convenience of an artificial tree, we would drive down to the corner of 14th Street and Lime to choose a tree and wreath from the seasonal vendor. Once home we would puzzle: Why do live trees always looked larger when you drag them into the living room? Champagne would flow and, amazingly, without incident, the variety of silvery glass shapes and colorful balls would be positioned on the tree after testing and stringing the tiny white lights. An heirloom skirt would elegantly hide the metal stand and the mom’s cat would finally come out of hiding to investigate, sniffing and walking on tiptoes, sizing up this fragrant “intruder”.
My visits usually involved plenty of cooking! A standing rib roast with all the trimmings was the Christmas meal, but baking Christmas cookies to eat, display and share with neighbors was also on our “to-do” list. After the feast and opening of presents we would travel the short distance to the Ritz to look at the display and the tall lit tree. The Ritz decorations were tastefully breath-taking, featuring plenty of gold, glitter, ribbon and greenery. Years later Mom was quite upset when the Ritz traded the traditional gingerbread house and village for a gingerbread pirate ship! It seemed almost sacrilegious to her. But we would still go to view it and marvel at the intricacy of the imaginative display, enjoying the amazed reactions of the children coming to view the spectacle, perhaps for the first time.
The run up to New Year’s Eve was full of lunches at myriad local eateries, sorting out Christmas cards received and updating address lists for next year’s batch, and choosing the appropriately gala outfit for the New Year’s celebration at the Ritz. We would make a dinner reservation for 9:00 pm and start out in the wood paneled bar for a pre-dinner drink. At that time the Ritz still had a large dance floor, grand piano and a band stand in front of the curved broad window looking out on the lit tree and the ocean beyond. After dinner we would sit at one of the banquettes surrounding the dance floor and watch, mesmerized, as the mostly elderly couples would show off their practiced ballroom dance steps. Occasionally a gentleman would approach mom for a spin on the floor and she would hold her own quite well.
Soon the tension would build as the midnight hour approached and champagne glasses were charged in preparation of a toast to the New Year. The audience chanted the countdown, and a huge cheer went up to mark the moment! Strains of Auld Lang Syne would inspire all to join in singing despite not knowing the entire lyrics to the song and many an eye would mist over with the idea of the “old times” and the passing of time. The committed dancers would resume as the band played more of the Cole Porter favorites and others would gather themselves to head home.
By January 6th, and before I had to fly back to Greece to start the next term of school, mom and I would dissemble the tree, replace all the fragile ornaments in their labeled boxes and untangle the strings of lights to be stored for another year. Mom had the date for Christmas tree pickup circled on her calendar and we would drag our tree to the curb, leaving a path of dry needles and stray ornament hooks in our wake.
The dichotomy of trees laden with Spanish Moss, our mild temperatures and walks on the beach in December never dimmed the feeling Christmas cheer or memories of past Christmases in colder climes. The ornaments, traditions and the season of giving were interlaced with years of great moments with mom here on Amelia Island.
