This is Sinterklaas, the Dutch Santa. Formerly the Archbishop of Turkey, Sint Nicolaas, Sinterklaas is shown with two of his Zwarte Pieten (there are six to eight Zwarte Pieten — “Black Petes” — originally Moorish slaves, but today more gently described as servants or even companions).
Sinterklaas arrives in The Netherlands each November by steamboat from Spain, then parades through the streets of Dutch cities and towns on his horse Amerigo, accompanied by his Zwarte Pieten servants. Between his arrival and the 5th of December, children leave treats for Sinterklaas’ horse in their shoes by the fireplace. On the evening of the 5th of December, Sinterklaas brings gifts for Dutch children. The good ones, anyway. He bags up the bad ones and takes them back to Spain with him.
Is that great or what?
So what’s up? A dear friend asked me that question the other day. I’ll share parts of my response with you, patient reader, along with some catch-up bloggage.
We’re busy as always this time of year. Mammon is still a presence in our lives, though a little less every year. Really, what do we need? What don’t we already have? Gifts for the kids are still essential, of course, and something for the stockings.
Don’t want to sound like a shill, but I have to single out Amazon as a Christmastime friend with miraculous powers. Ordered three things for Donna on December 13th. Received two on the 16th and got the third on the 17th. My baby-boom-generation mind can barely wrap itself around that. It’s magical. I’m starting a cargo cult here on Hidden Cove Place. I’ve already sculpted a mud & straw deliveryman out in the front yard.
Our double-oven adventure ended satisfactorily last week with delivery and installation of the oven we originally ordered (and the removal of the loaner oven). All is now well. I’ll smoke a beef brisket on New Year’s Day and perhaps claim one of the ovens to bake some bread. Donna will use the other oven for the second main dish. Why two main dishes? I have to assume she fears that if she relies on me for the one & only main dish, I’ll ruin it somehow. She’ll trust me on Christmas Eve, though. I’m to boil shrimp and prepare a big pot of my father’s famous clam chowder.
We decided not to host our annual Christmas Eve party, but Donna broke down at the first nudge from a single friend who asked if she’d get to help decorate our tree again this year, and now the party’s back on. Hence the bigness of the clam chowder pot.
I love my Nook, but have to restrain myself. E-readers are a trick to get you to spend more money. This morning Donna suggested buying Polly one for Christmas. Hmmm. Would that be a gift or a curse?
We’re planning a mid-January road trip to Las Vegas. My sister Mary (the pioneer wife from Montana) is making a Vegas trip then, so we’ll see Gregory, his family, and my sister & brother-in-law too. Our visit will overlap with an industry gun show at one of the big casinos – it’s for people in the trade, by invitation only – and Donna’s going to get us passes from the gun store where she works. Not that I need another gun or anything; I’m just curious. And I’ve never understood why rightwingers, authoritarians to a man and anything but revolutionaries, are such gun nuts, while progressives, who know the government’s going to lock them all up some day soon, are so squeamish about arming themselves. An NRA for pinkos – you’d have to include a photocopy of your ACLU card with your application – that’s what this country needs! Gun-toting libsymps . . . maybe that’s what the gun nuts are really afraid of.
Whenever I’m tempted to brag about the weather in southern Arizona, I remind myself of Margaret Atwood’s border wall in The Year of the Flood, the wall Americans finally build to stem the tide of illegal immigration. This wall, of course, separates Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, and southern California from the rest of the USA, and we Southwesterners are the illegal immigrants, unwanted refugees from drought.
Think I’m kidding? Have you heard the latest news about Lake Mead and the allocation of Colorado River water? Arizona and Nevada are trying to talk Mexico into storing its allocation in Lake Mead to keep the water level above that which will trigger cutbacks in the allocation for Arizona and Nevada. Gotta keep those Bellagio fountains flowing; gotta maintain Phoenix’s growth. A wise person will consider moving north before they build that wall, is all I’m saying.
At a post-bicycle-ride breakfast with friends the other day, conversation turned to current events, specifically unemployment. Somewhere in there my staunch Republican friend Frank said that at least under George W. Bush, we enjoyed eight years of job growth. I didn’t remember it that way, but couldn’t come up with any numbers. Upon further investigation, I have to admit Frank was right: under GWB we gained three million jobs. Of course the brilliance of Bush’s eight-year record of new job growth is somewhat diminished by Bill Clinton’s eight-year record: twenty-two million new jobs. Maybe that’s what I was thinking of. Won’t you come home, Bill Clinton, won’t you come home?
Speaking of presidents, Obama finally delivers on a promise with the repeal of Don’t Ask/Don’t Tell. Not sort of deliver, as with health care, but deliver in full — gift wrapped & tax paid. Now for the tough stuff: same-sex marriages in the ranks, dependents, spousal benefits. I blogged about this a couple of weeks ago, pointing out that the implications of DADT repeal are enormous, and might eventually lead to a federal override of state laws on same-sex marriage. You think conservatives and the religious right are upset now? Just wait.
RIght after Hanukkah, I started changing my Facebook profile picture daily, putting up commercial advertising images of Santa Claus. Santa selling cigarettes, whiskey, color TVs, etc. I’ll keep it up until Christmas, then revert to boring old photos of my actual self. Earlier today, though, I put up a “Sant-A-Matic” image copied from the Boing Boing blog, along with a warning that it was unsafe for children. Twenty minutes later, after remembering that my newest Facebook friend is my eight-year-old grandson Quentin, I replaced it with another commercial Santa. It is oh so easy to wax cynical about Christmas, but it just won’t do.
Ho, ho, ho!