If you're visiting a mixed couple during the holidays, here are a couple of gift suggestions: for the Christian wife, a bayberry-scented candle or a fresh evergreen wreath; for the Jewish husband, a lovely framed portrait of his parents, rending their clothes and sobbing.
Instead of saying "Merry Christmas!," try calling out, "The plain wrapping paper is right over there in the corner!" If you're visiting a mixed couple during the holidays, here are a couple of gift suggestions: for the Christian wife, a bayberry-scented candle or a fresh evergreen wreath; for the Jewish husband, a lovely framed portrait of his parents, rending their clothes and sobbing.
Hang fresh evergreen wreaths on the front doors to welcome people to the church.
New shops have opened, fresh evergreens grow in wrought-iron sidewalk baskets, and merchants speak of a restored sense of Main Street unity.
And then there were the cheerful sellers of homemade preserves, the children, the dogs, the aromas of fresh evergreens and hot cider, and New Yorkers in their stylish winter dress to prove once again, Virginia, that there is abundant holiday cheer.
Fresh Evergreens Welcome Christmas.
I don't know if I've had bean curd as light and fresh as Evergreen's, where it is served with an extraordinary crab meat sauce ($11.50).
The Central District is on a hill that once was a muddy skid road where fresh-cut evergreens were dragged down to the waterfront.
Throughout, Updike carefully interweaves a sense of events about to begin, about to be missed ("Meanwhile our President Obama waits / downstairs to be unwrapped"), with delicately evoked details of the past ("and I, a child /... pause here, one hand upon the banister, / and breathe the scent of fresh-cut evergreens").
Looking up "pneumonia," I learn it can, like an erratic dog, turn mean and snap life short for someone under two or "very old (over 75)." Meanwhile, our President Obama waits downstairs to be unwrapped and I, a child transposed toward Christmas Day in Shillington — air soft and bright, a touch of snow outside — pause here, one hand upon the bannister, and breathe the scent of fresh-cut evergreens.
Looking up "pneumonia," I learn it can, like an erratic dog, turn mean and snap life short for someone under two or "very old (over 75)." Meanwhile, our President Obama waits downstairs to be unwrapped and I, a child transposed toward Christmas Day in Shillington— air soft and bright, a touch of snow outside— pause here, one hand upon the bannister, and breathe the scent of fresh-cut evergreens.
