Merry Christmas, 2007

It seems I uploaded all of the Christmas photos to tell the story, then never got around tto telling the stories. It's April 30 now, and I found this post dated December 27 in the draft file—— Either I never finished or it got screwed up in the Blogger system. I suspect the latter as I recall typing a lot of Christmas stuff up.

Regardless, for the sake of memory and completeness, here is the Christmas Story, in photos.

Full Christmas Day flickr set here.

Ellen opens her stocking.

Baby Leland explores the fireplace and stockings.

Christmas morning at the Hardcastles

Despite the labeling, Ellen does not find her uncle inside.

Baby Leland's first Christmas, and Uncle Wilson introduces him to his new friends: Pee & Poo.
I am not making this up.

Bottle break!

Baby play time!

Badley was asked to fetch the hobby horse from the upstairs guest room.


Where he also found where dad has stored the guns. What he was asked by Mom and Dad was "Would you got get Lelan's present down from the guest room?" So Bradley, smart ass Hardcastle child that he is, brought down the .22.

Bradley takes out the bear.

Leland explores the tree.

My favorite present!

Gross Uncle Wilson gives Mac, Bradley, and Ellen
"Gummy Bacon"

Mmmmm...gummy bacon.

"Some assembly required."

Hanging out with the Harwells Christmas night.

Beth and Rob Harwell

Christmas Eve

Growing up, Christmas dinner was at Dear and Papa's, aka "the big house." Dear was my grandmother's first cousin. My grandmother was an only child and back in that day (maybe a century ago) she and her cousins Frances and Horace Jr. were raised as siblings. They were very close to each other throughout their lives.

Christmas Dinner was at the Hill's, and by the time I came around Frances (Hill) Caldwell was the matriarch and dinner was at her house (Dear and Papa's). (Horace Jr. was alive but as I recall he had Christmas dinner with his wife's family.)

Using temporary side tables, they could seat about a sixty in the dining room.

Like I said, "the big house."

Growing up, we would rush down to the fireplace Christmas morning, bask in the glory that was Santa (little baby who?), have a family sit-down breakfast, then settle into gift-exchange and exploring what was under the tree before getting dressed into formal attire for dinner with all the cousins at the big house.

As Christmas Dinner (capital C, capital D) was at someone else's home and with a great deal many others, formal Christmas Dinner hosted by my mother for my immediately family was Christmas Eve, ending just in time to leave for the candlelight service at church.

As time has gone on, my generation has grown, married, and in the case of the cousins, spawned like rabbits. Regardless that Dear and Papa have both passed on, there is no one house who can host us all (Heck, Cousin Ann, my mother's generation, has like 15 grandchildren now—in high school). Christmas Dinner on Christmas Day with the extended family hasn't been for years.

I say all this to explain why my family's Christmas Dinner (Capital C and Capital D) is on Christmas Eve. And it too has grown, but the seated dinner itself is limited to the immediates: Hardcastles and in-law relatives.

My mother, loving character that she is, expanded our Christmas Eve many years ago to include holiday orphans and the very close family friends. And Hardcastle-annexes, such as the Halls (their own parents absent, Hartley and Carolyn refer to Mom and Dad as the DPs: Designated Parents.)

Christmas Eve is now an event at the Hardcastle household. Cocktails with the loved ones, followed by the seated dinner with the family. Not that those adjectives are mutually exclusive.

And of course, as it was Baby Leland's first Christmas, it was very Leland-centric.

Gifts for Leland were apparently unnecessary as he is perfectly happy eating all paper and bows within reach.

To the chagrin of my often-babysitting mother, someone taught Leland about the stairs, and much time was spent climbing.


Up and down and back again.


All in all, a lovely and loving Christmas Eve:

Nan, Helena Lamb, Emily Hardcastle, and Little Baby Leland

The Hall Family Photo:
Suspected Homosexual Longtime Bachelor Cousin Bruce (visiting), Carolyn & Hartley Hall, Grace Hall

The Hardcastle Boys:

Jay, Mac, Wilson, Papa John, and Leland

Christmas Eve dinner is a big production. Even with "help," cocktails for 40+ and formal dinner for 15 with all the trimmings and all the settings, the effort Mother makes is Herculean. I helped as much as I could (largely as human ladder), but I also had to wrap all of my presents, and Dad's, and some of Mom's, for the morning—and play Santa Claus. With my parents overwhelmed with many things these days, I have taken over shopping for and stuffing of the eight stockings. Pretty much for all of the Christmas season, I am Head Elf at Sheppard Place. And I'm happy to do it.

Mom managed to finish cleaning up for dinner and prepping for breakfast around three-something. I didn't finish the clearing, wrapping, and stuffing until after four. I went to check in on my parents, who were so adorable I had to take the picture— curled snug in their bed, in identical poses, on a cold winter's night, and on the night before Christmas.

The sound effect of the camera opening roused my father. Mother, I imagine, remained entertained by visions of sugar plums.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

enjoying the season

I do love the holidays in Nashville. Traditions change, but I am blessed to be surrounded by loving family and friends, and enduring friendly traditions whose trappings may change, but the warmth does not.

The Warners used to host Christmas night every year, inviting the neighborhood, family, and friends of the children (the youngest of these "children" is a pulminologist with three kids of her own these days). the Warners have added on tho their house (across the street from our) to accomodate their three kids' husbands and multiple families, none of whom live in Nashville any longer. So when the three children, three spouses, and nine children drop in, it's a full house.

And the new puppy Nauset.

Big Sloan made a deal with Little Sloan: Big Sloan gave Little Sloan $50. The puppy can play in the house, but every time he "makes a mess," Little Sloan has to give back $5, and clean up the puppy poo/piddle. I thought this was a good incentive for Little Sloan to take the puppy on frequent trips outside to do his dirty little business. Apparently, just enough, as he broke even by the end of their visit.

Also dropping in for drinks with the family are close friends The Baxters. Emme Baxter (seen here at Steeplechase) was a Nelson, and you may remember mention or clips of childhood bestest friend Carrington Nelson (now Fox) here in the blog. Emme and Butch with their children Sloan (girl, younger) and Gage (boy, older, a friend of my nephew Bradley) have visited SF and me once or twice, usually on a tandem spring break trip with my brother's family. Emme and Mary Laird (Warner)'s friends Ferrin (whose name confuses everyone) and her husband (whose name I forgot) also joined for a little love. I promised to put her in the blog so here she is:

The Lovely Ferrin, Emme, and Ferrin's Sextoy husband.

Sloan the Elder and Gage Baxter

Gage, while still small of stature for his age, has not only become a medal-winning swimmer but is also the lead singer in a high school band. The gathered parents and friends bade him sing for us. And cleary he is not shy crooning for a n audience. His rendition of Signed, Sealed, Delivered was good, marked only by his forgetting the lyrics. He also sings the National Anthem for school games, which is a tough piece, and I caught a clip.



The girls in the crowd,

Jane Warner and Margaret McAllister

went wild.

Side note: Jane Warner, married to Sloan, is the first cousin of Alert Reader Paul Day.

After the family parties, I cruised down to Tribe again to meet up with other 'mo locals home for the holidays. The Nashville Life building usually pulls certain shades each night to display a message. Tonight, as I rounded to inner I-40 loop, I tried to get a shot of "Peace."

Peace Sign

While waiting for Chuck (frequent character in the blog), I ran into an old Nashville friend who relocated back to Nashvegas a couple of years ago.

Cameron

Oddly enough, it was through Cameron that I became such friends with Chuck. Chuck and I knew each other in high school, but it's not like we hung out together. Years later, when he was living in Chicago, he hooked up with and started dating a Cameron. Cameron introduced me to his new boyfriend one night at the Connection, and Chuck and I were dumbfounded to find another gay MBA boy. Cameron, of course, had no reason to think we would have known each other. And Chuck and I have been good friends since.

Chuck and Wilson

Just kidding. I just hang onto him because he's so beautiful.

Mmmm. Chuckalicious.

Also always a pleasure to see, family friend and Tribe proprietor David Taylor.

David Taylor and Chuck R.

Years ago I brought David a foam "Happy Penis" from the SF public health campaign. I don't know why, it just seemed something that would amuse him. And I was right; it's still proudly displayed in his office.

David Taylor loves his healthy penis.

Always a fun time at Tribe. And last but not least, a shout out to one of the boys who always makes it so, the lovable and loving Loy.

Shouts to Loy.

An EJ X-mas

Apparently, when your mother swings open the door to your room at 10:15 on Sunday morning and screams "Church?!" --

"No thank you." is not the correct answer.

Thank (ahem) God for long-winded prayer leaders. I totally feel asleep with my head bowed and eyes closed. And I think LBJ is okay with that. He's been raging at his birthday parties this month. That water-to-wine party trick never gets old.

Last night was Elizabeth James' famously fabulous Christmas Dinner Party. As with last year, she had loads of furniture removed and turned every room into a dining room. And again with the fun extras like the snow machines above the entrances/windows, exceptionally entertaining catering staff, and bar treats.

And of course the formal outdoors smoking lounge.


EJ also hired a DJ, who had a great mix of house holiday music. With the house so crammed with tables and people, the only place for him to set up was in the bedroom.


And of course, there was the a hoard of super-fun pretty people (beautiful people both inside and out).

Not gay but so gay friendly.

Cannon may just work it for the attention as he is charming and cute as a bug (as opposed to other unnamed guys who just get drunk and get annoyingly aggressive with the hands and lips.)

And our favorite barmen.

The bar was also stocked with drink labels-- the cocktail equivalent of wine charms. At first I thought we were supposed to label ourselves. I chose "Flirty" but as they were designed to cling to glasses and not fabric, it fell off almost immediately and I couldn't find where it went (only to discover it on the heel of my boot many days later).

In keeping with my title/cards, I went with "Huge Enabler."

"Wallflower?" Hardly.

"Sacred?" Perhaps.
(or maybe it was supposed to read "Scared.")
Click to embiggen.

(Ahem.)

Those two were together on the sheet of labels and just seemed appropriate to keep together.

While there was no snow, there was freezing rain (usual for Nashville at Christmas). Some were caught unprepared and EJ made makeshift ponchos. Very classy.

How I hate to go out in the storm.

(But if you really hold me tight, all the way home I'll be warm...)

I didn't take too may photos of the night as I was having too much fun. The finale, however, did merit a little documentation.

Such as the "overserved" who passed out on the sofa.


EJ gave out blinking red noses as party favors.

Now we're just mocking.

For the full effect of "blinking nose put on the passed-out girl" effect, I felt the need to take a video clip.



Which isn't nearly as funny as the fact that the catering staff started taking photos with their camera phones.

Classic.

Now that's some holiday cheer.

Flickr set.

Random Holiday Saturday

Barry called me to be her Apple Man for Saturday. She very much wants an iPhone, and judging by the comments from her husband, Santa is bringing her one for Christmas. Regardless, she wanted to check them out and get some lessons at the Apple store, and in lieu of buying an iPhone, she could, like a good southern girl, check out the accessories. And Lordy, I thought I was an enabler. Even though I know why I am holding out for the next gen, she pushed the hard sell for me to get one this week too. This girl could sell a drowning man a glass of water.

We spent at least an hour on the iPhones and such at the store, and even though she is a big fan of the blog, when I mentioned that this much time demanded a photo for the blog, she got shy all of a sudden.

Ginger was going to join us for a late breakfast/brunch/lunch, but apparently had too much cheer at a party last night and was functioning on less than all cylinders and couldn't make it.

After our morning at the mall, Barry and I headed to the new Hill Center development (we're both Hills, and I hadn't seen the redevelopment yet) and lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen. A new culinary delight for Nashville, irony for me.

Imagine our surprise when Barry recognized Ginger's car when we entered the parking garage— and in a non-space no less!


One of Barry's pet peeves is people who park wherever they damn well please, and here she noticed Ginger car in front of the parking entrance to the CPK, and in a clearly marked "no parking" area. She stopped so I could take a pic.

And even without a voice, my boisterous laugh carried to Barry in her car. I had gotten out of the car to chronicle Ginger's infraction to mock her in person and here in the blog, and I had to guffaw when I round about the driver's side:

Let's take a closer look:


I was also amused at the implied threat that carries no actual weight in law or practicality.

Barry and I sat at the bar and had a tasty lunch of cobb salads and hot toddies. Ginger was having lunch with another friends and we celebrated her rare and amusing completely hung-over status.

Later that afternoon, Ginger and I got our quality catch-up time in at her favorite spot: Cosmo Nails. Coming from SF, Nashville manicures sort of suck. But I was there for the company and the cosmos (byo), not necessarily the service. We had lot of dishy fun in the mani-pedi chairs.

Even though Ginge' was often interrupted and managing her crackberry with freshly painted nails. Perils of the professional entrepreneuse.

I did feel the need to take a parting shot:

I call this one: Shrine of the Severed Hands.

Kinda creepy don't ya think?