Who knew that a longtime Christmas-disliker could have his heart warmed by the snowy, unprepossessing Yule celebrations of a small town on a bluff above the mighty Hudson closer the the Capital than the City?
It happened last night.
The small town--a very, very tiny City in fact--had its annual Christmas Walk last night and nature obliged by lofting great big white flakes down upon the longish Main Street throughout the event, lending it an air of postcardlike perfection. But this small town, this very tiny city, is not just a bypassed burg full of hicks and nincompoops. No, it happens to contain a fair amount of progressives, certified members of the intelligentsia, hip refugees from senseless high rent, and quirky Hudson Valley operatives who've been strumming against the machine for decades.
So the celebration was a happy mix of Santa and odes to the more ancient, more Pagan gods. By this I mean there was not just a teeny tiny parade with Santa sitting atop the back of a Mercedes Benz convertible, but also a dancing Scheherezade in a shopwindow; and in another window, a girl with a dress that had a puppet theater attached to the front of it in which was performed a cloth and stuffing version of the Can-Can. Hot chocolate was served by young folk with multiple piercings; a man walked on stilts and wore a top hat. In the large display window of a pricey mid-century antique store a pair of middle-aged men held forth on fiddle and guitar, one in top hat and tails, the other in a pony-tail almost certainly of Off-the-Pigs vintage (are top hats making a comeback among a certain brand of hipster?) A more traditional hair salon (unforgiveably named "Mane Street") featured a singer of doo-wop and Elvis and gave trinkets to the smaller celebrants.
City Hall had Santa sequestered somewhere warmly inside and the sidewalk was thick with local folks getting their young their rightful meet and greet with the jolly fat man who may well bring them gifts a couple of weeks from now. Bundled brightly in layers of wintry Wal-mart gear, the kids were noticebly asparkle and even the littlest, whom one must assume really had no idea why they were where they were, seemed justifiably amused and many were obviously smitten by the gently falling snow.
There were no chain-store sponsorships nor glad-handing commercial sycophants to mar the small majesty of the tableau.
I bought a handful of old magazines at my favorite store, which seems to be an emporium of all things odd and inexplicable and that plays acid jazz rather loudly, and had some hot chocolate and then went home for dinner. I felt as if, for once, I at least understood why a celebration of the season, well and duly constituted, might be at some point uplifting to a spirit already weary of the dark season upon whose chilly climes we must now embark.
PS there was a hot dog stand that didn't get much business and I think it was the snow. Snow-covered barkers are not much of a draw it would seem. Better that he would sell kettle-corn or elephant-ears or something else already puffy or powdered?
