Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Obviously, we haven't posted anything in quite some time, and the explanation for that is to come at a time in the near future.

But for now, I'd like to do a short post on Christmas, which is quickly upcoming.

Tonight I hosted my monthly book club (which is worthy of at least half a dozen posts itself) and, of course, did it up in holiday style, with gingerbread cookies (not terribly good), some excellent cheese from Green Grocer, a terrific Tastefully Simple Fiesta dip I got from Fran's sister, and a macaroni & cheese dish I got from Amy Sedaris's I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence, which was an enormous hit. Amy S. (not Sedaris, another "S") brought delicious pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, and everyone else brought wine or Frango Mints.

We talked about Jane Austen's Emma, our latest read, and the conversation, as always, was good. But that's not really what this post is about. This post is really about Christmas, and sadness, which, unfortunately, go hand in hand.

While I was prepping my crudites for the party and frosting the mediocre gingerbread men, I was getting in the spirit by listening to Pandora radio's "Nat King Cole Holiday Radio Station," and one of the popular rotating songs on the "station" is "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." Now, when this song is sung by Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald, it's lovely. And when it's sung by someone who shouldn't be singing it, like Coldplay or Michael Bublé, then it's just strange. And wrong. But when it's sung by Judy Garland, it's perfect.

The first time I heard, and saw Judy Garland sing this was when I was in college, during one of a number of film studies classes I took while still entertaining the idea that I would eventually be a film director, and I was doing a shot-by-shot analysis of Meet Me In St. Louis. And it's only because of this assignment that I know this particular Judy Garland musical better than I probably should. And it's because of this assignment that I have a very special place in my heart for "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," for Judy Garland, and for the sadness of Christmas.

Watching Garland sing this classic to a very young Margaret O'Brien, knowing that the family would soon be moving and leaving everything behind; watching Garland sing to O'Brien, whose little eyes filled with tears; watching Garland, so young, red-lipped, and so beautiful, sing while looking mournfully out the window and into a winter night, is just wonderful. It's so wonderful, actually, that I'd forgotten how much I loved it and how sad it made me until I heard it about twenty times over the course of five hours this afternoon as I chopped green peppers and accidentally beheaded little gingerbread men while moving them from baking sheet to plate. It is a song that captures the hopefulness and the nostalgia of Christmas all at once. It looks both to the future as well as to the past, and, unfortunately for the characters, looks to the present only as a place holder. I heard Bing and Ella and Frank sing it today, and they sang it beautifully: Frank, with his slow, low whisper; and Ella, with her voice strong, clear, and powerfully energizing. But they couldn't sing it the right way. No one will sing it like Judy Garland. No one but her can sing this song and make the lyrics, and me, cry like she can--cry those big fat tears like Margaret O'Brien's tears, tears that sit in the corners of your eyes and wait a few minutes before dripping down your warm, red cheeks. Because ultimately, it's a devastating song. It's a song that shouldn't try to be happy or cute or popular. It's a song that should embrace the holiday, the season, and the sentiment. The sadness.

So, to all of you, Merry Christmas.