“This is my true religion: arbitrary moments of nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead.” – Elizabeth Berg in her novel, The Art of Mending
After the Holly Jolly Follies, as I braced myself out on the porch of the Chilkat Center for the walk up behind the old theater to our car into the blizzard, everyone talked at once, — That was great, So glad we came, Look at this weather, No one should be out and everyone is here! –This town sure knows how to entertain ourselves.
If we don’t, who will?
The Angel Gabriel hosted the first half of the show in a sheet toga and tinsel halo. Little shepherds sang O Little Town of Bethlehem, the angel child that forgot the words to Silent Night last year landed every note and was so pleased I thought she might fly on her fake wings. Donna, a clerk at Howser’s IGA by day, dressed in a satin choir robe tonight, channeled Shirley Caesar, and brought down the house with Do You Hear What I Hear?
The second half was hosted by Santa and was whacky, wonderful and “totally Haines” one friend said.
There were adorable children and fine musicians throughout. The Holly Jolly Dollys sang Hard Candy Christmas and sported Dolly Parton wigs, but not her famous boobs, choosing to honor rather than lampoon St. Dolly.
The Cracked Nuts attempt to perform the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (one clutched a crutch) made me laugh until I cried. The Sugar Plum Fairy was a large, gentle man in a tutu.
My husband says the best part was when Santa stalled during a scene change, mentioned Rudolf, and the audience sang the entire song, loudly.
The finale is a holiday tradition (since last year), a local version of The Twelve Days of Christmas sing-a-long. “On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, an eagle in a spruce tree…” there were five sleeping bears, ten chattering squirrels, hopping bunnies, swishing ptarmigan, howling wolves. Salmon…
The parade was pretty good too. Santa and Mrs. Claus on a firetruck, candy tossed from decorated vehicles since it was too cold for the marching band or Chilkat Indian Dancers and the Snow Dragon was late, but worth the wait.
The mayor’s truck isn’t running so he walked Main Street playing carols on his trumpet and handing out coupons that read “Redeem for one boring conversation with the mayor”, “Free Admission” to the Polar Bear swim in Portage Cove on New Year’s Day, and “Instant Hawaiian Vacation: Get Inside the Sauna at the Haines Pool.” He told me later maybe he should have offered one ticket for something of “real value”—
A Santa-hatted trumpet-playing mayor, diligently cheerful in spite of a thankless job, making fun of himself and promoting civic engagement, healthy group activities and good clean fun? That’s golden.
I was at the mayor’s favorite pool this morning with a few hardy souls. One of whom forgot her underpants– (most of us wear a suit under our clothes and dress afterward.) She was mortified. I sang Jimmy Buffet’s “When I am old, I won’t wear underwear, I won’t go to church, and I won’t cut my hair…” And we laughed– at ourselves, at the weather, at this wonderful life.
Joy, like grace, is not earned or deserved. It just happens. Of course you can give it a nudge. Just say to yourself, “I forgot my underpants again. I hate when that happens.”
