Christmas in the Black Forest

foggyValley_detail
Originally uploaded by udge.

Imagine, dear Reader, that this were the view from your living-room this Christmas. Not bad, eh? G's parents are lucky to live in a very beautiful area. It's quite high, 720 metres above sea level, therefore colder than Stuttgart and often windy; this time there was a constant and slow wind, very humid, which built up ribbons of frost along the upwind sides of basically everything. The newest photos on Flickr were taken on a walk after Christmas lunch, it was about 3° below zero, but the humidity made it quite unpleasant to be out. There was no snow at all. Only G's brother and I were brave and/or foolish enough to go out, the others lay about tenderly prodding their full bellies and planning the next meal.

Eating too much and drinking far too much is a truly international aspect of the way Christmas is celebrated. We ate five times between Monday noon and Tuesday mid-morning, then went to U's parents and ate thrice more on Tuesday. Eight meals in thirty-four hours. Not to forget the snacks, of course: the bowls of cookies and biscuits and chocolatey things that appeared whenever we sat elsewhere than at the dining table. I feel absolutely ill from all the sugary confectionery, my nerves are jingling from the endless cups of strong coffee. G's and U's parents would fit right in with my uncles and aunts in Saskatchewan (leaving aside the language problem).

In other news my uncle AH, my father's elder and last remaining brother, has died. He was 84, and until this year was in fine health (considering his age, weight and habits). He was a good man, I liked him well. He was generous with his time and money, whenever we met (the family when we were kids, myself when I lived in London) he would always ensure that the bill came to him. I spent many weekends with them when I was a student, we would take the dogs to Bushey Park on Sunday mornings for a run, and talk about history and the meaning of life. He was a world-famous jazz fan, known in the clubs of New York and Paris, personally acquainted with Duke Ellington; when the Duke's sister visited London, she stayed with AH and his wife Pat (they had no children). Like many Englishmen, he would volunteer the most intimate information about himself, but would deflect or ignore a direct question; conversation was always on his terms and at his choice of topic.

AH worked every day until he went into hospital this Spring for a minor ailment, from which treatment he didn't recover; he was readmitted in the Autumn and died in hospital. I am dreading calling my parents this evening; both for fear of how this setback will affect my father's condition—which is a post that I've been putting off since this summer—and, quite selfishly, in case they should ask me to represent them at the funeral and the reading of the will.

There's a bitter episode of family history behind this. My father's middle brother's widow is a greedy, grasping, manipulative bitch (if I may speak freely) and always was. She's also a babbing idiot, chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter and never a scrap more content than that. God knows how or why BJ, who was an educated and intelligent man, put up with her. Anyway. She got—took—all of our grandmother's furniture and photos, and has refused to let anyone in the family look at them since; my father is certain that the same will happen with AH's things. He (my father) has often said that he would like to have AH's wartime diaries and flight logs (he was in the Fleet Air Arm, flying Swordfish from aircraft carriers in the Atlantic); well, if Mrs. BJ knew that, she would claim them straight off—and probably throw them in the garbage.

I dread being asked to intervene in this grim and bloody business, one of the many pleasures of leaving London was the thought of never seeing Mrs. BJ again; but if I am asked I will of course go. We shall see.

Poor AH. Pat and the dogs will be waiting, she'll have just put the kettle on for tea.