Silent sheep, red undies and small fires: The luck-bringers of the New Year

I'd like to think I'm above superstition.

But when I broke a mirror last night while helping a friend move (my intentions were good, my van packing abilities, not so) I knew the consequence.

I tried to push blame onto the UHaul van, but inanimate objects are poor receptors of bad luck. Besides, the notion of the UHaul going AWOL on Congress Street or collapsing altogether on the highway (with some poor schlub’s worldly possessions inside) was more than my conscience could handle.

But it being New Year's Eve, and a Blue Moon ta boot, it's an ideal time to reverse fortunes, shake 7-year bad luck sentences and shoo those evil spirits who've taken to loitering on the couch and eating up all your good food.

For the superstition-defunct, here's a New Year's good-fortune roundup, courtesy of The World.

Red underwear. Bust out the bright skivvies on New Year's Eve. Folks in Turkey believe wearing red undergarments brings good fortune in the new year - even grandma may flash a red bra strap to show she means New Years business. In Mexico, red underwear is said to bring love, while yellow underwear brings wealth.

Shattered platters. Those mad cats in Denmark show their affection on New Year's Eve by smashing dishes on friends' doorsteps. Wake to stockpiles of broken porcelain at your door and consider yourself well-friended. Or start the trend among your friends this year - chuck a few salad plates, toss a few bowls. Stay warm from the cold by throwing them from the driver's side window as you drive by. Your friends will thank you just as soon as the police release you.

Talking farm animals. Romanians listen for talking farm animals on New Year's Day. Overhearing a herd of sheep engrossed in conversation meant bad, baaaad things. Have a listen to your backyard chickens or your cat, see what stirring in their world. I tend to think it's not IF they're talking, but WHAT they're talking about that may signal future woes. Who knows, the neighborhood canines might be planning you a really cool surprise party.

Trash in, trash out. Some countries believe nothing should exit the house on New Years - not even the trash. But in Italy it's customary to chuck things out your windows to "symbolize your readiness to accept the New Year." So long, fat pants, out the window ye go. Goodbye you lifeless DVD player, you limp sofa, you ever-running upstairs toilet. (Note: killing someone with said trash-tossed-from-fourth-story-windows immediately negates any good fortune attained from initial trashing tossing.)

Burn something. In Ecuador, effigies representing the failures and regrets of the previous year are constructed and burned in the street as a symbolic gesture. Symbolism is all well and good, but I think it's best to get right to the source of said hostility. No raise this year? Torch your desk. Quarrels with a neighbor? Light up his car. Didn't lose that 15 pounds this year? Send the fridge off in a blaze of glory.

Open window policy. Listen, the New Year is just as eager to get the hell out of here as you are to have it gone. But help a year out, would you? Open a few windows and doors at midnight. Like an unfortunate abductee, the old year needs an escape route.

First footer. Plan for an attractive, tall, brown-haired man to show up at your door New Year's Day. The Scots believe the first person to set foot in your home determines your luck for the year. No unibrows, blondes or short guys. And definitely no women. Women are awful. It's not uncommon for homeowners to arrange for an appropriate first footer. This tradition should not be confused with the more commonly practiced "booty call."

Quiet, woman! In some parts of our blessed world, a woman shouldn't speak until a man says "Happy New Year." I imagine that men needing some January quiet time can hold off expressing their New Year enthusiasm (keeping the li'l lady silent) until early February - by which time they may have also unwittingly ingested a lethal amount of arsenic in their morning oatmeal (put there by aforementioned li'l lady who doesn't find the tradition very amusing).

So should you wake up New Year's Day with a floor covered in ashes and garbage, a doorstep piled with broken dishes, freezing from the open windows with a strange dude in your family room holding two arrest warrants, rest easy.

You're going to have a wondrous 2010.

Lights on the water, a firework in the sky

I retain immeasurable respect for people who expend the effort to trim their homes with Christmas spirit.

For some, there might be a one-upper aspect to the endeavor ("Think your lights are so dang great, Bob? I'll show you what a real man's lights look like!") Even still, I like to think they're a altruistic gesture - a gift to passersby. A decorated house is evidence of a home owner's true yule tide devotion.

And hanging Christmas lights ain't easy. I remember spending the entirety of a December day stringing lights along the front shrubs. My brother and I created a lit pattern of colored bulbs that dazzled the senses! The design was so intricate, so heavenly, it was a risk to passing motorists. The distraction could potentially cause accidents.

We worked those lights until our fingers and faces were numb, only to have them unapologetically go dark just two days after they were hung (no thanks to the little devil across the street with the bad attitude and a pair of wire cutters).

But we're in Maine, folks. And with the water just over our shoulders it only makes sense that the holiday lights make their way to our floating fleet.

Saturday was the 8th Annual Portland Harbor Boat Parade of Lights. The parade was visible from the shoreline, but we opted to pay the $8 to watch it from the water on a Casco Bay Lines ferry.

Bundled passengers piled on the boat at dusk - some smart early birds snagged the tables in the enclosed upper deck and popped open a few bottles of wine.

There was a table of chips and cookies (I believe courtesy of local non-profit SailMaine - who also benefited from the event proceeds) and a small bar. Though it seemed most folks, us included, had come prepared with their own warming drinks.

At 4:30 we motored out toward the East End to find a handful of finely decorated boats passing by. From the other direction, a handful more came along.

In quick order they positioned themselves into a line, then played follow the leader through Portland Harbor.

And we stood on the deck, freezing but not caring that we were freezing, singing along to the holiday tunes blaring from the ferry's speakers and "oohing" at the watercraft.

And then came the fireworks, straight off the deck of one of the participating boats.

As the parade trailed by, that boat slowed, explosions momentarily brightening the dark sky. And the boat began to spin. Spin! I wasn't even aware a boat could maneuver like that, but there it was, sending up fireworks and twirling in the harbor.

I vowed right then and there to be ON that boat next year.

Purty.

O, the merry! O, the madness!

The masses converged at The Eastland Park hotel last night for some Merry Madness shopping. The lobby was packed to the gills with anxious shoppers waiting in line for a wine glass (what better to put complimentary wine in?) or biding their time in the lobby bar (what better way to keep warm?).

And while the line was admittedly long - and there was no doubt a bit of frustration when the signature "Merry Madness" wine glasses ran out - the mood was still more merry than mad.

But no group represented the holiday spirit more obviously than these ladies, whose accoutrements speak for themselves. Forget beer goggles. Classy ladies don wine eyes.

See all the pics from last night's Merry Madness

And the stellar attendance at the hotel poured over into the streets of Portland's downtown, where many local businesses stayed open until 10 pm to welcome the holiday shoppers.

While the shopping and holiday revelry went on, a friend and I popped into the SOAP (Sustainable Organization Advocacy Partners) offices on Fore Street. The folks there, along with Reverb and Good Focus, were getting all eggnoggy and festive on the third floor.

And what would "festive" be without a bicycle-powered drink mixer (it's hard to see, but there's a blender attached to the back of the bike). I missed the Greendrinks event that SOAP hosted back in August so it was my first time seeing the drink-cycle.

And as Merry Madness came to a close, and the contented shoppers meandered back to their cars (or rooms at the Eastland), a few friends and I headed to Dogfish Bar & Grille to enjoy a little Pete Miller acoustic.

The chill from outside was circumvented by a warm bar, local music and jovial crowd.

And with the Christmas wreaths all over and the snow-coated scene out the window, I couldn't help but get overrun with good cheer. It happens. And I liked it so much I kept a little for today, too.

Not that I had forgotten, but it was one of those nights that reminds you why fell for Portland in the first place.

[FYI, you can catch Tri-Mainer Pete Miller at Slainte on Jan 2nd]

Here comes Santacon, there goes Santacon

'Twas nineteen days before Christmas, and all through the Old Port
Some creatures were stirring - a fat, jolly sort.

The brewpubs and bars had been opened with care,
In the hopes that kind drinkers soon would be there.

A lone Santa appeared on Congress Street,
Headed toward town, with more Santas to meet.

Then a clatter arose in Monument Square,
Twenty or more Santas had congregated there!

Reindeer and elves and an advent calendar, too,
The poor onlookers knew not what to do.

Cars honked from street and Santas gathered 'round.
And I knew in a moment: Santacon was in town.

But there were no toys to be found, no sleigh to be seen.
Santa without presents? That's downright mean.

But these Santas aren't real - not even near it,
But they'll drink all day to spread holiday spirit.

And off they go down the street! A whole Santa troop!
And look! There's Rudolph leading the group!

Into Empire they shuffle, still sober and clear,
And hail to the bartender to get their first beers.

"On Guiness! On Geary's! On Allagash White!
On Prelude! On Pabst! We're drinking all night!"

From bar to brewpub, they dashed through downtown,
And drew laughs (and confusion) from other people around.

And I heard one explain ('twas the elf with the tights):
Happy Santacon to all, and a debaucherous night!

Santacon 2008 photos

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Christmas invades: From the rooftops to the inbox

That whole jolly holiday spirit thing is suddenly everywhere.

Even up.

Last night on Congress Street I happened to look upward. (In truth, I was analyzing the absolute magnitude of globular clusters on the gravitational structure of unclassified molecular nebulae. Just a little something I do on the side.)

There, on the rooftop deck of what I imagine to be a condo of generous proportions, stood a Christmas tree.

It's that time of year for such rooftop spectacles.

It's also that time of year when Uncle Frank gets hammered at dinner, regresses to his high school football days when he was known as 'Frank the Tank' and inevitably tackles poor grandpa before the mashed potatoes are even cold.

But most importantly, it's the time for holiday-related e-mail surveys.

It's said that a person's true nature is exposed only in the introspective responses to an e-mail questionnaire.

I was once shocked to discover that a good friend of mine thought "Skittles" were the best candy to describe her personality. I, of course, was shocked by that information. I mean, you think you know a person and then to hear something like that. Well you can be sure I shunned her like a contagion.

But e-mail questionnaires can be entertaining in their own right. And it being the holiday season and all, I decided to let Christmas Spirit envelop me altogether.

So with good cheer and warm wishes I completed this Christmas-themed survey:

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Newspaper and duct tape.
2. Real tree or artificial? Real trees are easier to light on fire, but artificial ones are easier to harpoon through your neighbor's front window...but I have neither, to answer the question.
3. When do you put up the tree? See above, I have no tree
4. When do you take the tree down? I said I don't have one! Now BACK OFF!
5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, as long as it's made with hot chocolate and amaretto - and doesn't have any egg or nog in it.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? "Real Baby." It was an electronic baby doll that cried and blinked and moved around. Very realistic to a 7-year-old. Or wait, no, that was a real baby I stole out of a shopping cart at the grocery store. Apparently the "real mother" was not pleased, had me arrested and fought to ban me from all public places. To her I say: Where's your Christmas spirit, lady? Sheesh. Someone doesn't know how to share.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? Does a collection of Jesuses count? Is Jesus plural Jesi?
8. Hardest person to buy for? Why would I buy something for someone else?
9. Easiest person to buy for? Seriously - am I supposed to be buying other people gifts this time of year? This might explain the dirty looks I get from my unimpressed family on Christmas morning.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? I prefer them mailed to me, thank you.
11.Worst Christmas gift you ever received? 101 Dalmatian's t-shirt with matching socks (complete with paw prints on the feet for extra traction)...when I was 18. Thanks grandma.
12. Favorite Christmas Movie? Elf for the laughs, Christmas Story for the "fuuuuudge," and Fred Claus for the Vince.
13. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Alcohol.
14. Clear lights or colored lights on the tree? Both. I think all lights should live in harmony.
15. Favorite Christmas song? Baby, it's cold outside. But enough about the weather. I'm not sure what my favorite song is.
16. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Why bother? The only one who matters is Blitzen.
17. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Sneak peak Christmas Eve. Pretend to be surprised Christmas day.
18. Most annoying thing about this time of year? The realization that Christmas is the BEGINNING of winter, not the end. And now we have all this cold and snow without the hope of cool free stuff wrapped in shiny paper.
19. Favorite ornament theme or color? I've gone with "The Invisible Christmas" theme this year. Next year I'm planning for "Every thing's made of soda cans"
20. What do you want for Christmas this year? Peace on Earth. Or a vacuum. Whichever one is on sale.

OK, Christmas. You can come in now.

The lighting of the Christmas tree in Monument Square means that the holidays are no longer an eventuality.

In the near distance we can hear the rumble of impending eggnog hazes, shopping highs and heated brawls with a rebellious roll of wrapping paper.

We're now inescapably set on high-speed collision course with good cheer and holiday spirit.

I know, it's a hard reality. But there's no point in fighting it. (I tried to a few years ago but gave up the effort after one of Santa's husky henchman threw a perfectly wrapped brick through my apartment window.)

So now I choose to accept the holiday season with open arms. Well, mostly. There's still something I don't trust about those reindeer. Particularly Donner (aka "Dunder"). He's got crazy eyes and a fight club attitude and I venture to say he's been plotting a Christmas takeover for decades.

Any Christmas now Santa could find himself "accidentally" trapped between the weighty bricks of a collapsing chimney and the boot-melting flames of a recently lit fire. (A fire lit, no doubt, with a pack of matches stamped with the logo: Reindeer Saloon, North Pole.)

But besides that little issue, the holidays are great.

My colleague Avery wrote a blog entry about last Friday's tree lighting that will make your heart glow: "Crowds pack Monument Square for tree lighting"

But amid the Christmas carols and Santa spotting, I witnessed another astounding phenomenon: The rarely seen "Rising of the Toddlers."

During the ceremony, children are hoisted atop their dad's shoulders, one after the other, until a forest of shoulder-sitting kids rises from the crowd.

Scientists have been studying the spectacle years, although the true meaning of the practice is yet to be fully understood.

At any rate, other local holiday lights went bright on Friday as well, including the multi-colored orbs hanging from MECA's facade and the lighted trees in Tommy's Park.

Friday was also the first day of the Portland Downtown District's 12 Days of Christmas.

What in St. Nick's name is that, you ask?

It's 12 days (Fridays, Saturday and Sundays until Christmas) of freebies and giveaways, courtesy of the local shops/eateries downtown. And yes, each day corresponds with that old Christmas carol.

Friday was "Partridge in a Pear Tree" day. After the Monument Square tree was adequately lighted and Santa had long left the stage, some friends and I meandered through the Old Port (which was bustling with foot traffic after the tree lighting) in search of a Partridge in a Pear Tree shop window.

There were twelve partridge windows around town - we just needed to find one. Easier said than done. After walking a few blocks and seeing nothing, I began to question the decorative theme of every window. One shop had a small pine tree with a wooden owl crouched next to it.

I started thinking that "Owl near a Pine Tree" might actually be what we were looking for.

But wait! There! A pear tree in a shop window! And look, partridges in it!

The shop window belonged to Tavecchia on Exchange Street (clothes for the adventurous woman - my, my). Inside we dropped our names into the contest box. The prize for Partridge in a Pear Tree evening? Nutcracker tickets.

None of us won.

That's cool. I'm holding out for the Kids Crooked House they're giving out on Dec 21 anyway. If you've ever been to Buck's Naked BBQ, then you know what the crooked houses look like. If not, the house is going to be displayed in Post Office Park through the month of December. You can peruse it there and maybe peruse a mischievous local sleeping in it (and hopefully not doing anything else in it).

Sure, I'll have to pretend I'm a kid to enter that contest, but I fibbed much worse for much less when I was young.

Santa doesn't give Barbie Dream Houses to just anyone.

It ain't Christmas 'til the fireman climbs a tree

If hurricane-force winds mark the start of the holiday season for you, then welcome.

This week's mind-numbing chill makes me think winter might really take off this year.

But before the Dec 21st winter solstice comes marching in with a season's-worth of snow and cold, we have some holidays to prepare for.

The "official" start of the Christmas season is different for everyone.

For my pal Melanie (and me, a little), Christmas began its slow takeover two weeks ago during a wreath-making shindy up in Bangor. You remember when I went to Bangor, right?

Well it wasn't all pub crawls and Dysarts. We had some serious holiday magic going on. A little Martha Stewart action, if you will.

Melanie cut fresh boughs from the trees in the yard (and some from the neighbor's yard) and I learned how to make a wreath with the help of Melanie's gracious family.

I thought I'd hit the "my mom will die when she hears I did this" peak two years ago when I learned to knit AND made her a scarf for Christmas.

So yes, I can make wreaths with Melanie's mom and go out drinking and cursing afterward. I'm multidimensional like that.

But I digress.

Maybe the sight of the Christmas tree is Monument Square sends your sleigh bells ringing.

If so, you've been in holiday mode since last Wednesday when the holiday tree sat up from its truck-bed slumber to stand proudly over the shops and passersby in Monument Square.

[Avery was on-site for the tree installation: A tree rises in Monument Square. Interesting pics of the tree going up, and little-known tree facts like how it's actually installed in a manhole.]

Maybe you consider the lighting of said Christmas tree the starting gun for the holiday marathon. That way you can give Thanksgiving its due, instead of treating it like a forgotten stepchild, as most retail stores do. [FYI, the tree lighting is Friday.]

I've made the tree lighting a tradition for the last few years. It's always freezing and it's cheesy as all get-out. But a thermos of hot chocolate and amaretto brings peace and warmth to my soul (and it makes me hug everybody, including the mice from The Nutcracker who are usually in attendance). Then, of course, it's off to $3 Dewey's for Christmas in a bottle.

But truly, the Christmas countdown doesn't formally begin until the season's first firefighter-in-a-tree spotting.

I caught a brave fella atop a fire-engine ladder last week stringing Christmas lights. Looks like the holiday season found a welcome home at the 380 Congress Street Fire Station. (Sidenote to Santa: I said firefighter "under" the tree, not on top of it.)

Whatever marker you go with, I have only one request: pay some attention to Thanksgiving, too. Sure, there's no Thanksgiving tree with a Wii underneath wrapped in shiny paper and ribbon that you can pull off and wear on your head like a bright holiday crown. But Thanksgiving tries so hard every year, only to be trumped by retail store blowouts, craft fairs and puppy photo shoots with Santa.

Have a heart for the little guy. Let Thanksgiving ring this Thursday.

Thanksgiving? Thank Sarah Josepha Hale. And Abe.

On Thursday, thank yous will be generously passed around the Thanksgiving table like so many bowls of made-from-scratch stuffing. Appreciation will pile up like white meat on a serving platter. Gratitude will spill forth like gravy from the "fancy" gravy boat that mom uses only on special occasions and that I'm always terrified of breaking.

We might thank Butterball for supplying us with a twenty pounder that has its feathers and noggin already removed so we just don't have to mess with that stuff. We might thank the potatoes for being so easily mashed and for getting along so well with the butter. We'll definitely thank the wine for making family time so warm and fuzzy -- and sometimes slightly double visioned.

But in the haze of gratefulness -- between the cranberry sauce shaped like a can and the pumpkin pie that whisks you off to slumbertown -- we ought to give a shout-out to Sarah Josepha Hale.

Hale, an American writer and editor, is the author of a little poem called "Mary Had a Little Lamb." You might have heard of it. She's also the reason that Thanksgiving was finally able to attain a celebration's highest and most respectable status: National Holiday. Hale spent 17 years writing letters to five consecutive presidents, beseeching each to give Thanksgiving its due and make it a day-off-from-work celebration across the country. The folks in New England were already celebrating it annually, though the states couldn't agree on a day, and the celebration was unheard of in the South.

Sarah Josepha Hale believed the national holiday would help unify a post–Civil War country. It seems she was privy to the calming, kindness-engendering effects of turkey breast. Luckily Abraham Lincoln also saw the light and wrote up a presidential proclamation, and in 1863 Thanksgiving was had all over the country.

So thank you Sarah Josepha Hale. And thank you Abe Lincoln for listening to Sarah Josepha Hale.

And thank you Mary Anderson, noble inventor of the windshield wiper blade, for keeping travelers safe as they drive to reunite with relatives.

Thank you William Cullen, inventor of the first artificial refrigerator, for sustaining freshness and giving us a place to put the beer.

Thank you Ralph Wiley for discovering polyvinylidene chloride, which later became Saran Wrap. Your efforts help with the leftovers and also come in handy when we want to screw with a sibling and Saran Wrap his car.

Thank you Robert Adler, inventor of the wireless remote control, for letting us stay where we are, barely conscious and immobile on a worn leather recliner.

Thank you Samuel Guthrie for discovering chloroform and giving us something to think about over dinner, should things take a turn for the worse.

Thank you Josephine Cochrane, inventor of the dishwasher, for the help cleaning up, even though people sometimes tumble into open dishwashers and get impaled on the silverware.

Thank you Felix Hoffmann, inventor of aspirin, for helping us deal with the aftereffects of Aunt Carol.

Thank you Gerhard Fischer, inventor of the hand-held metal detector, for giving Grandpa something to do.

Thank you Earl W. Bascom, inventor of rodeo chaps, because now the world has rodeo chaps.

And thank you John Harington, inventor of the flush toilet, for everything.