carol singing is more fun with several glasses of wine
This past weekend, while Nathaniel visited me in Toronto, we went with Peter and Ken to Peter's friends' house for their annual Christmas Carol Singalong. I wasn't sure what to expect, though Peter said that in previous years there has been sushi on the food table, so I decided to hope for that. And maybe we would sing a few carols.
There was sushi, and several varieties of cheese, and egg salad sandwich triangles with the crusts cut off, and cookies and sweets and about five open bottles of wine. I sardonically noted how much dairy they were serving and wondered how they expected any of us to sing well. They certainly expected us to sing: everyone was passed a hymnal, and after a short mingling time our hosts announced that we would begin shortly, so please find seats and be ready.
There were two stints of singing -- someone at the piano playing along, and others calling out page numbers and requests -- each lasting about a half an hour, with an intermission for more snacks in between. Maybe others had steered clear of all the cheeses on the food table, or maybe it's just that an awful lot of folks were crowded into the living room, but together we all made a hearty noise. My corner, comprised of Ken, Peter, my brother and me, were not what you'd call on key, but what we lacked in collective talent we made up for in volume. The wine helped. I had three glasses. In fact, I had a grand old time, and it seemed Nathaniel did too. By the time we'd extricated ourselves from the post-carols socializing and tottered back to the subway, I was muzzily cheerful and rather overfull. Someone had come late with a homemade pumpkin pie, and I had two slices. This was on top of all the cheese, and little round chocolate balls filled with coconut, and the sushi.
All of which is to say, I hadn't been to a Christmas party in years, and this was a particularly good one. I'm glad Nathaniel could come, too.
There was sushi, and several varieties of cheese, and egg salad sandwich triangles with the crusts cut off, and cookies and sweets and about five open bottles of wine. I sardonically noted how much dairy they were serving and wondered how they expected any of us to sing well. They certainly expected us to sing: everyone was passed a hymnal, and after a short mingling time our hosts announced that we would begin shortly, so please find seats and be ready.
There were two stints of singing -- someone at the piano playing along, and others calling out page numbers and requests -- each lasting about a half an hour, with an intermission for more snacks in between. Maybe others had steered clear of all the cheeses on the food table, or maybe it's just that an awful lot of folks were crowded into the living room, but together we all made a hearty noise. My corner, comprised of Ken, Peter, my brother and me, were not what you'd call on key, but what we lacked in collective talent we made up for in volume. The wine helped. I had three glasses. In fact, I had a grand old time, and it seemed Nathaniel did too. By the time we'd extricated ourselves from the post-carols socializing and tottered back to the subway, I was muzzily cheerful and rather overfull. Someone had come late with a homemade pumpkin pie, and I had two slices. This was on top of all the cheese, and little round chocolate balls filled with coconut, and the sushi.
All of which is to say, I hadn't been to a Christmas party in years, and this was a particularly good one. I'm glad Nathaniel could come, too.