Merriment behind us

I think the party went well. In spite of slippery roads under falling snow at least one hundred and fifty people arrived to sit at eighteen tables with a homemade gingerbread man at each place and candles in the middle, a candle flame nearly starting a fire from one of my sheets of music that someone was studying. As the guests arrived—several dressed in their national costumes—punch was handed out (2 cups water, 1 1/2 cups sugar, 4 cinnamon sticks, 3 cups cranberry juice, 2 1/2 cups orange juice, 1 cup lemon juice and 42 fluid ounces 7-Up, plus ice cubes, frozen raspberries and sliced limes, vodka not included) while Vija played her medley of Christmas songs on the organ.

One of the Japanese ladies told me she had owned her kimono since she was eleven years old. Daniella showed me the hand-embroidered pattern on the sleeves of her Romanian blouse. Mayumi demonstrated the suitability of a fashionable snow suit for northern winters because next time we invite these people out, in January, it will be to go snow-shoeing.

I trotted around at the heels of the press photographer who has a professional knack for posing people photographically. Before they moved from that favourable position, I would take my picture too. Mrs Claus (Edeltraud, disguised in a Santa Claus outfit without the beard) followed me round the room so as to add more colour to my snaps.

There's always an element of the unexpected at such events. This year I hadn't expected a Japanese diplomat in a black suit to turn up between meetings so that he could tell us in a fine baritone solo voice that he was dreaming of a white Christmas, everyone joining in the repeat, nor was I expecting to have to sing in Estonian after taking my turn as emcee at the mike for the other musical items. The Estonian tune was easy to pick up, fortunately, and the words of the chorus went:

Tiliseb, tiliseb aisakell,
lumi hell, lumi hell,
Tiliseb, tiliseb aisakell,
kiirgab mets ja hiilgab maa.

which has something to do with sleigh bells.

I had been let into the secret that everyone would be encouraged to dance round the spread of desserts at the end, and almost everyone did, the press photographer stretching high above people's heads with his camera in hand to capture the action. The sale of my own photos didn't pick up until after the dancing was over, but as I still made $161 towards our snowshoe and mukluk repair funds, I can't complain.