Twelfth Night

I started my first paragraph explaining that I need an extra winter ritual because I live in a city with a cold winter and the hours of daylight are too few, but I realized that is not true. First of all there is always a colder, darker city, for example Thunder Bay, Ontario, or the military bases at Alert or Thule, to take more extreme examples. Secondly, there already are rituals to bring light to the dark: Christmas lights, Diwali, or one could join the Druids at Stonehenge on the Solstice, for example. More importantly, that is not the reason for my ritual. I do it for social connection.

"No man is an island entire unto itself," John Donne noted in one of his Devotions, which is to say that maybe you are an island, but, if you are, it is important to build and maintain many bridges to other islands. In my business, my associate and I call this "connected autonomy." Social isolation is more hazardous to health than smoking.

The liturgy is perhaps the oldest human ritual for connection, the group celebration of the divine. Confucius gives us an early example. The name Confucius is not a proper name, but rather a title in the imperial court: Master of the Rituals, or Master of the Liturgy. In The Analects, a book of conversations between him and his disciples and students, roughly equivalent in format and time period with the dialogues of Socrates in The Republic, he says that he had a spiritual experience when he witnessed the "Li," the word for liturgy, or liturgical music. Scholars of Confucius explore the meaning of his philosophy by tracing the Chinese characters back to their old forms. The "Li" is a two-part character, one half an animal sacrifice, the other half a vegetable sacrifice. In characters with food formed after the start of the cultivation of rice, rice is always present in the picture. The "Li" has no rice, so the Chinese character for liturgy or ritual is older than the cultivation of rice. Some readers may be surprised by a striking similarity to Christian communion, which consists of a blood sacrifice and a bread sacrifice.

Rituals are important, and in the winter of 2018-19 I felt the need for another ritual. I was recently widowed, retired, and in a new city. My main acquaintances were the widows and widowers in the bereavement walking group I had joined. I reasoned that they needed a ritual for social connection as badly as I did.

The evening before January Sixth, Twelfth Night (the first night of Christmas being December 24, the Twelfth Night January 6--the official feast starts on the evening before), seemed like a good date. For one thing there were, and still are, celebrations then. For another, Christmas and New Year's are over, and most of us were going to be at home alone.

I wasn't looking for anything as profound as a spiritual experience, but I couldn't seem to get excited by Twelfth Night. There were apple themes, but bobbing for apples and apple pie weren't going to do it for my Epiphany party.

Then I remembered my Epiphany of 1975, fifty-one years ago, when I was a student in Italy. The young Florentine students in my residence put on a party called "La Befana," Epiphany in a dialect. We all sat around talking, drinking, and eating sweet treats, and, at midnight, one of the girls dressed up as an old woman in rags, entered with a sign, "To each man his 'Befana' (Old Lady)" and handed everyone a sock with a chocolate inside.

The party had been a big hit, and I thought, well why not? I read up a bit. La Befana herself was a witch who lived somewhere between the home of the Three Kings (or Wise Men) from the East and the birthplace of Jesus. The Kings needed a place to stay overnight on the way and one of them knocked on her door and asked if he could stay the night.

Befana was very stingy and didn't want to let him in, but since he was a king she realized she would be a "brutta figura" (make a bad impression, look bad) if she refused him, so she let him stay in her stable. In the morning he explained that he and his companions were journeying to see the Christ child, and he asked if she wanted to come with them. She said no. Then he said they were bearing gifts. Did she want to send a gift for baby Jesus?

And here Befana was conflicted between her stinginess and her desire not to look bad. So she decided to give the baby a sock. Not a pair of socks--that would be too extravagant, just one sock. Yikes!

Years went by, and the fame of Jesus grew. Befana realized she had miscalculated. Instead of paying homage to the new king, or giving a thoughtful gift, she had cheaped out. She realized she had missed an opportunity and that her stinginess might have lasting consequences.

And at this point she got a second chance. I think second chances are wonderful things. Sometimes they seem rare, but they are oh so precious!

Befana was told that she could redeem her mistake if, every Epiphany, she would fly around the world on her broom and bring toys to all the children. She agreed.

I think it is a very clever arrangement, because it not only solves the problem of delivering the toys, but also fixes La Befana's evident social isolation, don't you think?

I set about planning my party. I decided to cook with my enamel bakeware, my Le Creuset. Some chef columnists write at this time of the year that they are taking their Le Creuset out because they are making stews and soups. I don't believe them. Stews and soups can be made in any pot. I think they are taking it out to be festive, to celebrate, to entertain, as a ritual. I bought my first Le Creuset when the Julia Childs movie came out and I wanted to make Beef Burgundy. My wife said it would work better in an enamel pot, and suggested Le Creuset, so, bingo! A cooking ritual. But my enamelware had been sitting idle since my wife died. I reasoned this would be the perfect occasion to bring it out.

I purchased inexpensive children's socks and some chocolates. I asked everyone in my barber shop (the one that plays the Frank Sinatra radio station, and which has a fairly large Italian-Canadian presence) where I could find La Befana decorations. They didn't know, said there once was a nearby store, but it would be difficult today. They were impressed and a bit excited that their Anglo customer was hosting a La Befana party, and they encouraged me. I settled for some colorful Christmas decorations, festive at least.

I decided that I could tell the history of La Befana during dinner, mentioning nothing further, then one of the women could slip out, change into appropriate clothing, grab a broom, and play La Befana. It would be a sensation.

But right away I saw three problems with the last part of the plan. First of all none of the ladies spoke Italian, so that would take the edge off the performance. Secondly, would they "get into character," to bring the role off? I wasn't sure about that. Finally there was a small to middling question of etiquette and politeness. Lots of 18-year old girls are willing to dress up like an old lady to play a role. I wasn't sure how well the request would go over with widows my age (sixty plus). And if one refused, she would tell the other guests, and the whole surprise would be ruined.

Well I suppose you know my solution, especially if you have thought about the photo at the head of this story. In theater there is the "willing suspension of disbelief." You don't need to have an utterly convincing portrayal of a role in the outer trappings--a willing audience will play along with you. I decided that with a mask, a bath robe, a broom, and chocolates in socks, I could pull it off, even with my tie on. I don't imagine that the original witch was (still is) a 6 foot five inch tall woman built like an Offensive Guard, but I decided I could get my friendly dinner guests to follow along enough to be entertained and amused. Oh and I have two Siamese cats. Lots of witches have cat familiars, don't they? Satisfied with my plan, I decided I could secrete my costume in a broom closet.

I issued invitations. Most of the guests were widows and widowers from my group. I also invited my four-hand piano partner and his wife, our walking facilitator and her boyfriend, and two old school-friends and their spouses. Everyone accepted. 18 guests in all.

Two Le Creusets: one for Beef Burgundy, by the Julia Childs recipe all the way, the other a chicken casserole that I have arrived at over the years by substituting ingredients: chicken, white wine, shallots, chicken broth, capers, green olives, zest of grapefruit, grapefruit juice, anchovies, flour, mushrooms that I have sweated and added to the enamel pot. For the bed, penne and, for diabetics like me, spaghetti squash.

To drink, Moscato, an Italian favorite, and a nod to Dumas's Count of Montecristo, where it says that people who eat muscatel grapes under the same roof will always be friends. Also ginger ale, juices, and de-alcholized white wine.

For dessert a Tiramisu and a Pannetone, of course. High quality versions of both are available in the Greater Toronto area, which is, measured in some ways, the third or fourth largest Italian city in the world, I think. If Canada plays Italy inToronto in the FIFA cup, the loyalties will be divided or ambiguous.

I started early in the day. I don't like to get nervous when preparing a party, so I build in contingency time.

My guests started trickling in. There were hors d-oeuvres, "quelque choses," as they were called in fifteenth-century French, or, in fifteenth-century English, "kickshaws"! The plates? Well there is a ceramic museum of fifteenth-century Italian originals near Urbino, and there are companies that make replicas. I had been coveting a set, and they showed up, remaindered, and very affordable in my Winners store.

We sat down to dinner at 8. Slowly, bit by bit, I explained the history of La Befana. There were some questions, and by the time we finished dessert, I was satisfied that everyone understood. I was asked how I knew about the feast. I told of my studies in Italy, and I recounted the party when I was 18. It was a convivial dinner. I asked everyone to find a seat in the main room, and I excused myself for a minute, which was all it took for me to go to the broom closet, don my bathrobe and mask, and get my broom.

I will never forget the startled looks on their faces! I knew that our facilitator's boyfriend grew up in an Italian family and spoke some Italian, so I addressed him in Italian and asked if he would translate for me. He said he would try, but noted that he was not fluent. I assured him it would be semplice, semplice. I began, "Sono La Befana." He translated, "She says she is La Befana." We were away to the races.

I commandeered another guest to be my assistant, to hold the socks with chocolate inside. One by one I told each guest that they were on La Befana's "Nice List," and handed each one a sock, ably assisted by my translator. When I had worked my way around the room, I put on music, and taught them how to dance the Minuet. Partners face each other, walk in a Z pattern, and touch pinky fingers or a handkerchief in the middle.

When I danced with the girl whom I had known since high school, she remarked that this was not exactly full-body contact. I had to concede that. She owned three horses. She wanted to explain to me what she appreciated about riding so that I did not think her frivolous (which I wouldn't have in any case). She said that she valued the communication between horse and rider, between human and sensitive animal. I understood. She died in a freak riding accident a few months later. My only consolation was we had the opportunity to dance and to re-connect--otherwise an important, longtime friendship occasion would have been lost in time... Today her husband and I are tennis partners, concert-going partners, and close friends.

Well past midnight my party broke up, a huge success from my point of view, and the walkers talked about it for months, and asked for it to be repeated the next year, which I did, with a larger guest list. The party was off during COVID, and the year after. This year friends are asking for a different theme, still January 6, but a new theme. Ah the pressure of hosting... The incomparable excitement and joy of hosting... My Le Creuset and I can hardly wait! I could tell you the theme I have chosen, but that surprise is a classified secret, and if I told you I would have to find you and kill you, so best to keep it secret for now.

I hope you enjoy your own rituals whatever they are. We are social animals. People need people. You don't smoke--don't isolate yourself. "May your days be merry and bright!" Best wishes for a socially warm winter season!