Woven into the Christmastime series is the celebration of the season, where the brightness of the holiday contrasts with the darkness of war – opposing elements that help to shape the storylines.
Much of the bright cheerfulness of Christmas comes from deep-rooted traditions: enjoying family and friends over delicious meals,
the sharing of festive treats,
the old-fashioned joys of finding your Christmas tree and decorating it,
the child’s delight in Santa Claus and flying reindeer,
the thrill of a white Christmas.
Layered into the spiritual element that defines the season is the pervasive beauty that fills this time of year:
the deep resonance of traditional music and the joyful togetherness of caroling,
the fragrant woodsy beauty of pine trees, garlands, mistletoe and holly,
decorations that delight the eye and lift the spirit.
And perhaps the oldest and purest source of comfort and beauty comes from light in the darkness: the original form of fire found in bonfires, fireplaces, candles,
the old-fashioned multi-colored bulbs of my youth,
and the more recent fairy lights that bring a sense of twinkling magic.
All add nighttime magic, and comfort in the longer, colder nights.
I try to capture this contrast of light and dark in the covers of the Christmastime series. Lampposts glowing in the twilight and a city lit at night, symbolizing hope and the end of war,
Fewer, or a lonelier, single lit lamppost to reflect the darkest years of the war,
and the beauty of lamplight on snow, tinged with wistful yearning, for the new 1946 cover.
Christmas lights. In the long, cold nights of winter, they offer hope, comfort, magic, and beauty.
A quick trip to one of the places I’ve long wanted to see – Tuscany.
Renaissance cities, medieval villages.
Stunning architecture, gentle landscapes, a charming coast.
A week seeing Florence, Siena, and a few surrounding villages.
A few days in Cinque Terre,
Santa Margherita,
and Portofino (including a hike to the lighthouse).
The last day wandering around Rome.
Besides the food (which would require a series of posts), I especially loved the narrow streets and the outdoor cafes,
the sculptures and paintings, the artistry and craftsmanship that were everywhere,
the autumn-hued settings,
and the flowers still in bloom.
Ten days wasn’t enough time to do any one place justice, but was enough to give me an infusion of beauty and wonder. And enough to make me want to go back.
“Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life.” –Anna Akhmatova
My latest book in the Christmastime series, CHRISTMASTIME 1946: A LOVE STORY, focuses on women in the workforce and the mixed feelings they had when the war ended and it was time for them to give up their jobs.
In WWII, the U.S. experienced a severe labor shortage as millions of men left to fight. The solution was to use women, along with minorities, immigrants, people with disabilities, teenagers, older adults, and retirees.
Before WWII, women were already working in large numbers (roughly 13 million) but in predominantly low-paying jobs: domestic service, clerical jobs, teaching, nursing, and textile factories. Most working women were young, lower-income, and single.
Landscape
To fill the labor gap created by the war, over 6 million additional women joined the workforce – building aircraft, assembling tanks, producing munitions, and working in shipyards. They became welders and riveters, machinists and crane operators.
Others kept the country running – working as nurses and firefighters, managing offices, driving trucks and buses, working on the railroads,
delivering mail, working on farms and in food production, and countless other jobs.
Though it’s easy to idealize this period of opportunity for women, for many, it was grueling, hard work.
The war enabled women to move into higher-paying, traditionally male-dominated roles. However, it was clear from the beginning that it would be only “for the duration.” After the war, women were expected to leave their jobs to make room for returning servicemen. Rosie the Riveter had to go home.
Working women were essential to the war effort and they proved just how capable they were. While many were only too happy to return to their prewar lives, others grappled with a deep sense of loss — of higher-paying jobs, of greater freedom and independence, and of the profound satisfaction that came from being part of something larger.
My sorrow, when she’s here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She’s glad the birds are gone away, She’s glad her simple worsted grey Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so truly sees, She thinks I have no eye for these, And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell her so, And they are better for her praise.
After years of dreaming about it, I finally visited Provence, seeing towns and villages that stretched from Avignon on the Rhone,
to Moustiers-Sainte-Marie in the east, with the snow-capped French Alps in the distance.
Although it was too early in the year for its famous lavender and sunflower fields, the Luberon Valley was bursting with flowers. In addition to the cheerful, beloved red poppies,
there was purple everywhere: deep royal irises,
and paler wisteria and lilac, perfuming the air. My greatest surprise was the sheer abundance of flowers — they were everywhere, planted in corners of fields and alongside roads, framing doorways and windows, in planters and atop stone walls.
Provence was everything and more than I had hoped to experience: hilltop villages with distant views,
narrow streets and steep stairs,
inviting bridges and passageways,
picturesque, colorful shutters.
There were rooms of old-world elegance,
others of more rustic decor,
and quaint details everywhere.
Beautiful old churches, rich in detail.
Quiet courtyards, and fountains everywhere.
A travelers delight in the unexpected,
and in unplanned visits: to the lavender museum on a rare rainy day, and the historical perfume museum in Grasse, housed in an beautiful old building
with a scent-rich garden of roses, wisteria, and citrus.
(And a gift shop of fragrant indulgences to take back home.)
Market days in nearly every town infuse the area with vibrancy and interest,
and a relaxing cafe culture pervades all of Provence, offering a slower pace to life.
Which perhaps accounts for the warm and welcoming people we came across everywhere.
There was a real joie de vivre found in the lively conversations that filled the cafes, the delight in the company of friends.
There was riverside dining in villages like L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, a historic mill town with waterwheels still turning along its river.
And a visit to the source of the Sorgue,
a gushing fontaine that springs from the nearby mountains (and more riverside dining).
There was the unique village of Roussillon that still bears the reddish color of its famous ochre that was once mined and traded afar.
A nearby hike immerses visitors in the sculpted ochre hills, full of tall pines and purple phlox.
And charming Moustiers offers beautiful views from every angle, every tiny winding street, at every time of day.
Throughout Provence, the soft evenings retain a hint of the old and inviting and mysterious,
Stars and stargazing often make their way into my stories. Beautifully symbolic of hopes and dreams, purity and wonder, they help to tell the inner stories of many of my characters.
Stars play a key role in the fourth book of the Christmastime series, Christmastime 1942: A Love Story (https://a.co/d/j2wI35u). Beginning with the storyline of Gino, the merchant seaman, the topic of stars develops into a unifying connection between him, Tommy and Gabriel, and Charles and Lillian.
The ethereal quality of stars also reveals the quietly eccentric character of Edith. She is comfortable with both the dreamy and pragmatic sides of her nature — and she is in love for the first time.
She opened the drawer to her nightstand and reached for her tin of oil pastels. She lifted the lid, and ran her fingers over the colors, choosing deep Prussian blue and cobalt, gold, silver, and umber. … A sketch emerged of two large pillows, a rumpled comforter, a soft bed under a large window. The night world outside dotted with stars. “Colors of midnight,” she wrote beneath it. She studied the bed, and added a few more lines, and then sprinkled a dusting of stars onto the pillows and blanket.
The main character, Lillian, is under pressure from her demanding boss to submit an idea for a poster contest. With the deadline looming, and despairing over the war and Charles’s imminent return to battle, she awakens in the middle of the night, seeking solace and inspiration.
She quietly went into the living room and turned on the lamp behind the couch. There was the telescope, pointing up, as if in readiness to search the heavens. She was glad for the stars, for their high, untouched beauty that could not be sullied by war, by humanity. She took out her sketch pad and pencils and began to draw.
A sketch began to take shape of a wounded soldier and his sweetheart looking at the same night sky, though thousands of miles apart. [Lillian] added more stars to the skies, trying to convey the belief that high above a war-torn world, the glittering firmament shone benevolently over earth, and that in the end, all would be well and whole again. Simple, humble, human love would help to piece the world back together again.
In The Notebooks of Honora Gorman: Fairytales, Whimsy, and Wonder (https://a.co/d/8Z1Igqu), the stars also offer inspiration for an artistic deadline, this time, a writing assignment.
Though Honora missed the stars, the lights of the city at night made up for it. She loved the contrast between the workaday gray of Manhattan and the magical, sparkling nights. The city, especially when viewed from afar, shone like a glittering firmament. A reversal of sorts, as if the starry night sky had been flipped to earth. She would never forget her first arrival, approaching the massive metropolis at night – entranced by the wide expanse of twinkly lights, a galaxy of stars that stretched as far as she could see.
Struggling to find an idea for her children’s writing class, Honora hits upon an idea.
What was that seedling trying to root in her story – something about the sky? The night sky. And how she missed it. Stars! She flooded with inspiration. And the fairytale, “Fallen Star” flows from her pen.
And So We Dream (https://a.co/d/0iM4uab) In another connection to the stars and the artist figure, the young dream-filled actress, Vita Vitale, also connects with the stars. In the beginning of the story, she and her older sister tell their younger sister about swimming in the lake at night.
“Did you guys go swimming—and not tell me?”
“We didn’t plan it,” said Anne. “After Diane’s we went out to the lake and . . .”
“In the dark?”
“Under the stars and a crescent moon,” said Vita. “A Pierrot moon, full of dreams. It was wondrous! Absolutely magical.”
Beth looked around the back seat to see if she was sitting on anything wet, then checked the floor. “Where are your swimsuits?” After a moment’s silence, she gasped. “You went skinny dipping?”
Anne shot Beth a warning glance in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you dare say anything about it at home.”
“I won’t. But I can’t believe it. Were there any boys there?” After no answer, she said, “You guys! Weren’t you embarrassed?”
“It was dark,” said Anne.
“Except for the glimmer on the water. It was like swimming through a thousand tiny stars.” Vita turned around to face them. “It was so beautiful…Like swimming in a fairy world.”
Later, far from her dreams, and weighed down by disappointment and a sense of failure, she taps into the beauty and magic of the night sky.
The warm summer night held the faint scents of grass and flowers. Vita inhaled deeply and filled her eyes with the inky sky aglitter with stars….Vita was alone. But didn’t feel at all lonely. This is what has been missing, she told herself. An infusion of beauty. And here it was. Right overhead. A fragrant summer night filled with shooting stars. Vita lay back and filled her eyes with the starscape….This is the counter to sadness, she thought. Beauty. Wonderment….She felt a profound sense of connection, and a reconnection to her dreams. It all came from the same deep place of beauty and love and yearning.
And a closing thought:
“The star-filled wonder of the night sky makes me magnificently small.” – Honora Gorman (from one of her many scraps of writing)
Linda Mahkovec - Author 