Anyone for Caroling?

Every December I begin my let's-go-caroling chorus. Every year I am met with nay-sayers and pooh-hoohers. What's wrong with the world? Caroling is one of the most fun things around. It's just that no one wants to give it a try.

Decades ago, years before Aaron was born, back in the days when I was a young, married woman, I cajoled my brother, Tim, and then-husband, Rod, to go caroling. Rod and I were living in Chicago at the time, and we were visiting our families in Wisconsin. Sure, it was colder than a witch's tit, but I suggested that we bring mugs and sing for brandy. This warmed the men up to the idea--somewhat.

So, off we went, knocking on the doors of strangers and singing to them--the standard fare of "Rudolph," "Come All Ye Faithful," and "The First Noel." At one house, after we had sung "Silent Night" in English, I cleared a space for myself in a dramatic flourish and gave a solo performance of "Stille Nacht"--"Silent Night" in German. Young parents and their children were aglow and gave us cookies. Older shut-ins were transported back to their childhoods, when people actually did what we were doing. And, sure enough, some people brought out the brandy.

Now we didn't ask for booze at every house. We didn't hit up the elderly or those with young kids. But at most houses, especially if the residents seemed playful, we'd close with "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." Instead of singing about the figgy pudding, I made up the verse:

"Now bring us a cup of brandy.
Now bring us a cup of brandy.
Now bring us a cup of brandy.
And a shot and a beer.
We won't go until we get some.
We won't go until we get some.
We won't go until we get some,
So bring it right here."

We laughed and held out our mugs while we swayed to and fro to the music.

One couple brought out Chivis Regal Scotch Whiskey. The good stuff. And an unopened bottle. They had received it as a gift that year and told us that they didn't drink. They poured it as if it were coffee.

Twenty years later, on Christmas Eve 2004, I made a surprise visit to Wisconsin. Now long since divorced and mother to an 18-year-old, I once again cajoled my brother and my son, too, to join me in mirth. Once again, it was colder than hell, but once again, we brought our mugs.

We met with a few sourpusses, I must admit. One girl who sat watching TV as we sang and never bothered to answer the door, though she occasionally looked at us as if we were on another channel. And, yes, there was the Jewish woman, who we hadn't known was Jewish until her neighbor informed us. She had listened patiently, but when I did my solo number, she screamed, "How dare you sing to me in German!" and slammed the door in our faces. Ouch!

Then I had a flashback to the Chivis Regal couple. I was convinced the house on the corner was theirs. (I have an uncanny memory for such details of life.) We gave it a try, and yessiree bob, same couple and same bottle of Chivis Regal. That's right--they had opened it for us 20 years ago and besides what had evaporated over those two decades, not a drop was missing. They invited us in to see their tree, told of how they had met in the Old Country, poured us stiff drinks and then refilled our mugs.

Even my cynical brother admitted that this was magical.

Two years ago, I organized a caroling party and we canvased the Rose Park neighborhood. Though I had invited several of my students, only Hector Perez shared my enthusiasm. In fact, he might have been even more nuts about caroling than me, if one can believe that. He kept saying, "Oh, Miss Nye, let's keep going." And so we did, "bringing joy to so many people," as Hector said in an effervescent moment of pure holiday bliss.

And so, this year, once again, I am looking forward to spreading joy. I told my son that he has to round up his friends. That this will be fun. And you can be damn sure it will be.