Every year, for almost more years than I can count whether we’re together or apart, my family has raised a glass each Christmas season to those we love but won’t see again in this world, and to those we love who are still with us, but who are not able to share our celebration, because they’re scattered all over the globe at the moment.
Every year, there are more and more folks–and even creatures–we think about and mention during this toast. This year I think of those far away. (Thank goodness for email, Ricochet, Twitter, Substack, and this site, and for “free” and inexpensive ways of staying in touch, at least by voice, even if real-time video doesn’t work very well on my crummy satellite Internet connection.)
Today I mourn all those who aren’t in my earthly life anymore, and I pray for my friends with loved ones in trouble, both physically, mentally and spiritually. I’ve been lucky in my own family this year and down here on the farm, although I do miss the little Wookster, whose life came to an end a couple of months ago. He was–as are all my four-legged friends–a good creature who repaid me many times over for the little trouble I took over him throughout the years.
As usual, some beloved celebrities passed on this year. A few hit me particularly hard, either because they formed–for good or ill–a part of my life growing up (Kris Kristofferson, O.J. Simpson), or because their presence in some beloved entertainment vehicles loomed so large I just assumed they’d be around forever. David McCallum, you’re one. Darling Maggie Smith, you’re another. And James Earl Jones.
Olivia Hussey, I see you died a couple of days ago. You were a part of my youth, but shortly and specifically, in that you starred in the first slightly risqué movie I ever saw in the theater–Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet. It was the first modern adaptation in which the leads were–perhaps–as young as those portrayed by Shakespeare in the original play (Hussey (Juliet) was sixteen at the time, and Leonard Whiting (Romeo) was seventeen.) I was a freshman in high school (1968). Romeo and Juliet was on the English Lit syllabus, and our teacher wanted to take us to see it.
Students were required to get a permission slip to do so. Most of us were able to, but one of the local parish Catholic churches condemned the film, and ordered parents to forbid its viewing.
It was a sumptuous visual feast. I guess a few parts of it were a bit scandalous, but–honestly–with the passage of time, and having become inured to the modern age between then and now, I don’t really remember what they were.
Recent reports indicate that Zeffirelli might not have been a very nice man. And perhaps he took advantage of his youthful leads. Whatever the case, Hussey never realized the tremendous potential of her first big break, and led a rather sad life. Rest in peace, beautiful lady.
Please join me in my annual toast tonight to the “absent friends and loved ones” in my life. I’ll say a prayer for those in yours, if you’ll please return the favor.
Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.
Raise your glass and we’ll have a cheer
For us all who are gathered here
And a happy new year to all that is living
To all that is gentle, kind, and forgiving
Raise your glass and we’ll have a cheer
My dear acquaintance, a Happy New Year
What a lovely toast and gesture. Thanks.