Seasons’ Gleanings

Deck the lanes and fire up the menorahs, ‘cause it is time to party.

Savannah does Christmas like no place else, and gifts abound no matter what denomination your elf brings to the shelf. After all, we humans have been celebrating our love lights in the darkness thousands of years before Santa showed up.

**Not technically a Christmas song but you need more Grateful Dead in your life

Buoyed by effective pain medication and all your good wishes, I shoved aside my shingles over the weekend to step out into our cobblestoned wonderland. (Last week’s column wasn’t meant to be a public service announcement, but as we made the rounds, it was gratifying to hear how many of you were inspired to schedule your vaccine.)

Friday evening, my handsome mister and I joined the gorgeous, generous residents of East Jones Street under the silver-threaded glow of the full Cold Moon for a block party straight out of a Hallmark movie, if the main characters had genuine Southern accents and drank.

A thousand fairy lights and a burbling cosmo fountain transformed the town’s toniest backstreet into Candy Cane Lane, dazzling even the most dubious downtown denizens. Familiar faces mingled with starry-eyed newcomers in garages turned cozy alcoves with velvet couches and sparkling decor—and wait, what was this?—shimmering flakes of snow drifting down like the Polar Express just came through.

Of course, the evening temps weren’t quite frosty enough for the real thing, but that didn’t stop the ladies—and a few good men, looking at you Jordan Gray—from flaunting their fabulous fur coats in the crisp plein air. (Yes, I know how we feel about fur, but aren’t all of them inherited or bought on consignment at this point?)

Fashion icons Paris & Susan

From there we frolicked over to Victory North for the R.E.M extravaganza starring the local music fam, many of whom witnessed firsthand the meteoric rise of Athens’ most famous band. Harmonious gents Eric Britt and Stan Ray brought together a formidable train of talent, including our lovely Gracynn Britt along with warbling powerhouse Elli Perry and Instagram sensation Brett Bigelow.

Not to shade the Stipe lovers, but the three-song set from “Savannah’s version” of the B-52s stole the show—Philip Price, Amy Ochoa and Craig Johanssen tore up the house with “Love Shack” and “Rock Lobster,” setting my feet on fire and my limbs akimbo.

Amy channeling Kate Pierson like a boss

Unfortunately, like so many other live shows around here, only a few of us deigned to shake our money makers in front of the band. I’ll never understand how people sit through such a scalding performance—y’all seriously need to learn to dance like no one’s watching. I mean, people are probably watching, but who cares? (On a related note, apologies to the lady whose beer caught my klutzy elbow—please find me at the next show so I can buy you a drink.)

If you prefer getting down in the privacy of your own home, many of the afore-mentioned musicians can be found on a sweeping new album dropping Christmas Eve to a set of airpods near you:

Marshes to Mountains features almost 200 songs—many of them previously unreleased—from Savannah’s most outstanding troubadours and covers an astounding array of genres, from Black Tusk to Dope KNife to long-gone outfits like Superhorse and COEDS—seriously, you’ve got to see the list to believe it.

Keeper of the flame (and original Superhorse drummer, among other flexes) Jim Reed has been compiling this unique musical treasure between back-and-forth trips to Western North Carolina, where he and his lovely Lauren have seen horrific damage from Hurricane Helene. You can pre-order these many hours of listening love for only $30, and proceeds go directly to our mountain neighbors still putting their lives back together after tragedy.

Marshes to Mountains makes an excellent holiday gift that doesn’t require batteries or feeding; plus, it is a literal primer to Savannah’s once and future music scene—you want clout? Come to me when you know all the words to CUSSES’ “Critical.”

Saturday brought more festivities, and much to Mark’s chagrin, the evening required another tie. His kvetching was tamed quickly by the sumptuous spread at the Chatham Club, where silver platters proffered fat fried oysters and prosecco from crystal-cut glasses. Host Austin Hill looked splendid in a white dinner jacket and his signature shy smile as we made excellent use of the dance floor merrily overseen by an art deco-bedecked Laiken Love (yes, of course this diva has a track on Marshes to Mountains.)

The only place to cap such a night is at the Original Pinkie Masters, where I spent somebody else’s jukebox money to treat patrons to an impromptu performance of “Grease” with Savannah Music Festival babe Kat Clark.

Speaking of grease, there’s still a week until it’s time to make the latkes (why is Chanukah so late this year? blame it on the moon) but I’m gonna go ahead and call the year.

This will be my last missive of 2024, though by no means am I skipping out on the rest of Savannah’s stellar holiday season. I’ll be signing books at Locally Made Savannah on Broughton this Saturday Dec. 21 from 11-3 (there will be free Savannah Sideways stickers and coozies!) and betting on my favorite dreidel at Chanukah at Forsyth on Dec. 29.

While our New Year’s Eve baby will be spending her 21st birthday away this year, New Year’s Day means the annual dunking of all the tushies in the ocean at the Tybee Island Polar Plunge, followed by Hoppin John and Bloody Marys. I hope your entry into 2025 is as refreshing, even if you keep your clothes on.

There’s no doubt that 2024 has been a hard one. We have lost loved ones, jobs, fights, and dreams of a nation united by democracy and justice. Many of us continue to struggle to find light in the shadows.

It cannot compare to the terrible tragedies so many have experienced, but I confess one of the hardest losses for me this year was the felling of the beloved old oak in McCauley “The Circle” Park this summer. This tree was truly a friend to our family and so many others over the decades, allowing our children to inch-worm along its branches and stretching its crown to shade our afternoons. Its demise signifies the end of not only my own mommyhood but the inevitable decline of the tree canopy we so take for granted in Savannah.

As I sobbed on the stump yet again this week, I mourned the passing of yet another year gone too quickly and the inescapable truth that even mighty giants have an expiration date.

But like a total psycho I can’t seem to stay sad for long. The gift of being alive just seems to stay shiny, and I’m just so glad to be here with y’all sharing laughs and boogieing down like fools on this spinning ball of blue.

May the season bring warmth and joy to you and yours, and I’ll see y’all back here once the poles start pushing back the darkness.

Until then, don’t forget to turn on your love light.

We start believing now and we can be who we are ~ JLL

I mean…I’m not. Thanks for coming along with me in 2024.