Notes from Cottonwood

Midnight Mass was packed, standing room only, and half the Iradis wore their best chapan with a fur collar. The choir sang "Silent Night" in English, and then in Iradi, and then, to my surprise, in what I think was Syriac. I'm not Catholic enough to know whether that's allowed. It sounded right.

At home: tree from a pot (we found a fir at the nursery on the highway strip, $14), stockings on the porch rail, a long call to Ohio. Lily asked if Santa has the right visa. I said Santa has an excellent visa.

Merry Christmas to everyone back home.

Saturday we took the kids to the Old City. Narrow lanes, mud walls, carved doors with brass knockers shaped like hands. Our guide (Chynara's cousin) showed us the Temir-Kapka gate and the museum on the citadel mound, and told Sam that the mound used to be a fort where "bad people shot arrows at good people". Sam wants to know who was who.

A lane in the Old City. The door on the right is four hundred years old.

We ended at a small teahouse. The owner brought us cups half full, and I learned why: a full cup means "go home." So I drank fast and held out the cup so he could pour more. That earned a smile.