The Hammock Papers: Hand-Delivered.

01 December 2024

Hand-Delivered.

Wyeth, Crescent, 1987

Every family has their Christmas traditions. Mine always involved the Reindeer Run. As a young girl, my father (Nicky) and I would head south to Chadds Ford for our “Reindeer Run”. The Reindeer Run was a fun-filled, week-long visit which my father and I made every year to see close friends and relatives in Chadds Ford. Daddy called our trip a reindeer run because instead of shipping all our Christmas presents to everybody there, we hand-delivered them.

Driving down the Jersey Turnpike, Daddy would try to calm me down (always unsuccessfully) and attempt to distract me by asking me to count the number of Christmas trees I saw along the way. I guess he figured I wouldn’t ask so often, “When are we going to get there?” He was wrong.

Finally, we’d pull into my grandparents’ driveway late in the evening. The first thing I would see, set on top of a large maypole which my grandmother, Betsy, placed by the woodshed, was a three-foot tall Christmas tree, covered with what seemed like thousands of tiny white lights. My grandparents, visible only from the waist up as they stood behind the double Dutch front door of their house, were smiling. They were waiting for Daddy and me to tumble out of the car into their enveloping hugs.

Victoria Browning Wyeth

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WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

"When I am, as it were, completely myself, entirely alone and of good cheer – say travelling in a carriage or walking after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep – it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly. Whence, and how, they come I know not ; nor can I force them. Those ideas that please me I retain in memory and am accustomed, as I have been told, to hum them to myself. If I continue in this way, it soon occurs to me how I may turn this dainty morsel to account, so as to make a good dish of it. That is to say, agreeable to the rules of counterpoint, to the peculiarities of various instruments etc. All this fires my soul, and, provided I am not disturbed, my subject enlarges itself, becomes methodised, and defined, and the whole, though it be long, stands almost complete and finished in my mind, so that I can survey it like a fine picture or a beautiful statue at a glance. Nor do I hear in my imagination the parts successively, but I hear them, as it were, all at once. What a delight this is, I cannot tell."

MARCUS AURELIUS

"Is your cucumber bitter? Throw it away. Are there briars in your path? Turn aside. That is enough. Do not go on and say, 'Why were things of this sort ever brought into this world?' neither intolerable nor everlasting - if thou bearest in mind that it has its limits, and if thou addest nothing to it in imagination. Pain is either an evil to the body (then let the body say what it thinks of it!)-or to the soul. But it is in the power of the soul to maintain its own serenity and tranquility."

VINCENT van GOGH

"What am I in the eyes of most people? A nonentity or an oddity or a disagreeable person — someone who has and will have no position in society, in short a little lower than the lowest. Very well — assuming that everything is indeed like that, then through my work I’d like to show what there is in the heart of such an oddity, such a nobody. This is my ambition, which is based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Even though I’m often in a mess, inside me there’s still a calm, pure harmony and music. In the poorest little house, in the filthiest corner, I see paintings or drawings. And my mind turns in that direction as if with an irresistible urge. As time passes, other things are increasingly excluded, and the more they are the faster my eyes see the picturesque. Art demands persistent work, work in spite of everything, and unceasing observation."

DAN CAMPBELL