There’s just something special about holiday hospitality. When my
friend Evelyn recently hosted the December meeting of our four-woman book club, the other three of us practically refused to get up from her elegant red and gold dinner table when we were finished eating. She made us feel so pampered that only the promise of opening presents in front of the fire — and, oh, yeah, discussing our book of the month — made us leave. I love the way she used simple solid red napkins and plates to create such a festive and sophisticated look, proving once again my grandmother’s timeless advice to always buy red things — they’re good for three out of four seasons, which is a record you cannot beat.
And for a record you can beat, we’re back with Cathy’s Hit Parade of Christmas Movies. Coming in at No. 3 is the two-fer I promised you yesterday — the duo of 1954’s “White Christmas” with Bing Crosby and Danny 
Kaye and its older sibling, the 1942 “Holiday Inn,” with Crosby and Fred Astaire. Does it get any better? Not much. Look, I know these are white- and male-centric movies that do not reflect how life really was for the folks watching in theaters during the 12-year span, but still. This is vintage Christmas: Singing, dancing, fake snow, cavernous New England inns, star-crossed lovers and misunderstandings with some sleigh rides thrown in for fun. It’s Hollywood escapism at its finest — the movies that made me think being a grownup woman meant going out dancing and drinking martinis and wearing evening gowns every night. Sadly, in the intervening years this dream has proved to be false, although I’m somewhat hopeful about the martinis. But I can relive the fantasy every Christmas with these films, and you should, too. Tomorrow, it’s on to No. 2 — one of the few movies my husband and I vehemently disagree about. (And remember that we both walked out of “Wild, Wild West,” so go figure.) Stop by on Thursday to find out which innocent Christmas movie provokes such intense conflict in our house.
I’m 51 and a grandmother and somewhat capable of 
handling things on my own (no, really, I am) but I still want to go home to my parents’ for Christmas and have everything as it always has been. Like the John Deere village my mom puts up — my dad had a John Deere dealership before he retired and now he buys every JD catalogue and ad that comes up for auction anywhere in the world, or at least in Illinois. And like the 
ornaments I put on the tree when I was a kid, and now my 20-something-year-old children help me put them on their grandparents’ tree — great-grandson 8-month-old Nolan is no help since he would only eat the hooks. And then there’s the great holiday food that only Grommy — what my children call my mother — can make: TV Mix eaten in 40-year-old wooden bowls, graham crackers covered in butter and brown sugar and hot cocoa stirred from scratch in an ancient heavy saucepan. Grandmas definitely are special, and I’d better get my act together if I’m going to be the same for Nolan. But I’ve had lessons from the best, so hopefully I”ve got a headstart. One of my favorite parts of going home during the holidays is coming back to my house with fresh-cut holly and fir branches from my dad’s nursery — one of his other retirement projects. I cannot keep up with them! At least this year I’m making my own Chex mix — I’ll have to call my mom, though, to talk me through.
Donna Reed. I know, I know. It’s a heartwarming American classic. It’s a Frank Capra masterpiece. It’s a multi-layered holiday icon. It’s everybody’s favorite. So why isn’t it No. 1 on my list? Because it used to scare the #$%^ out of me! The drunk pharmacist who boxed young George’s ear and made it bleed, the mean and rowdy crowd at the bar, the cheap and hateful Mr. Potter who caused such misery — these disturbing black-and-white images did not bring me comfort and joy when I was younger. And as I grew older and understood the sacrifices George made and the dreams he lost and the drab and dreary life he felt he was living, it made me sad. George did have a wonderful life but bitterness and regret kept him from realizing it — what a waste for all those years. I mainly feel sorry for him. It’s a good thing Clarence comes along to shake him up because I sort of want to do that myself. And here’s the thing: Where were all George’s friends before the bank shortfall? Why does it take a crisis to bring them together and make them value him? Do these people ever stop by to say “hello” or to eat lunch or go to a ballgame? And will they do that now? Or am I being too cynical? You have to admit, though, it’s the kind of movie that breeds cynicism if you didn’t have a healthy dose of it already. Like me. Come back tomorrow for No. 3 — a bonus two-fer. Can you guess what they are?
Shining faces … precious voices … proud parents … Is there anything more moving during the holidays than children’s Christmas choirs? Not much. And it’s especially heartwarming when you don’t even have a child up there and you haven’t spent the past three months in frantic dashes to rehearsals or the past three days in frantic hunts for a white blouse that everybody can agree on (ah, memories!) — you simply can sit back and enjoy. And that’s what I did this past weekend at the annual Community Choir Christmas Concert sponsored by the Rotary Club in Manchester, Tennessee. This is my dad’s project. He’s been organizing this concert for the past 14 years — combining choir music and Rotary, two of his favorite things. He loves it and everybody who comes to listen feels blessed. I’ll bet there were concerts like 
this everywhere this past weekend, along with open houses, parades and parties as December deepens and the 25th gets closer and free weekends and evenings get scarce. A side benefit to all the activity? Catching up with folks you may only see once a year. Several of my high-school classmates sing in the community choir, so we all go out afterwards. I know what you’re thinking when you look at this pic: “There is no way these people graduated high school 33 years ago! They are far too young and hip to be 50-plus!” Thank you for the compliment. And in fact you would think that if you had heard our conversation — riding new Harley-Davidsons (and this was not the lone male alum, either), installing environmentally friendly pool-filtration systems, eating the raw-food way and discussing details of the upcoming class-reunion Caribbean cruise. And of course there were a few grandbaby pics passed around.
Christmas in our family kicks off with the annual hunt for the Christmas CDs — which I found this year, strangely enough, in the look-through-these-and-get-rid-of-what-you-don’t-want box of discs slated for giveaway. Some years they’re in with the tree ornaments, some years they’re wrapped up in the stockings and one year I even found them with the Easter decorations. But we always find them. And am I glad, because we love these CDs. I am not a music critic — proved by the fact that I remember every word of the Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” and most 1970s TV jingles — but I do know that my family’s favorite Christmas CDs are some of the best around. And it’s not hard to find them in stores, at least: Bath & Body Works and Victoria’s Secret always offer stellar collections, as do Pier One and Starbucks. Really! You just thought those CDs were at the cash registers to spur you into another impulse buy, didn’t you? Give in to the impulse. You’ll be glad you did. I especially am impressed with these collections because they feature such a variety of artists and styles, with some beloved classics as well as up-and-comers. Here are some of our top choices from years past (find them on amazon.com and other sites):
Coffee with Cathy 