According to Luke’s telling, John the Baptist was born six months before Jesus. According to western tradition, Jesus was born on Dec. 24. Therefore, according to the universe, the summer solstice is the celebration of John the Baptist’s birth (which is not something I ever learned as a Baptist).
Logically, therefore, in Salem we celebrated John the Baptist’s summer solstice a month late with an opening of a new exhibit on Faberge, Russian folk music, and gold rimmed champagne cocktails.
This was another of the Peabody Essex Museum’s PEM/PM parties held the third Thursday evening of every month. And another example of the mind-blowingly diverse community in which we live and of which the Museum is a catalyst.
On this night bloggers from around the Boston metro gathered in the Asian Garden and were serenaded by traditional folk musicians.
Pourquois-pas?
We talked about dim sum at Bo Lings at the Kansas City Board of Trade, Diner en Blanc, and community arts initiatives of which John Andrews of Social Palates has become the photographer of record (see his gallery of images from the evening here).
Back in the galleries, we were reminded of the extraordinary expense and exquisite workmanship of the legendary Imperial Faberge eggs, given as gifts at Easter by and to the ill-fated House of Romanov.
Which brings us full circle?
According to Mark, Herod has John the Baptist’s head served on a platter. According to the historical record, the Romanovs were executed in a Yekaterinburg basement. And according to the spinning of the earth, summer must fall to winter.
This is something I did learn as a Baptist: the inevitable and paradoxical relationship life and death share.
Or, according to Wikipedia ” In October 2007 Pallinghurst Resources LLP announced that the company intended to restore Fabergé to its rightful position as the leading purveyor of enduring and endearing personal possessions.”
In other words, the House of Faberge has been resurrected and we can now once again celebrate the resurrection of Christ with a jewel encrusted egg.
I’m not sure it’s relation to the chicken, but I think it might be relevant.
It all makes my head hurt (or maybe that’s just the champagne).
Goat anyone? 