Kwanzaa is a cultural rather than religious holiday, and so its observance need not preclude celebration of Christmas for the many African-Americans who are also Christian. Nor, indeed, should it inhibit celebration of any religious holiday. Here, the faith is a belief “with all our heart in our people, our parents, our teachers, our leaders and the righteousness and victory of our struggle” rather than in a supreme deity. Observance of the holiday comprises seven symbols: mazao (the crops), mkeka (the mat), kinara (the candle holder), muhindi (the corn), mishumaa saba (the seven candles), kikombe cha umoja (the unity cup), and zawadi (the gifts, which are given mainly to children and must include a book and a heritage symbol). In addition, there are two supplemental symbols—bendera, the tricolored Kwanzaa flag of black for the people, red for their struggle, and green for the future and the hope that comes from the struggle; and the poster of the Nguzo Saba (Seven Principals).

The celebration begins each year on 26 December and runs through 1 January. As with Chanukah, a new candle is lit on each night of the celebration, one for each of the Nguzo Saba. The black umoja (unity) candle, in the center of the kinara is the first to be lighted, followed, on its left, by the red candles for kujichagulia (self-determination), ujima (collective work and responsibility), and ujamaa (cooperative economics), and then, on its right, by the green candles representing nia (purpose), kuumba (creativity), and imani (faith). The kinara is placed on the mkeka, which has itself been placed on a beautiful spread of African cloth. At least two ears of corn and the unity cup are also placed on the mat. The cup is used to pour libation to honor ancestors. African art object and books on African heritage are also placed on the mat during the seven-day celebration.

On the seventh day, also New Year’s Day, the Kwanzaa celebrant observes a Day of Meditation or Assessment, asking three questions: “Who am I?” “Am I really who I say I am?” And “Am I all I ought to be?” This aspect of Kwanzaa seems to echo Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. And so, while meant to be celebrated distinctly from the observances of other cultures, Kwanzaa seems to incorporate the season, gift-giving, and red and green of Christmas with two important emblems of the Jewish faith (the menorah of Chanukah and the introspection of Yom Kippur), as well as the pagan harvest celebrations and traditions of reverence toward ancestors.

To those of our friends and neighbors who observe this richly inclusive holiday, we offer our sincere best wishes for a very happy and memorable celebration.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac offers this additional information:

The word solstice is derived from the Latin sol, or “Sun,” and stitium, or “stoppage.” The Halcyon Days also occur around this time. According to ancient legend, a grieving wife named Alcyone, or Halcyon, threw herself into the sea upon discovering the drowned body of her beloved husband, Ceyx. The gods took pity on the pair, transforming them into kingfishers with the power to still the stormy seas for 14 days around the time of the winter solstice while they built their nest and hatched their young.

The ancients celebrated the Winter Solstice as the time of the “rebirth” of the Sun. Many scholars believe that early fathers of the Christian Church overlaid the Solstice with celebrations of the birth of the Son, borrowing from the ancient Roman celebration of Saturnalia, traditionally observed on 17 December, but reset to 25 December in 274 a.d. by the Roman Emperor Aurelian. (This was the date of the Winter Solstice on the Julian Calendar, the predecessor of our Gregorian Calendar.) By 379, the date of Christmas had been fixed in Constantinople (present-day Istanbul). Conversely, the Church fixed the celebration of the birth of John the Baptist near the Summer Solstice, on 24 June. This determination was based on Luke’s account (1:36) of Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth during the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy with John, when Mary had herself just learned that she was with child.

Of course, we may never know exactly when Jesus was born (or John), but there seem to be very good reasons for observing the anniversary of his birth so near the solstice.

Ecotopia is the second of the ICP’s triennials of photography and video. It was preceded by Strangers in 2003, a show concerned with the implications of religious fundamentalism in the world after the events of 11 September 2001. The new show stands as a worthy companion to “An Inconvenient Truth,” Al Gore’s prophetic documentary film about the anticipated consequences of global climate changes. As Roberta Smith noted in her New York Times review of the exhibition on 13 September, Mr. Gore admonishes us that “terrorism is not the only, nor necessarily the most urgent, problem facing us today.” Ecotopia ably reinforces that message.

The collection of works on display is decidedly a hodgepodge, but we write that without a whiff of derogation. They are presented almost entirely without editorial comment, even if some of the placards evince an overeagerness to provide context and explain symbolism. Mostly, however, each photograph or video clip is allowed to speak for itself. The subjects span the globe, from the increasingly industrialized China’s Pearl River to the forbidding, briny waters of the Salton Sea in southern California’s Colorado Desert. The former is the perhaps inadvertently amusing 6:17-minute video by Jennifer Allora and Guillermo Calzadilla entitled “Amphibious (Login–Logout),” which captures the point-of-view of six turtles as they float downstream on a log. The latter is an interactive website prepared by Kim Stringfellow and entitled “Greetings from the Salton Sea.” There are images of the devastation wreaked by foresters along Lewis and Clark’s westward trail (“Coos County, Oregon,” a single 14″ × 11″ gelatin silver print, and “Clatsop County, Oregon,” a series of fifteen such prints) by Robert Adams; of a precious metals quarry in Africa (“One Ton, II,” a set of five 33½” × 25½” platinum/palladium prints) by Simon Starling; and of a “liberated Iraq” (three chromogenic prints, two 20″ × 24″ and one 40″ × 50″) by Simon Norfolk.

Ecotopia is set on the two levels of the exhibition space amidst several large aggregations of Tubolit, a foamy black petroleum-based insulation material, some of which have been marshaled to create oddly cozy screening rooms for the show’s nine videos. Among them are Catherine Chalmers seven-minute “Safari,” with its arresting close-up photography of cockroaches, an African claw frog, red-spotted newts, a lizard, and two dueling rhinoceros beetles; Goran Dević’s 21:15-minute essay on the efforts of the people of Sisak, Croatia, to remove its murder of “Imported Crows;” Sam Easterson’s compilation of approximately one-minute clips taken from tiny videocams attached to a number of diverse species, including a sheep, a deer, an armadillo, a buffalo, several barnyard animals, a fly, a scorpion, a tarantula, and even a tumbleweed; Marine Hugonnier’s 14:17-minute 16mm film, “Last Tour,” depicting a final balloon flight over the Matterhorn; and Francesco Jodice’s spooky “Natura: Il Caso Montemaggiore,” a twenty-minute collection of filmed interviews with several members of a small town in southern Italy who attempt to explain the mysterious disappearance of six of its elderly citizens in the dense forest nearby. One room of the upstairs gallery is devoted to “29 Palms,” a seven-minute film by An-My Lê, projected simultaneously on two screens, one on each of two adjacent walls. On the right, in medium shot and close-up, are anxious American soldiers awaiting their participation in training exercises to prepare them for active duty in Iraq; on the left, the camera captures the desert combat simulations from a considerable remove, with insect-like maneuvers and tiny wisps of gunsmoke. In a Tubolit room on the lower level is the Otolith Group’s self-titled “Otolith,” a 22:20-minute science-fiction set in the twenty-second century, when mutations to the inner ear, brought about by long-term space travel, has made it impossible for humans to live except in conditions of zero gravity—an eerie apocalypse brought about, perhaps, by man’s careless disregard of the ecosphere. Finally, there is “Perfect Devotion Five” by Diana Thater, a DVD installation of three tigers cavorting with water hoses and other amusements in what looks like someone’s chain-link-fenced back yard.

Among the dozens of photographs exhibited are afterimages of the devastation of Hurricane Katrina (“Biloxi, Mississippi” by Mitch Epstein and “Hurricane Katrina” by Vincent Laforet), a environmentally unfriendly housing development (Stéphane Couturier’s “Proctor Valley, San Diego”), and scenes from an Alaskan village whose Inupiat people are becoming the world’s first global-warming refugees (“The End of Shishmaref: Global Warming” by Gilles Mingasson).

We could go on, but, seriously, you should try to see the exhibition for yourself. ICP senior curators Brian Wallis, Edward Earle, Carol Squiers, and Christopher Phillips are to be congratulated for this coup of collage-making with its never-more-timely theme.

For anyone who might not know, “Avenue Q” is the story of several characters who are learning to cope with present-day life in “an outerborough of New York City”—and with life more generally. A number of them are Muppet-like puppets, including the uptight, closeted Rod (now played by Howie Michael Smith); his comparatively slovenly but affectionate roommate, Nicky (Robert McClure); the amusingly self-conscious Kate Monster (we saw Jennifer Barnhart, filling in for Kelli Sawyer); neighborhood newcomer Princeton (also Mr. Smith), who becomes the object of Kate’s attraction; slutty Lucy (Ms. Barnhart, again), who has been around the block and then some; and the Trekkie Monster (another role for Mr. McClure). What is interesting is that the puppeteers make no attempt to conceal their manipulation of the characters, and so the audience is given a double performance of each role. Indeed, the actors’ faces are undoubtedly more expressive than those of their puppets, and so they are almost constantly more interesting to watch. And yet it defies imagination that this material would have made it to Broadway without the puppets to define it and bring it to life. They live among the human inhabitants of Avenue Q, including the solidly blue-collar Brian (Evan Harrington); his oddly named consort, Christmas Eve (Ann Sanders), she of the indeterminate but rather egregiously stereotypical Asian accent; and a stand-in for the real-life Gary Coleman, here a trouser role (essayed by Haneefah Wood). Now having passed 1,400 performances—since opening in July 2003—the show no longer features either its Tony-nominated performers (John Tartaglia and Stephanie D’Abruzzo).

Another aspect of the production that we found interesting—or maybe just odd—was that the Playbill fails to include a list of the Tony-winning songs, as is customary for musicals. A partial list provides a good overview of the “adult” topics touched on by the show. (Despite its puppetry, the show is certainly not suitable for preteenagers.) Early on, Princeton lugubriously queries, “What Do You Do With a B.A. in English?”—to which the topper is the ensemble number, “It Sucks To Be Me.” Then Nicky and Rod have a duet that strives awfully hard to charm called “If You Were Gay.” Further songs advise us that “Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist,” “The Internet Is for Porn,” and “There Is Life Outside Your Apartment.” There’s even an amusing ditty about “Schadenfreude”—not one of our favorite emotions, we must confess—accompanied with a video pronunciation guide projected above the audience on a couple of wide-screen monitors. Perhaps the song list is withheld because the gist of each of these songs is contained in its title, and so the program list could be seen as a spoiler.

Certainly, judgment in these matters is highly subjective, but now that we have seen “Avenue Q,” we find it incredible that it could have bested “Wicked”—or “Caroline,” for that matter—for Best Book of a Musical and Best Score as well as the top award. Ordinarily, the mood of the Tony voters is easier to judge than, say, that of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Those responsible for determining the 2004 Tony recipients may have wanted to demonstrate their hipness by voting for the clever and insouciant over the imaginative and psychologically probing. Audiences may have the final say, for while both “Wicked” and “Avenue Q” are still enjoying long runs, the former is still selling out at the gigantic Gershwin, while the latter is offering same-day discounts for seats in the much-smaller Golden.

But if we didn’t find “Avenue Q” as enthralling as most of the rest of the audience seemed to, it may have been that we were distracted by the puzzle of the identity of someone seated nearby: Was it a friend we hadn’t seen in almost five years? Was that his wife next to him? What was her name? The cast is indisputably enthusiastic and energetic, the comic songs are appealingly catchy, and the depiction of adult interactions—including sex—by puppets is too hilarious to be offensive. So we certainly wouldn’t advise you not to go. On the other hand, if you really care about the musical theatre, you can’t miss “Wicked.”

In fact, the acclaimed new film, directed by Stephen Frears, is considerably narrower in scope than its title might suggest. It is focused on the development of Queen Elizabeth’s relationship with Tony Blair, the tenth Prime Minister of her reign, following his assumption of the office in May 1997, and during the days that summer surrounding the untimely death in Paris of Lady Diana, who was by then no longer the Princess of Wales. The filmmakers have skillfully interwoven archival footage of Diana into the scenes imagined and recreated for the film. This tragic episode was among the most difficult of Elizabeth’s long reign, and Peter Morgan’s screenplay—which subtly transmutes from pungent satire to poignant character study—contends that she and the royal family forfeited a portion of the good will accorded them by the British people, at least temporarily, through their initial implacability with respect to the grieving process. The queen’s wish for restraint and privacy was almost universally regarded as disdainful of the former princess—and the Spencer family—and coldly indifferent to her subjects’ apparently boundless affection for her daughter-in-law; certainly, this view was gleefully promulgated by the tabloid press. The new prime minister, although not yet sure of his footing with the queen, assumes responsibility for counseling her that she should return from Balmoral to London, make a public statement acknowledging the widespread sentiment, and perhaps even fly the flag at half mast over Buckingham Palace. (Cheeky, what!) He’s right, of course. Although technically no longer “HRH,” Diana was then and forever, in the words of Alistair Campbell, Mr. Blair’s communications chief, the “people’s princess.”

The marvelous Helen Mirren, who already picked up an Emmy last August for her performance as the first Queen Elizabeth in Elizabeth I, the two-part television film for HBO, is being touted as Oscar-worthy for her impression here of the current monarch, and she would seem to be a shoo-in for a nomination. She is given sturdy support by Michael Sheen as Tony Blair, James Cromwell as her consort Prince Phillip, Sylvia Syms as the Queen Mother, and Alex Jennings as Prince Charles. The film can claim to be the best reviewed of the year, with a 98% Tomatometer approval rating at RottenTomatoes.com (138 “certified fresh” reviews out of 141 collected), surpassing “Casino Royale” with 95% (175/185) and “Borat,” “The Departed,” “Little Miss Sunshine,” and “Volver,” all with 92%. (This is not counting the 100% for “Who the $#%& Is Jackson Pollock?”—a rating based on only ten reviews.)

“The Queen” offers an indelible sketch of the reigning British monarch, a figure who is arguably as fascinating, in her way, as any of her predecessors. This may be as close as we get to a corgi’s-eye-view of the royals.

One of the great traditions of the festival—for a more complete story of Chanukah, visit chabad.org—is the miracle of the oil in the Temple, which, although in quite short supply during the rededication of 165 b.c.e., kept the menorah burning for eight days. (This is recounted in the Talmud, but not in the Books of the Maccabees.) Thus the celebration is a time of feasting on foods that have been fried, especially in olive oil, including potato pancakes (or latkes) and doughnuts, including the jelly-filled variety. Another tradition of Chanukah is, of course, the spinning of the dreidel, a four-sided top, each side of which is inscribed with a different Hebrew letter. Taken together, the letters—נ (Nun), ג (Gimel), ה (Hey), and ש (Shin)—are an acronym for the Hebrew words, נס גדול היה שם, Nes Gadol Haya Sham—“A great miracle happened there”—referring to the miracle of the oil in the Beit Hamikdash, or Holy Temple, in Jerusalem. Since the Six-Day War, dreidels in Israel may substitute פ (Pe) for ש (Shin), to say “A great miracle happened here.”

We wish our Jewish friends everywhere a very happy and peaceful celebration. Pass the applesauce!

In our own parish in Manhattan, the Mexican-Americans of the West Village and Chelsea who worship at St. Bernard’s Church on West 14th Street will honor the Virgin with a colorful two-day celebration, culminating with a high mass in Spanish this evening.

Set in France (the forest of Fontainebleau) and Spain (the monastery of San Juste; the cathedral plaza in Madrid; the royal palace of King Philip II; and a Spanish prison) in about 1560, the time of the Inquisition, the opera pits son against father, wife against mistress, friendship against fealty, and reason against religiosity. Don Carlo, the crown prince of Spain (sung by South African tenor Johan Botha), is betrothed to Princess Elisabeth of Valois (soprano Patricia Racette), and when he comes upon her in her hunting party, it is love at first sight—and Carlo sings “Io la vidi.” Moreover, their union will end the hostilities visited against the Flemings by the Spaniards and thus bring peace to Europe. Unfortunately, their dreams of nuptial bliss are shattered when Elisabeth’s page Tebaldo (soprano Kate Lindsey in the trouser role) returns to announce that Henry II, the king of France and Elisabeth’s father, has ceded her hand to King Philip rather than to the prince, making her the Queen of Spain. After this opening act in the forest of Fontainebleau, the action shifts to Spain. There are four additional acts (seven scenes), presented in this production with intermissions after Acts II and III. (For a complete synopsis, please visit the Met’s website.)

We were thrilled to be sitting on the front row of the orchestra, little more than arm’s length away from conductor James Levine, who was as imperious and impeccable as ever. His comportment evinced his pride in leading what several have characterized as a dream cast for “Don Carlo”—perhaps the best available just now. In addition to that of the barrel-torsoed Mr. Botha and the lovely Ms. Racette, world-class singing was also delivered by dashing Russian baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky as Don Carlo’s great friend Rodrigo, the Marquis of Posa; the imposing German basso René Pape as King Philip II; celestial Russian mezzo Olga Borodina as Princess Eboli, Philip’s mistress; and the venerable American basso Samuel Ramey as the Grand Inquisitor. There was vociferous approval for Carlo and Rodrigo’s Friendship Duet in Act II, scene 1 (“Dio, che nell’alma fondere amor”); Eboli’s Moorish Veil Song with Tebaldo in Act II, scene 2 (“Nei giardin”) and her vow of retribution in Act III, scene 1 (“Trema per te”); the King’s reflection on his remorseful state of affairs in his study in Act IV, scene 1 (“Ella giammai m’amò”); the Inquisitor’s rebuke of the King in the same scene (“Nell’ispano suol mai l’eresia”); Rodrigo’s resignation to his fate, also in the study scene (“Ah! sii maledetto”) and his farewell to Don Carlo and last gasp in the next (“Per me giunto;” “Io morró”); Elisabeth’s study-scene lament (“O don fatale”) and her prayer at the tomb of Emperor Charles V, Don Carlo’s grandfather, in Act V (“Tu che le vanitá”). And although the final curtain did not come down until more than four and a half hours after the overture began (7:00 to about 11:40 p.m.), the appreciative audience seemed in no rush to leave, standing and calling for the repeated appearances of the principals and Mr. Levine.

The prolific Verdi (1813–1901) composed twenty-eight operas over the course of a musical career that spanned more than sixty years. Among the better known—and still among the popular repertory—are “Nabucco” (“Nebuchadnezzar”) (1842), “Macbeth” (1847), “Rigoletto” (1851), “Il Trovatore” (1853), “La Traviata” (1853),“Les Vêpres Siciliennes” (“The Sicilian Vespers”) (1855), “Simon Boccanegra” (1857), “Un Ballo in Maschera” (“A Masked Ball”) (1859), “La Forza del Destino” (“The Force of Destiny”) (1862), “Don Carlos” (1867) (later “Don Carlo” [1872]), “Aida” (1871), “Otello” (1887), and “Falstaff” (1893).

Remaining performances of “Don Carlo” for the 2006–07 Metropolitan season are on 11, 14, 18, and 23 December. The final performance will be broadcast live on WOSU-FM radio (89.7) at 1:00 p.m. Eastern time.

The feast is observed as a public holiday in Austria, Italy, Portugal, Spain, and the Mediterranean island nation of Malta; in Costa Rica; and in Chile, Paraguay, and Peru. Additionally, it’s quite a busy day in Ireland.

At various times in U. S. history, citizens have been exhorted to “Remember the Alamo!” (1836), “Remember the Maine!” (1898), and “Remember Pearl Harbor!” Of these, only the last remains in the living memories of Americans, those surviving members of the so-called greatest generation—our parents among them—who will always remember where they were that day and how they reacted to the news, just as those of us who lived through 9/11 will never forget.

Repeal—and respite—came seventy-three years ago, today, with the ratification of the Twenty-First Amendment, less than ten months after its proposal by Congress (on 23 February 1933). Ratification was by special state conventions held for the purpose, rather than by state legislatures, as had been the rule for all other constitutional amendments. Prohibition persisted in several states, however, as late as 1966, and it is estimated that eighteen million Americans still live in the hundreds of counties with prohibitions against the sale and consumption alcoholic beverages, whether bottled or by the drink. We grew up in one of those, but we had moved away by the time we reached the legal drinking age. Many countries have legislated such a legal drinking age, but none higher than that of the United States, where it is, of course, 21, albeit with many exceptions. The proscription has more to do with possession, actually, than with consumption.

So, while we would encourage readers to indulge responsibly in the eggnog and wassail, and with the most careful discretion at the office party (if at all)—cheers!