Christmas Stories

The Bountiful Buffet

To me, Christmas is a celebration of all that we have, and all that we hope for. It's a time for gratitude, remembering the bad with the good, and thinking of the progress and the endurance. There is no perfect life, rather journeys that measure and test our character. Our days are full of challenge and occasionally sprinkled with a time of rest, so we can re-group and forge ahead.

I throw my heart into the preparation of food, a few gifts, a clean house, and sweet smelling candles glowing on every surface. Throughout my marriage, it seems I have been overwhelmed at Christmas time: working more than one job, going to college, parenting many children, visiting relatives, and getting the house ready for company. During Christmas, then and now I make a huge effort to put aside secret worries, even if it's just for the holidays. Heavy responsibilities made Christmas of yesterday hectic, last minute, rushed.

But for awhile, we play.

What memories rise to the surface for you this year?

My Christmas Story of Yesterday

Many years ago, when we were particularly short on cash, Christmas seemed to sneak up on me. Somehow, I was going to have to make a few hundred bucks look like a few thousand; buy gifts, and purchase food, and live 'til the next payday. My kids wanted things I couldn't afford; I was shopping for substitutes. Sound familiar?

I had taken my last paycheck, and spent a hectic Saturday trying to spread it around 3 kids. (This was the year we had taken a short break from foster care.) Exhausted, I took a short moment to run into a nearby McDonalds for a burger, and 15 minutes of sit down time.

I gulped my food, and dashed back to the car, needing to get home to wrap presents and cook dinner. Shopping had left me close to tears as prices were high and money was scarce. I knew the kids would love whatever they got, but I felt drained.

Home was 22 miles away, I used the drive time to relax and prepare for the busy evening ahead. I was worried about bills and mentally listed those I could put off for another few weeks to keep us in cash for a Christmas movie and getting out of the house. My math never met the goal, no matter which way I added up the bills.

When I got out of the car and began to unload my sacks, I nearly fainted.

My purse was gone. I sobbed and fell against the car. What had I done? Had I gotten into the car and put my purse on the top as I ofen did, only this time driving off with it flying all over the highway? Oh, no! I froze. How could I tell Lynn our cash was gone? I wanted to run away.

I stumbled into the house, ignoring the blaring TV, and grabbed the phone. Lynn was in the back of the house, and the kids were speechless as they saw my face.

Hearing my voice, as I searched for the number of the McDonalds, Lynn came into the kitchen. When he understood I had lost my purse, he immediately began to scold me. "How dumb can a person be?"

"Pretty dumb!" I screamed over my shoulder, as I ran back out to the car. He was mad, I was mad, SOME CHRISTMAS! I was calling myself every name in the book, my family deserved better. How could I have done this??

Forcing myself not to speed, I threw the car in reverse and took off, leaving an upset and confused husband standing in the driveway. "I'll be back!!" I yelled, furious with him for not saying "it's ok, sweetheart. You're stupid, but I understand." I'm sure he spent the next hour envisioning all the ways he could leave me.

You'll never believe what the young kid at the McDonald counter had told me over the phone. I didn't even believe it and that's why I didn't tell Lynn. Someone had turned a purse in to the manager. They had found it under the table where I had been sitting. The clerk said she saw the man pick it up and he never opened it. He was elderly and concerned that I get it back, making her promise to find the owner. The young manager was scared to open the purse and had locked it in her office.

Pulling into McDonald's a short eternity later, I found my purse, cash intact, no worse for the wear, except for my 14 nervous breakdowns.

My Christmas miracle was not over.

When I returned home, Lynn had not packed up the kids and left, but was waiting anxiously for my return. Kisses and all.

The Christmas gifts glowed that year, bought with hard earned cash and Christmas honesty from a stranger. The shine lasted for the next two weeks and has been remembered all these Christmas' since. Every year, I still send up good wishes and gratitude for a simple, kind elderly man who made an over-stressed wife and mother so very happy.

My Christmas Story, This Year

Our Christmas story this year, is the miraculous life-saving experience last week. The week of my husband's heart attack was a scary and confused time for Lynn. I was numb, my days consisted of midnight trips to the hospital, feigned calm calls to his family, our kids, finding job coverage, talking to corporate, listening to doctors, and having no time to call extended family and friends. I didn't tell my life-long friend in Oklahoma until it was over, didn't call my friend in Clearwater, New Symrna Beach, or Gainesville or many other places until Lynn came home.

I felt guilty for not calling everyone, but I had no energy; all i could do was handle the immediate circle of those who had to know, and get through the days and nights. They would either understand or not, I could do no more.

He was out in 3 days, with a stint in his artery, tests that confirmed no damage to the heart, a big appetite, a huge hospital bill, lots of medicine, and stern orders to drink lots of water, lose 25 more pounds, and watch the stress. Oh, yeah, and get some sleep, both of us!!

We're working on all of it, enjoying yet another Christmas Miracle.

Christmas Time

Christmas Eve of the past brought the opening of an early gift for each child, then enjoying a cheesey fondue, shrimp, and finger food the kids requested and whatever the budget could afford.

Now, with the kids all grown, and no little ones nearby, we get together as jobs allow. We've learned to be flexible, the standard tradtions tend to be the small gift giving and the food. Always the food.

Every surface in the house will have scented light, cold drinks, and food trays. This Christmas Eve, our two youngest sons will be arriving early in the day, so the snacks will begin then and not end until Christmas evening. Our oldest son will not get here until his sports club closes, sometime after 2:30am. He'll crash on the sofa and begin to eat when he wakes on Christmas day.

My childhood Christmases differ than the ones we have now. I long for those times, but it's gone, and what I bring forward into the present is the happy attitudes, the plentiful menu, and miles of smiles. Around my house, you might want to turn on the patience and keep the button for forgiveness handy. With three grown sons who possess strong personalities and opinions, the conversation can often become a bit too lively for my taste.

Christmas Eve begins our two day celebration of Christmas. The gifts will be exchanged on Christmas morning and until then, we eat and talk and watch movies and sleep. The early fingerfoods will include shrimp cocktail, jalapeno poppers, an assortment of breads and vegetable dippers for cheese fondue, assorted dips, homemade guacamole and chips, sliced suasages, tiny spicy meatballs, a homemade stew, and cornbread. Chocolate cookies are everywhere and sometimes fudge. This year, I'm not too sure about the fudge.

With Lynn's recent heart attack, we're determined to not create everything that's running around in my head. I am trying to set limits on the menu, but I'll probably be the first to break that rule. Oh! How succulent is the vision of food on the tables and me with my feet up, Lynn sitting peacefully still on the couch. Uh, huh. Won't happen, but I can dream.

Christmas day, we have assorted homemade breads coming out of the oven about 9:00am, so I don't have to nag anyone to get up. The best wake up call in the world is the aroma of sweet cinnamon butter rolls, pancakes, and bacon. MM, MM good! Scrambled eggs on the side. (Lynn's having oatmeal.)

The midday Christmas meal will explode our caloric limit with it's tradtional turkey and dressing, roast beef, leg of lamb, mashed potatoes, yams, and at least as many vegetables as the local market; add in succulent apple pie, peach cobbler, chocolate cake to complete the meltdown.

As the "kids" lay around, they will be arguing sports, examining their traditional gift of shirts, money cards, and this year MP3's. Mom and Dad will be slaving away in the kitchen chopping squash, carmelizing yams, and setting out the relish tray. We'll trip over each other and the dog as we arrange butter- crusted cobblers on the counter. Cold cherry pie salad (made with cherry pie filling, dry cherry jello, pecans, crushed pineapple) hides under the whipped cream topping, and the leg of lamb browns in the countertop oven as it waits for the mint jelly. The turkey rests before carving and cornbread stuffing slides into the big oven, ending it's cool snooze in the fridge.

Kids moan that they aren't hungry as they remember the big breakfast of pancakes and sweet rolls, but the savory smells soon change their minds, and we all make room for more.

Mashed potatoes take on their once a year flavor with added unsalted butter and a pint of heavy cream. The electric mixer works overtime to whip that concoction into a buttery white cloud of heaven. Lynn has to lay off that this year, well, maybe just a bite.

Lynn will pause long enough to remind me that I have a piece of everything we're cooking on my shirt and in my hair, so I'll have to make time for that quick shower and change into a comfy shirt and jeans. No fussy dressing in this house.

When I've vacated the long narrow bathroom, I'll tell Lynn it's his turn and make sure he splashes on his new cologne. I'm not sure how "Halston" will mix with the smell of giblet gravy but I bet I'll like it.

In the commotion of Christmas, Lynn and I will both cook, which can make our tiny kitchen quite crowded as we dance-step merrily, bumping into each other and saying "You're in my way" about a million times. Ok, not always "merrily," but together. That's the price of "together," you know. Not always merrily. But worth it.

Our Christmas. Our Traditions, Our Life. Another year, and may we all have another.

Merry Christmas, from our house to yours. May your dreams come true, and your heart be merry.