The Thing About Christmas
Dec. 26th, 2008 16:51![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mapsedgeThe thing about Christmas is that for four weeks, starting in our family with the day after Thanksgiving, the world immediately around me is entirely devoted to preparations leading to one evening and one day. When it all ends, it ends with the abruptness of walking into a closed glass door; as I stand, stunned, a void opens before me emblazoned with the words, "Okay. What do I do now?"
The holiday passed as it usually does, with a lot of noise, a dose of family discord (not the Morrises, mind you), and a helluva huge feast (more on that in a moment).
Michelle's family from Tennessee is staunchly fundamentalist Southern Baptist, and her grandmother is old both in body and in spirit. That she was here in Missouri at all speaks to her son's dedication to having her here for Christmas: I think she would just as soon have stayed home in her four room house in a town of less than three hundred souls. Her life is there - daughter and grandsons to dote on her - and no involvement here, thus, no real connection. The image of a person shadowed by a little black rain cloud would not come amiss, though her cloud is of her own making.
Back on topic: you know the old saw about not talking religion or politics over dinner? With Michelle's family, we don't talk religion or politics ever. It makes conversations short, having no common ground about which to converse. Michelle and I don't gossip, and even if we did, we don't know the same people, so there's no one to gossip about anyway.
Because finances are much tighter than in past years, it was much more about the kids than Michelle and me. I've found as I get older, I'm content to watch my kids experience Christmas; it's much more fun for them anyway. Katie got (almost) everything she asked for, Jami got nothing he didn't go bonkers over.
For my part, Michelle bought me a set of Calphalon Contemporary sauté/fry pans (we loves us some Calphalon) and a fine looking shirt. I got Michelle her usual Edward Hicks yearly calendar and a mandolin from Gilbert Whitney. Yes, we like to cook around here.
The real present, though, hasn't arrived yet. I'm expecting it Tuesday. You'll have to wait for Michelle's account of it when it arrives. She reads my journal and I don't want to give the surprise away.
Yesterday, Christmas day, was the real challenge. Even under the best of circumstances making the Roast Beast and Who-Hash is challenging. With me and Michelle fighting the residuals of our individual infections - we've all got the same one and are past contagious, but still feel like hell - it was a hard meal to cook. All homemade, though, and all natural.
The menu finally came to: turkey roasted with herbed butter under the skin; giblet gravy with a splash of red wine; homemade pecan and cranberry stuffing*; homemade cranberry sauce; corn and green beans; yeast rolls. Oh, and a pineapple/walnut spice cake from a neighbor. It was, all in all, a fine meal, stacked to the rafters with tryptophan-ic yummy goodness.
As a creature who likes routine and smooth sailing, I'm ready for Christmas to be done. Much to Michelle's surprise, I arbitrarily began putting the decorations away this afternoon - a task I usually don't help with beyond carrying the boxes up and down stairs. The train is boxed, the tree about half de-ornamented, and we're getting ready to leave and deliver a cookie care package to friends.
So, can I sum up the holiday in a few words, make this entry end like the literature it pretends to be? No, I don't think so; the stuff of stories, events like this defy simple description.
And I'm not even really done yet.
* recipes available upon request.
The holiday passed as it usually does, with a lot of noise, a dose of family discord (not the Morrises, mind you), and a helluva huge feast (more on that in a moment).
Michelle's family from Tennessee is staunchly fundamentalist Southern Baptist, and her grandmother is old both in body and in spirit. That she was here in Missouri at all speaks to her son's dedication to having her here for Christmas: I think she would just as soon have stayed home in her four room house in a town of less than three hundred souls. Her life is there - daughter and grandsons to dote on her - and no involvement here, thus, no real connection. The image of a person shadowed by a little black rain cloud would not come amiss, though her cloud is of her own making.
Back on topic: you know the old saw about not talking religion or politics over dinner? With Michelle's family, we don't talk religion or politics ever. It makes conversations short, having no common ground about which to converse. Michelle and I don't gossip, and even if we did, we don't know the same people, so there's no one to gossip about anyway.
Because finances are much tighter than in past years, it was much more about the kids than Michelle and me. I've found as I get older, I'm content to watch my kids experience Christmas; it's much more fun for them anyway. Katie got (almost) everything she asked for, Jami got nothing he didn't go bonkers over.
For my part, Michelle bought me a set of Calphalon Contemporary sauté/fry pans (we loves us some Calphalon) and a fine looking shirt. I got Michelle her usual Edward Hicks yearly calendar and a mandolin from Gilbert Whitney. Yes, we like to cook around here.
The real present, though, hasn't arrived yet. I'm expecting it Tuesday. You'll have to wait for Michelle's account of it when it arrives. She reads my journal and I don't want to give the surprise away.
Yesterday, Christmas day, was the real challenge. Even under the best of circumstances making the Roast Beast and Who-Hash is challenging. With me and Michelle fighting the residuals of our individual infections - we've all got the same one and are past contagious, but still feel like hell - it was a hard meal to cook. All homemade, though, and all natural.
The menu finally came to: turkey roasted with herbed butter under the skin; giblet gravy with a splash of red wine; homemade pecan and cranberry stuffing*; homemade cranberry sauce; corn and green beans; yeast rolls. Oh, and a pineapple/walnut spice cake from a neighbor. It was, all in all, a fine meal, stacked to the rafters with tryptophan-ic yummy goodness.
As a creature who likes routine and smooth sailing, I'm ready for Christmas to be done. Much to Michelle's surprise, I arbitrarily began putting the decorations away this afternoon - a task I usually don't help with beyond carrying the boxes up and down stairs. The train is boxed, the tree about half de-ornamented, and we're getting ready to leave and deliver a cookie care package to friends.
So, can I sum up the holiday in a few words, make this entry end like the literature it pretends to be? No, I don't think so; the stuff of stories, events like this defy simple description.
And I'm not even really done yet.
* recipes available upon request.