Christmas, 2011

I have a pretty artificial tree with lights already strung on it in a box under the bed but no, Katie wouldn't stand for that. "Oh, Grandma, there's an aura about a real tree. It smells so of Christmas, don't you agree?" She sees my string of tiny white lights and frowns. "Lights on our tree must not be white, Grandma. When all the other lamps are turned off it's dreamy to sit and gaze at the tree's colored lights. White lights just don't lend themselves to dreaminess. They're piercing. OK for downtown or the mall, but not for home."

Now it's done. Our place is small and the tree we picked is too, about three feet tall, but perfectly shaped and decorated with garlands of tinsel and bright shiny balls and ornaments that reek of older Christmases and loved ones who will be coming and others who won't. Some never. The joys and sorrows of Christmases past all come to life in the tree and, always, it is the most beautiful tree ever!

There. I can never contradict my 22 year old granddaughter. This may be her last Christmas here living with me since there's been serious talk of Katie renting a place of her own. I want this holiday to be memorable for her. She wants to learn how to make our traditional Norwegian Christmas eve supper, especially the lefse. If you grew up in Minnesota, as I did, you don't need to ask, what is lefse? It's a flat bread made with mashed potatoes, flour, butter and salt. Rolled thin, gently transferred to a hot dry skillet, turned at just the proper time, it comes out looking limp with little brown spots. Not so appetizing to look at but when you lather it with butter (and spread brown sugar on top, or not), you have only to roll it up and eat it like finger food in the left hand, with a fork in the right for the Norwegian meatballs, A spoon for capturing every drop of gravy, of course! I guarantee, you'll think this the food of Nordic gods!

Now a little music of the season, jingling of bells, music boxes, carolers, Wally and Nancy's new Christmas CD. Music helps to plow through the clean messiness of wrapping gifts in odd corners of the house, shortened days when nights come too early and daytimes too late. Cards with long letters so easily written on computers with brief hand-written notes at the ends. How long has it been since I've seen Liz Oakes? Fifty? No, sixty years! But we keep up our Christmas card correspondence and remember how we met as young Marine wives living in Quonset huts on the Mojave desert where our fighter pilot husbands practiced night flying and the lack of city lights made the Milky Way look like heaven is, indeed, a brilliantly well-populated universe in which to live out eternity.

There will be company coming for brunch the morning of the 24th. My brother, Danny and his Jane's daughter, Barbie, with her new hubby and daughter Erin. Maybe they'll join us for the party that night when all of us we'll pile into cars to go to my granddaughter, Kimberly and Mitch's house. "Wally Pop" and "Nanna," so well loved on Skype have come all the way from Virginia to see Kim and MItch and their two kiddies, Sammie and Max, first of the new generation. Uncle Jordan, loved by all, but especially by these two, will preside with his sister, Kim.

Kingston,  the latest and youngest to arrive via April and Jaime, will be there too with David and Susie, proud grandparents to the little King. Two more babies are still pocketed away in their mommy's tummies and due to come out when the days get longer and warmer. One, a boy child, for Jenny and Luis. He'll be there two with his loving parents. The other, a wee question mark so far, for Rosy and Gray, unable to be there in person, alas. Robin and Paul, whose mini-Christmas eve party came earlier so they could be with Paul's family up north. We'll miss them!

There will be a beehive of activities in the house of our gathering. Katie and Keegan will join the gang, and Auntie Erin, loaded with packages and fun, has flown down from San Francisco. Uncle Jeff and his new girl friend, loved and with us on these occasions. Dinner tables spread out with red and green and candles. Dinner, the once a year spread, then the grand openings, a delight to everyone, especially to see the faces of our recipients. Bright paper wrappings gone to the bin, some saved for next year, excitement and laughter, See's candies, of course, a crackling fire in the fireplace, and candles and music. Jigsaw puzzle groupies and mothers keeping track of who sent their babies a present and to whom they will need to write thank-you notes.

Christmas day will join the Christmases past too and New Year's Day still be on its way, will be another memory. Resolutions, hope, anticipation, and change. The one constant is change.

Tommy, my canary, has run out of songs. I know he and Freddy, the Gouldian finch in the adjacent cage, are ready to be covered up. It's so much cozier to know you're out of sight of people persons when you've tucked your head under your wing. Sleeping should be a secure and private thing. I get bleary-eyed writing this blog, teary-eyed remembering, and soon I'll be sleepy-eyed as I tuck myself in and rest my head on my own pillow. Grateful always for the best, forgetful of the worst, and trustful of the good that ever hangs around us all whether we know it or not, I'm about to sleep now. A prayer of thanks for one babe of all babies, the blessed Christ child. A dreamless sleep, I hope, but if dreams, then happy ones, like Scrooge's new Christmas-present, and Tiny Tim saying, "God bless us, every one!"