………The turkeys not even on the table and my Christmas tree is up. My mantles is even flocked with pine. “Is she crazy?” I hear you saying, “Thanksgiving isn’t even over.” While I definitely am a sentimentalist, I’m also a pragmatist. I am a woman alone and need help getting the tree up. My family’s schedule will get crazy after Thanksgiving and getting help will be chancy. So I make a presumptive move and invite everyone for dinner. My goal was not altogether altruistic. Sure, I like to feed them, but even more important to me is getting some help with the tree.
Well once it is up, I might as well decorate it and as long as I have it up, I might as well finish the job. One thing led to another ……and I ended up decorating the whole house.
…….So here I sit. Christmas has come to my house and it should evoke visions of sugarplum fairies. and joy……it should invoke joy. But, it doesn’t. Instead it evokes memories of Christmas past. Some good and some not so good and my mood turns melancholy. The tree had already been put up and the house was decorated when Bill died two years ago on Dec. 15. Funny how the human mind works. I don’t remember much of Christmas that year. I think God had put me in a cocoon to avoid the pain that seemed to arriving in waves.
………..So the next year I faced a decision. Downplay Christmas and opt out of the tree. Kinda pretend Christmas wasn’t there, I determined, however, that Christmas wasn’t about me or for that matter Bill. It was about a larger force. So up went the tree.
……..This year I have found that the tree, which resides in the same spot it has since I was five years old and we moved into the house, has already attract a host of visitors. My Mom and my Dad, my sister Marsha, Bill and my kids when they were little. As I sit looking at that tree, they all come to me in memories. . Those memories made me cry and made me laugh. But they reminded me that regardless of what we encounter and who we lose, Christmas continues.
………..When the kids were little, I was all about scheduling Christmas. I had a calendar on my fridge and every day had the tasks I had to accomplish that day in order to get the presents bought, cookies baked, tree up, and make sure we attended all the plays and parades. I learned a hard lesson one Christmas when missed out on a special moment with my son because I wouldn’t deviate from my schedule.
………..It was a Saturday and the New Cumberland Christmas parade was slated for 11 a.m. The weather was a cold sleet and both my kids were in the parade. I had the morning scheduled for the parade and the afternoon for baking butter cookies. I brought two little frozen kids home with icicles hanging off their costumes and got them changed into warmer clothes. I put Shannon down for a nap, but Doug was another question. He was six and full of energy. As I rolled out the dough in the kitchen, I told him to go find something to do. He did. He got a copy of my Woman’s Day magazine and began reading a story. (What six-year-old reads Woman’s Day?) When I heard a plaintiff “Mommmm” from his bedroom, I knew instantly what he was reading. It was a story about how a little boy finds out there is no Santa Claus. That’s how my baby boy found out the harsh reality of Santa Claus and how his Mom learned that there are things so much more important than a schedule
…….Christmas in the real world gets messy when divorce is in the picture. To those of us who had divorced parents, Christmas morning was a marathon where parents and their spouses came to see the kids open presents in waves. I couldn’t have done it if I had been an only child. Luckily, I had my sister, Marsha, and she and her five kids were a main attraction. Marsha and I made a schedule so Mom and Dad and their spouses each had their own private time with us and the kids. I think we got a man on the moon easier than we got Mom to cooperate with us.
……. I got Mom first and Marsha got Dad first. It was important to stay on schedule and I made the phone call to Mom that the kids were up and she and her spouse, Johnny could come over. I made that call early because you could not rush Mom, especially on a day when photos would be taken. She would tell her first fib of the day when she said they would be right over. Nope, she had to do full makeup and hair and get dressed in an elegant outfit complete with jewelry and often a neck scarf. I would call my sister and from the sound of chaos I knew Dad had arrived on time. It would take two more phone calls and my cranky had already been activated before she arrived. I knew the schedule had already been screwed when my phone rang at 10 a.m. promptly. It would be Marsha. “Dad’s leaving, get Mom out of there.”
…Easier said than done. Mom was a study in passive-aggressive behavior. She would leave when she wanted to leave. I having consumed too much caffeine and sugar from the cookies, didn’t mince words with her. “Gotta go, Mom. Dad’s on his way.” She would sit herself down at the kitchen table and pull a cigarette from her purse; get an ashtray; and say “Mother, would like another cup of coffee. I see some cookies I haven’t tried.” I knew what she was doing and she knew I knew.
……..I would grab her coat, hand it to her and say, “Marsha’s got plenty of cookies and they’re a lot better than mine.” She wasn’t biting and she appeared to be enjoying this encounter. “Mother (she always spoke of herself in the third person) is just going to relax with one cigarette. It’s been a hectic morning and you’re getting yourself all worked up. Look your cheeks are all flushed.” At this point her husband, Johnny Puhowsky, would peek around the corner. I swear this whole scene frightened him, but bless his heart, he was either trying to help me out or just wanted to get to Marsha’s where it was a whole lot more fun and the cookies were better. “Time to make our next stop,” he would bluster as if he were Rudolph and my Mom was a cantankerous reindeer.
…….My Mom was all about equality and she would announce that she had only gotten an hour and a half and she knew our schedule allotted her 2 hours. I was ready for this one. This wasn’t my first rodeo. “That’s because you spent your half hour putting on make-up and doing your hair. What could you do to your hair. You get it done once a week and it doesn’t move.” I was on a roll by this time. “And how long did it take you to find a neck scarf. Really, you needed a neck scarf to complete your outfit.”
……As I looked out the window, I saw the black Lincoln Continental slowing coming down the road. This was it. I picked up her mink jacket (she always dressed for Christmas); handed it and her purse to her and said in a voice my kids said reminded them of Rosemary’s baby, “Go, Mom. Now, go.” She saw the car pull up and cheerfully exited the kitchen door as my Dad and his wife came in the living room door.
……..It was a scene that played out every Christmas and my kids look back upon it as one of the fun things we did at Christmas. Oh, how I would love to have that crazy redhead back again.