Preparing for three events to show off the newly installed windows at the Depression-era homestead, I'd worked many hours and days earlier. One thing I remembered to do: I hid two boxes of mac-and-cheese in the back of the pantry for the granddaughter who, last Christmas, betook herself to the kitchen, opened the cupboard, spied said product, and proceeded--without my permission--to "make it like my mom taught me how." She's now a high-school senior and a trifle more sensitive. Or perhaps she wasn't as hungry this year.
After a day with my children and theirs on Monday, Christmas Eve day, from 11 a.m. till 3:30 p.m., I napped. (I knew I must keep up my "oldest person" strength for the next day's occasion.) Three grown children, two spouses and five grandchildren gathered for the annual event. One child-spouse-daughter had come home from Florida at Thanksgiving, so eschewed a Christmas visit.
With the high cost of purchasing 30 windows and having them installed, I opted for leaner gifts this year. One practicing-musician grandson received a foot-tall bust of Bach that was my gift from the church many years ago.
Another grandson--the one I raised from an infant, who is now 28--received the mountain dulcimer I'd used at UALR's summer Poet Laureate program back in the 1980s. He attended Henderson State on a trumpet scholarship but had let his active music participation lapse. He spent most of the rest of the day fiddling (oops, wrong instrument) with it.
The oldest grandson didn't own the second and third copies of my published books, so he received those. He's a dispatcher for the England Police/Fire Department.
The daughters and granddaughters received gift cards, and the son, two country Christmas CDs and his grandpa's whetstone. I gave the son-in-law a Reader's Digest book from my collection. The daughter-in-law scored a splashy ring (purchased) and a necklace-and-earring set from my collection.
So much for a memorable Christmas Eve day.
Would I be up to the next day, the 25th of December? All the cleaning was done, but I had to make soup and a new batch of wassail before the noon gathering.
The five siblings--one from Mayflower, two from Little Rock, two from Benton--and I had agreed on a "crockpot soup" meal. One brought three pies, two others brought soups, one brought ham sandwiches. One brought grapes and cheese, and a niece brought a huge green salad and dressings.
After the obligatory, historical, sung rendition of "Be Present at Our Table, Lord," nine adults filled their plates and soup bowls and sat around the old pedestal dining table, extended with several leaves. The small family of four, including two young boys, sat nearby with TV trays--all place-matted, napkin-ringed napery, plated and silver-wared just like at the big table.
Family chatter ensued as it always does when we are together. Only one sibling, a Californian who recently turned 80, was missing, but he visited during Thanksgiving so we were all together then. Folks seemed to like the new windows, and nearly all asked if they kept the previously drafty house warmer.
"Yes, it warms up faster than before," I answered, to nods from those who knew it would.
After adjourning to the living room, gift-giving of a sort began. One pulled on a Santa hat and began the dispersal. Some demurred, saying they hadn't brought anything, but the rest of us pooh-poohed the objection and the giving continued. Softly in the background, An Oscar Peterson Christmas CD played. Sitting next to the speaker was a former band director, who agreed that when I had heard it many more times, he might accept my offer of it as a gift.
One always-cold sister stood in front of the gas-log fireplace. Before the day was out, she was hosting their two boys and families. One brother had invited a friend for dinner that evening. One sister gave us sheets of paper with the heading, "This is no ordinary gift," a contribution in our names to Heifer International. A flea-market maven gave out appealing gifts. For me, two cobalt-blue glass bottles for my collection, and tiny clothespins with music symbols on them--perfect for use in the bell choir folder. I gave dishtowels, one with a matching oven mitt, another with a matching potholder. I gave one brother a coffee-table book of great painters that he had given to our parents for Christmas in 1999!
After all had left, I finished loading the dishwasher, put the perishable food away and organized the others in Ziploc bags on the countertop.
Because, come Sunday, I'm hosting the church where I play piano. "The whole church?" one friend asked, astonished. "Twenty people," I answered.
Can't wait.
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Pat Laster is a writer of prose and poetry living in Benton.
Editorial on 01/04/2019