Christmas morning! I awoke to the sun peeking out above the snow-covered hill in our back yard. A single doe was stood very stately and looked back at me as I gazed out into the first morning light. What a beautiful and appropriate first site of Christmas morning. Pure nature: God's work. It all seemed so right.
After letting Doodles outside, I put on a pot of coffee and pre-heated the oven for my Christmas breakfast dish: a french-toast casserole recipe from my good friend, Patti. I warmed the various syrups (regular and sugar-free), and sliced the fruit. The dining table had been pre-set for Christmas brunch last night. Every thing this morning was pretty easy. After letting Doodles inside, I wiped his paws with a kitchen towel. They were full of clumps of snow from him playing in the yard. He jumped on the sofa with me while I drank my morning coffee: a brief respite before the hustle and bustle of Christmas Day began.
Soon, the kids were all up, my Grand-dog was let outside, and stockings were pulled from their hooks on the fireplace mantel. One-by-one, we emptied them of their tiny treasures; a Christmas tradition from long ago. It was fun to see what 'Santa' had brought each of us. Brightly-colored hair bands and hand lotion for Nichole, a new CD for Jayson, Justin's favorite cologne, mini-puzzles for Gary, and pretty earrings for me.
Next, I called my Dad to wish him a 'Happy Birthday.' Although Christmas is all about celebrating Jesus' birthday, it is my father's birthday too. I never forget to telephone him during the first part of the morning, before any presents are opened or breakfast is served. "Happy Birthday, Dad," I yelled into the phone. "Kim, is that you," he teased. "Thanks, Honey. How's everything going over there?" I told him all about our rare 'white Christmas' in St. Louis: the first in eight years. "It's so pretty outside, Dad. I wish you could see it."
My father went on to tell me how much he enjoyed dinner at my Aunt's house last night and how lovely his church service had been. He said he missed all of us, and went on to tell me that he put on Mom's Christmas tree lights earlier this morning, while it was still dark in the desert sky. He hadn't lit her tree since I left Arizona, and today it was appropriate. He placed his favorite picture of her next to the newly lit tree, told her 'Merry Christmas' and sat down in her favorite chair; covering his bare legs with her prayer shawl. Of course in telling me this he started to cry. My heart broke for him and I too, began to tear up. I reminded him of how much she loved him...of how much she knew he loved her. "It's okay to cry, Dad," I told him. "We all miss her, especially today."
Our breakfast brunch was delicious. Patti's recipe will be repeated next year. Every one has agreed! After clearing the Christmas china from the table, we put on holiday tunes and sat by the fire. Nichole was the designated 'Santa' this year: doling out presets one at a time to each member of the family. Not many to go around this year, but no one seemed to notice. Or, if they did they didn't mind. Every one received gifts they liked or had wished for, and all were happy in the end. Being together was extra special this Christmas. I'm not sure if it was due to the loss of my mother (my children's grandmother) just a few weeks before. Or maybe it was the possible loss of Jayson earlier in the week. Whatever the reason, we all feel truly blessed this year. Blessed to be alive, blessed to have each other, blessed to be able to celebrate the season together.
All too soon breakfast was eaten; the gifts were unwrapped; crinkled paper was thrown away; foil bows and cardboard boxes were saved for next year; time came for the kids to leave for their next round of celebration. Jayson, Nichole and my Grand-dog were on their way to her parents farm in western Missouri for a weekend of sledding, cross-country skiing, and eating more turkey. Justin was expected for an afternoon of watching football with his friends. We helped them load up their cars with gifts, clothing, and dishes of leftover food. Justin reaped the benefit of most of the food. He was the single one. After today he has enough leftovers to feed his roommates for at least a day or two. My Christmas gift to all of them!
We shut the door behind us; the sudden quietness of the house seemed deafening to our ears. Doodles looked up at us with sad eyes, already missing his play-mate. I felt sad too, as I always do whenever the kids drive away. Ever since they left the nest, it's never been the same. An occasional visit is all I get now, but for that I am thankful. I have raised them to be independent. They have their own lives to live and I wouldn't have it any other way. Gary went downstairs to watch football while I grabbed my new book to begin reading.
My mind wandered to Christmases past when I was a child. How my mother loved Christmas!!! No one ever did Christmas like Mom did. My childhood home was decorated from room to room in all it's seasonal splendor. A tall, live blue spruce tree traditionally sat in the front window for all to see. Shiny ornaments sparkled and danced on each branch with rainbow-colored lights placed perfectly between them. Miniature dolls played house on faux snow covered window sills, and Dad's boy-hood train chugged on HO tracks placed around the tree; it's whistle blowing puffs of black smoke.
My mother was very poor as a child. I think Christmas was her time to 'make-up' for what she never had, herself. Stacks and stacks of pristine wrapped presents mingled beneath our tree: too many to count. Yet, my mother always knew how many gifts she purchased. There were five of children in our family and she made sure that each and every one of us had exactly the same number of gifts. No one ever had one less or one more. She even had a specific way of displaying the presents around the tree. She presented them in such a way so that there was never a bundle of presents for one child sitting in one place. Instead, each child had gifts evenly dispersed all around (and beyond) the bottom of the tree skirt. This way, 'Santa' never had the unfortunate opportunity to give two gifts in a row to the same child. Mother made sure that everything was always equal: right down to the number of trinkets in our Christmas stockings.
Speaking of stockings, ours were gifts in and among themselves. They were always filled beyond their brim; overflowing with delightful treasures. Some inside were wrapped and some were not. Before long I learned that the 'extra-special' stocking gifts were wrapped in colored foil paper and tied with curling ribbon. How I loved to rip open the the tiny foiled boxes! To my delight, I usually found a shiny new piece of jewelry embedded with colored gemstones hidden under a square of soft protective cotton. Real or not, each and every piece was a newly cherished possession.
Oh, and there was Christmas dinner! No one ever cooked or baked like my mother. Days and days before the holiday she began to roll out dough with her red handled, wooden rolling pin. Before long, creamy colored dough rolled in white flour covered every inch of our kitchen counter tops. Dough for pie crusts, cookie dough, bread dough, and dough for noodles. My mother baked pies from scratch (freshly squeezed lemon was her speciality) and roasted range- free turkey butchered from the farm in the next little town. No one ever left the table hungry and if they did it was their own fault. Mom always had enough food for at least twenty people (usually more), and leftovers were gobbled up with delight.
I find it only fitting that this Christmas evening I'm thinking of my mother. The first Christmas I must celebrate without her. The first Christmas where I didn't call her with exciting news of presents just received. The first Christmas that I couldn't brag to her of how well her recipes turned out for me. The first Christmas I am truly missing her. The first Christmas I know she is gone; never to share the holiday with me again.
This is the first Christmas filled of memories from my childhood spent with Mother, not so very long ago. Blessings from the past. Miracles from the present. Hopefulness for the future.
Merry Christmas Mother. I love you.
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