It is difficult to get back on this horse, the writing horse, mostly because I don't believe I have anything important to say.
So I'll start with what's on my mind. Christmas. I am trying to make a Christmas plan that pleases me and everyone I love. Let me tell you, that is a difficult thing to do. There has been fission in my nuclear family several times over so there are a lot of people, times and traditions in the mix.
There is one large Christmas gathering I have firmly fixed in my mind. It is the last Christmas Eve I spent with my brother Tom. The entire clan was at my house. All of us were wearing Christmas best. I wore my royal blue velvet dress, with the sweetheart neckline and princess sleeves which I had worn for at least five Christmas Eve celebrations, maybe more. Dad, Tom and David all wore ties.
Our faces were flushed from the heat thrown from the fireplace and too much wine. It was chaotic and crowded. There were a number of small explosions throughout the evening as glass bulbs were brushed and fell from the tree to the hardwood floor. We argued about politics I'm certain; the Clinton's were leaving the White House and Mr. Bush was about to move in. I believe my brother grilled Dan, my soon-to-be son-in-law about the supreme court, insulting him and raising the ire of Kathleen, the soon-to-be wife.
We ate chocolates and cheeses, shrimp and raw oysters, and drank several bottles of Champagne before dinner. All of us had eaten too much when we finally squeezed in around the table. And I was crying because I had burned the ham, again.
This wasn't the first or last burned Christmas ham. It had become a tradition to have dry, blackened-on-the-edges, spiral-cut ham on Christmas Eve at my house. I was and still am always stunned when I pull it out of the oven. How could I have done it again?
The ham has become emblematic of Christmas for me. I get caught up in unrealistic expectations hoping for perfect family harmony. And in the end, the ham is still burned. Who needs perfection? I eventually laugh at myself through my tears and urge everyone to have extra helping of au gratin potatoes.
I don't know what Christmas Eve will bring this year. Don't know if I will be at my new condo or serving ham. But I do want to have a least one noisy, heated, chaotic, too-much Christmas celebration with my family, my entire family, before the season is over. I'll let you know if I manage to schedule it.
So I'll start with what's on my mind. Christmas. I am trying to make a Christmas plan that pleases me and everyone I love. Let me tell you, that is a difficult thing to do. There has been fission in my nuclear family several times over so there are a lot of people, times and traditions in the mix.
There is one large Christmas gathering I have firmly fixed in my mind. It is the last Christmas Eve I spent with my brother Tom. The entire clan was at my house. All of us were wearing Christmas best. I wore my royal blue velvet dress, with the sweetheart neckline and princess sleeves which I had worn for at least five Christmas Eve celebrations, maybe more. Dad, Tom and David all wore ties.
Our faces were flushed from the heat thrown from the fireplace and too much wine. It was chaotic and crowded. There were a number of small explosions throughout the evening as glass bulbs were brushed and fell from the tree to the hardwood floor. We argued about politics I'm certain; the Clinton's were leaving the White House and Mr. Bush was about to move in. I believe my brother grilled Dan, my soon-to-be son-in-law about the supreme court, insulting him and raising the ire of Kathleen, the soon-to-be wife.
We ate chocolates and cheeses, shrimp and raw oysters, and drank several bottles of Champagne before dinner. All of us had eaten too much when we finally squeezed in around the table. And I was crying because I had burned the ham, again.
This wasn't the first or last burned Christmas ham. It had become a tradition to have dry, blackened-on-the-edges, spiral-cut ham on Christmas Eve at my house. I was and still am always stunned when I pull it out of the oven. How could I have done it again?
The ham has become emblematic of Christmas for me. I get caught up in unrealistic expectations hoping for perfect family harmony. And in the end, the ham is still burned. Who needs perfection? I eventually laugh at myself through my tears and urge everyone to have extra helping of au gratin potatoes.
I don't know what Christmas Eve will bring this year. Don't know if I will be at my new condo or serving ham. But I do want to have a least one noisy, heated, chaotic, too-much Christmas celebration with my family, my entire family, before the season is over. I'll let you know if I manage to schedule it.
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