Sunday the 23rd I ushered at St. James (for once walking the collection plate the correct direction up the aisle). It was hard being away from my chicken all morning, but I got my fix when I returned home.
Amazingly, the police were not called as we assaulted neighbors up and down the street with song. Several of them punished us by making us eat all their Christmas cookies, but masochists that we were we returned home and ate even more cookies, numbing the pain with egg nog and rum.
I worked in the office Christmas Eve while the family lounged around and told fascinating and hilarious stories I missed, many of them about me. We went to Christmas Eve service, where we sung along loudly in harmony. The family in front of us seemed to, uh, notice.
Then we came home, got in jammies, and cooked dinner. The kids went to bed with Santa Alert at Level Red. Francis has a psychic connection to Santa and is able to tell the kids where Mr. Clause is in his rounds and, unfortunately, the exact nature of the GI distress the Big Elf is experiencing. Then it was time for the parents to prepare stockings. At 1:30 in the morning we got to bed just before Saint Nick plunged down the chimney.
Thank Santa the kids didn’t awaken until around 7:50 Christmas morning. We had agreed not to disturb Francis and Diane until 8:00, so there was just time to start the coffee and grab the video camera before heading downstairs to see the loot. Santa seemed to establish a theme for each child this year. Abby’s was Animal, with the arrival of Mandy, a one-year-old rescue cat who is best described as Prozac with fur. Sellers’s was Mineral, exemplified by a giant crystal diamond he had fallen in love with at the mall, accompanied by geodes and a glass chess set. Julian’s was Vegetable, with Santa responding to his single-minded and oft-repeated request for a green tractor with which to assist his mom’s agricultural endeavors.
The rest of Christmas unfolded over the course of the day, with presents all opened by 5:00 PM, just in time for the drinking to start. There were breaks for chess and for Sellers to try out another of his wishes, a nutcracker (He loves to crack nuts, but he won’t eat them. Pecans, anyone?). We hunkered down to watch Ratatouille and, inspired by the movie, cooked up a dinner of fillet mignon, broccoli, and bulgur wheat (better than it sounds).
Wednesday I had to return to work. The rest of the family continued to enjoy their Christmas presents and have amazing and fascinating conversations I’ll never hear about. We had another pleasant dinner then put the kids to bed so we could watch The Bourne Ultimatum. We would never describe ourselves as action movie types, but we seem to have an unlimited appetite for watching a stone-faced Matt Damon kick people’s butts all over Europe.
Thursday I had my usual day off and, sadly, Francis and Diane had to leave for Staunton. We at least had time for crepes, continuing the Ratatouille theme. The next two days were consumed with laundry and cleaning up (for us this is a vacation). Saturday I worked in the office while the rest of the family played outside. Margaret was in heaven, pruning bushes, watering plants, putting down mulch, and taking her turn mothering an entire neighborhood worth of children.
I got home in time to walk Peep, who’s growing at an alarming rate. I took the kids out to get her a new, larger cage, which looks like it will only hold her a couple of weeks until we build a coop. On an outing to the local farm supply store I began to have visions of our back yard this summer: fresh eggs in the coop, heirloom tomatoes behind the shed, and basil, thyme, and rosemary flanking the Adirondack chairs. This is the year of Turtle Hall Farms. Out motto: organic, sustainable, seasonal, and very, very local.
With the luxury of Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday all free we’ve launched into organizing our lives. Margaret re-worked our pantry, which was like a archeologic dig through our culinary lives. Why, over a decade ago, did I need three bottles of Karo syrup? Remember when Elmo’s Diner ran out of malt for their milk shakes and I bought some to bring with me? Nineteen-ninety-seven was quite a year!
I also got to gut and re-construct our potty with help from Julian. There was only one part I didn’t replace, the flapper, which turns out to be the source of the leak.
I write now with a substantial headache (grade 3/10, or one third as painful as a dislocated shoulder). We went to our friends Nancy and Ken Kotz’s home a New Year’s party last night. Margaret, in keeping with the “open-minded” theme, wore her new gauzy yellow blouse with an attractive black brassiere clearly visible underneath. For this reason she spent much of the evening with her arms crossed, at least until her fifth or sixth drink. There was Saturday Night Fever on the television and Twister in the parlor, and we rung in the New Year with a no-rules, free-form game of Pictionary. Yeah, we’re getting older.
We have no New Year’s resolutions to share, but we’re reading to each other aloud from Chickens Magazine and dreaming of the eggs to come. Happy New Year, y’all.
David
1 comment:
DOES THAT CHICK MAKE SALAD OR SH..
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