Christmas sitting down

 

Christmas at home was everything it should be. We have traveled for the holidays for so many years—to the other kids’ homes and, more often, to B&Bs in ski locations or a few other places, like the year we went to Boerne and rented a huge house with a guest house—all seventeen had a place to sleep.

But this year we were right here in Fort Worth, and I think Jordan and Christian were so pleased to host that they went all out. We began the day opening presents, and that in itself was a break in tradition. At Alter Christmases we eat breakfast before presents, because that’s my family tradition. But this was a Burton Christmas, and their custom is different. So we opened a huge stack of presents, and I now have a new wardrobe of sweaters, jeans, and a shacket (think shirt and jacket combo). A friend told me recently that his family put a limit on the number of presents, and all I could think was that would stifle the Christmas spirit of giving. We know no such limits in my family.

While we were opening, a delicious cheese-and-sausage egg casserole was in the oven, served with poppy seed bread from a neighbor. Christian’s family arrived in the afternoon, and we began snacking on cheeseball and fruit and a dip that his family is partial to. Jordan’s table was beautiful, set with Spode Christmas china, and her dinner bountiful—two kinds of turkey (the Burtons like smoked, the Alters like fresh, and Christian did the latter in the air fryer), traditional green bean casserole, scalloped potatoes from Christian’s sister, mac and cheese (Jordan made Christian’s mom’s recipe), dressing, rolls—so much food that we will eat leftovers for days.

The dinner table

As I’m sure was the sentiment around many American tables, we were grateful for our blessings but acutely aware of those who are less fortunate—the homeless, those immigrants bussed to DC in the dark of winter last night (and a Merry Christmas to you, too, Greg Abbott!), the people of Ukraine. It is a time for outreach. We did talk at the table about how, as children, we were urged to clean our plates and think of the starving people of …. it was a different country, depending on when you grew up. I remember China, Christian remembers Ethiopia, and I think one year it was Yugoslavia.

For me, Christmas was dimmed just a bit by Sophie, who has a bladder infection or UTI (diagnosed by one Judy Alter). She wouldn’t eat her breakfast this morning but drank lots of water—until this evening. I have made her a bowl of weak chicken broth, hoping to get some liquid into her. She’s up and about but obviously doesn’t feel well and won’t come in from the cold when I call her. So the kids are going to get her for me.

Sophie guarding the house

And a lesson I learned over again—it was, for me, a sitting down holiday, and that makes a difference. At breakfast, Jordan waited patiently while I ate half a second helping. Then I was whisked out the door and helped back to the cottage. I know it was because Jordan had lots to do to clean up from breakfast and get ready for dinner. That was fine—I had some things to do, wanted a nap because neither Sophie nor I had slept well last night, etc. But the thing is, if I weren’t sitting on a walker, I’d be rushing through those dishes, helping make sense of the kitchen, feeling like I was useful. It’s a hard adjustment, even if it’s not new. For some reason, today I was particularly aware of it.

My favorite elf

We had dinner early, so Christian’s parents could get home—and by six o’clock I was whisked out the door again and found myself in the cottage. Jordan had a mess to clean in the kitchen, but I thought, “Wow! Six o’clock, and Christmas is over.” The evening loomed long before me. I played around on Facebook for a while and then got in my pajamas and took another nap—why not?

Now it’s nine-thirty, and I am back at my computer. Sophie is so disinterested in food that she won’t come in when I call her, so I had to ask Christian to get her. I made her a bowl of weak chicken broth, and she seemed a bit interested in that. I’ll ask Christian to take her out one more time and hope by morning she’ll have drunk all the broth. Our vet doesn’t open until Tuesday, but I’ll be first in line.

So an almost perfect day ends with a note of worry. Isn’t that how life always is? I’m still feeling the glow from last night’s service, now magnified by the plenty of our day and dinner table. So I’m making a new year’s resolution—to reach out more to those who need a hand up, a warm meal, a toasty blanket. There are so many worthy causes that I’ll have to explore until I find one where I think I can make a difference. But I’d like to carry the Christmas spirit of giving and caring into the new year.

Hope everyone had a blessed day. No doubt there was one thing amiss, be it big like a loved one missing or small as in I burned the turkey (it has happened), but I hope nonetheless you found the joy of the season.