Do you sometimes have a different kind of Christmas, or, is it always (wonderfully) the same?
Ours, this year belongs to the unusual. No kids, no family, no big gathering. Ed, that non-Christmas guy and me, the one who plays my holiday playlist nonstop from December 2nd onward. Together. Just the two of us.
We'd talked about going away. To a bed and breakfast somewhere in rural Wisconsin. To a farm. To Milwaukee, to Pewaukee, to the south to the north to the east to the west -- just somewhere. And we gave up on the idea because honestly, we love home best.
The kids and grandkids are all in Chicago, my mom is in rehab, and Ed and I are home.
It's another warm day. The sun is a tad shy, but still, it feels pleasantly mild outside. I feed the animals -- or some of them. The porch kitties have disappeared again, possibly because the shed cats too often enter their space in the morning and if there is one thing that Stop Sign and her brood don't like, it is an invasion of quickly moving forms. (Dance has also taken to napping on the cat stand, taking over what was once Stop Sign's space.)
I had really wanted just to write all day. From dawn to dusk. It's been a while since I tackled a short story.
But the mundane tasks of daily life took far longer than I imagined (don't they always). By afternoon, the kid play space is immaculate, the laundry is spinning, the Goodwill bags are full and the story remains just an idea.
(I set Ed to the task of building little Sparrow's Christmas car...)
All done. Presents for three kids and a handful of grownups!
To give ourselves outdoor time, Ed and I go out to play disc golf. The course is closed for the season and the metal baskets have been removed, but we play our own version. "You have to hit that tree!" is a common rule for us.
(pretty sky on the drive home!)
In the evening, we go to Liliana's -- a a family owned Creole restaurant a short drive down some rural roads, serving a fixed Christmas Eve dinner tonight. I have to smile at the menu -- the main dish is turkey. Polish people don't eat meat on Christmas Eve. I think even non-Catholics abide by this! It's so ingrained. In Poland today's meal would include beet soup with mushroom dumplings followed by fish -- herring, then carp. Definitely carp. (Many serve Christmas carp in cold jelly, or in the alternative with sweet seasoning -- following the so-called Jewish carp recipe, which is a little funny, don't you think?) For dessert? Stewed fruits, poppy seed cake, wheat pudding with sweetmeats,and the gingerbread cookies you baked with your kids.
In truth, I never followed these menu dictates. My parents didn't really fuss with anything at Christmas time (they weren't holiday people) and so I invented traditions with my own kids -- ones that were more tied to things my children liked to eat rather than things that Poles across the ocean were fretting about. (In fact, a dozen years passed before my kids even visited Poland; I was pretty removed from my country of birth in those days. I go through phases with that.) But now, I have a mild desire to take up where my grandmother left off: my grandkids may hate beet soup and think mushroom dumplings as rather a bizarre option, but over time, they can look back at dotty old Gogs who put things on the table that smelled weird initially, but over time grew on them.
These are just thoughts, of course. Tonight, Ed and I eat turkey.
(with a mocha-pepperminty sweet thing at the end)
Are you tracking the eight little reindeer tonight?
Happy holidays... happy winter... happy...
Ours, this year belongs to the unusual. No kids, no family, no big gathering. Ed, that non-Christmas guy and me, the one who plays my holiday playlist nonstop from December 2nd onward. Together. Just the two of us.
We'd talked about going away. To a bed and breakfast somewhere in rural Wisconsin. To a farm. To Milwaukee, to Pewaukee, to the south to the north to the east to the west -- just somewhere. And we gave up on the idea because honestly, we love home best.
The kids and grandkids are all in Chicago, my mom is in rehab, and Ed and I are home.
It's another warm day. The sun is a tad shy, but still, it feels pleasantly mild outside. I feed the animals -- or some of them. The porch kitties have disappeared again, possibly because the shed cats too often enter their space in the morning and if there is one thing that Stop Sign and her brood don't like, it is an invasion of quickly moving forms. (Dance has also taken to napping on the cat stand, taking over what was once Stop Sign's space.)
I had really wanted just to write all day. From dawn to dusk. It's been a while since I tackled a short story.
But the mundane tasks of daily life took far longer than I imagined (don't they always). By afternoon, the kid play space is immaculate, the laundry is spinning, the Goodwill bags are full and the story remains just an idea.
(I set Ed to the task of building little Sparrow's Christmas car...)
All done. Presents for three kids and a handful of grownups!
To give ourselves outdoor time, Ed and I go out to play disc golf. The course is closed for the season and the metal baskets have been removed, but we play our own version. "You have to hit that tree!" is a common rule for us.
(pretty sky on the drive home!)
In the evening, we go to Liliana's -- a a family owned Creole restaurant a short drive down some rural roads, serving a fixed Christmas Eve dinner tonight. I have to smile at the menu -- the main dish is turkey. Polish people don't eat meat on Christmas Eve. I think even non-Catholics abide by this! It's so ingrained. In Poland today's meal would include beet soup with mushroom dumplings followed by fish -- herring, then carp. Definitely carp. (Many serve Christmas carp in cold jelly, or in the alternative with sweet seasoning -- following the so-called Jewish carp recipe, which is a little funny, don't you think?) For dessert? Stewed fruits, poppy seed cake, wheat pudding with sweetmeats,and the gingerbread cookies you baked with your kids.
In truth, I never followed these menu dictates. My parents didn't really fuss with anything at Christmas time (they weren't holiday people) and so I invented traditions with my own kids -- ones that were more tied to things my children liked to eat rather than things that Poles across the ocean were fretting about. (In fact, a dozen years passed before my kids even visited Poland; I was pretty removed from my country of birth in those days. I go through phases with that.) But now, I have a mild desire to take up where my grandmother left off: my grandkids may hate beet soup and think mushroom dumplings as rather a bizarre option, but over time, they can look back at dotty old Gogs who put things on the table that smelled weird initially, but over time grew on them.
These are just thoughts, of course. Tonight, Ed and I eat turkey.
(with a mocha-pepperminty sweet thing at the end)
Are you tracking the eight little reindeer tonight?
Happy holidays... happy winter... happy...
