The Christmas tree
The tree in the living room is special in our home.
For years it has been a family project to put up, decorate and then snoop into the packages placed beneath it.
The worst peeker in the house is . . . no, not the youngest of the kids . . . but the mother of the house.
She's always in a hurry to get the tree up and down just as fast after Christmas. A number of years ago we had the artificial tree in the living room and a real tree in the basement rec room. This year our family is smaller again so we've settled for a single tree.
Well, anyway, back to putting up the tree.
"Gimme the red ones," I said to the skinny boy who has been dieting and wrestling at NCHS.
"No dad," he said. "The red ones don't go in there, that's where you put the white ones."
He was explaining the color coding used in putting the artificial branches onto the trunk of the tree. Trouble is, the paint rubbed off several years ago and he has been the sole put-er-upper and paint-er-upper.
He has been pretty good about repainting (and reluctantly shared the project with his younger sister) and keeping track of the branches.
When we got it all put together and started decorating, we got some flak from the kitchen.
"That's awful. Don't goof it up. Now, keep those straight. Don't break any of those."
I winked to the skinny boy and we shouldered everything she could toss at us and we kept on decorating. After a while she came into the room with a box of old decorations. They were very old and very favored. She offered them to us, and we knew that she approved.
When the job was finished we had to have an "opening" for our neighbor boy, Ryan Kennell, son of Mr. and Mrs. Dennis Kennell. We placed the call and it wasn't but a few moments when we got his opinion. He looked out of a window at his home over to our home—he liked it.
We got a second call later from Ryan. Millie decided she didn't like the tree at its particular location so we had to move it. Ryan said it was still OK, but not as pretty as it was by the sliding glass door.
Santa has been very good to us. In fact we had sort of an early gift exchange.
"I knew that's what you'd do, Mom," saith the boy.
"What-ever are you talking about?" she asked.
"Dad's Christmas present. I knew you'd wait until I was almost out of high school before getting him a snow blower."
Our snow scooping days go back to little girls and special little shovels, a cocker spaniel puppy and a whole lot of snow. We still have one of the little shovels and we have saved the original "big" shovel because we always want to remember "the good old days." Ha.
The Queen Bee got her present some time ago, but we won't let her have it until the right time. Mrs. Emil (Dorothy) Webering took the old wedding bands, and remade them into something old . . . but new.
We can't tell you about gifts for the two at home because that would be fudgin'. We can tell you about Jeannea's birthday which was shortly before Christmas.
She got her ears pierced.
So?
So . . . no especially big deal among teen-agers. Except that this teen-ager once said that was something she'd never do and signed a special NOTICE with names of witnesses.
Oh, they do grow up, mother.
We'll be gone Christmas Day. We will have Christmas dinner with the great-grandmother in Wilber. She was 85 this month.
Now, it's mostly covered dishes, and the women do a fine job of lugging the food around, but back in the days when the great-grandmother was doing the cooking, well, that was something else.
There was slurping good, juicy duck, sticky dumplings, sauer kraut, twisted rolls, lots of vegetables, too many cheese salads, the best tasting duck "grease" ever poured over a dumpling, jellies, fruit and . . . one bottle of wine, a sip for everyone on a special occasion.
Merry Christmas from the Beaumonts.