If Only In My Dreams
It’s Christmas! The grandkids are just waking up and will come bouncing into the living room to see if Santa figured out they aren’t at their homes. They’ll squeal and marvel at the mound of gifts, and any thought of eating a hearty breakfast will go out the window faster than you can say, “Ho, ho, ho!” Giggles and laughter, smiles and hugs rule the morning, as the cousins go from toy to toy, trying to decide what’s next.
Meanwhile the adults will be alternating kitchen duty, kid duty, and “HELP! I need a few minutes to myself!” time. We’ll have the kitchen tasks written out, with tentative names next to each one. It will be somewhat of a repeat from the Thanksgiving routine, though we usually scale Christmas dinner back a notch or two. There will be mounds of potatoes to peel and chop to accommodate some of the biggest mashed potato eaters this side of the Mississippi. At least two pies to fix—gotta have Aunt Ruth’s No Name Pie (chocolate chip), and then either pecan, apple, or pumpkin for the second one. There will be turkey breast, but also a vegan roast to accommodate those who don’t eat meat. The cornbread dressing will come together as it always does, even though it is never made the same way twice. A little of this, a little of that, and “Hey, come taste this!”
We’ll aim for a noon meal, but it will likely be at least 1:00 before everything is ready. The kids don’t care—the hard part will be dragging them away from the toys. We’ll finally get everybody together and overstuff ourselves with a fine meal.
We’ll share stories of Christmases past. Remember how Grandma Clark used to give everybody socks every year? And Dan’s first Christmas that both grandmothers independently bought stuffed black Lab puppies like Buck, our black Lab, from a company neither had ever heard of before. Or the Christmas that Mom forgot a major present stuffed in her closet and only remembered the next day? Or the exploding blender that spewed pumpkin pie mix all over Annabelle and the kitchen? (Or maybe that was Thanksgiving?) Dad will do his “Peter Percival Pie” recitation with Perfect Precision. And we’ll laugh and laugh, and just enjoy being together.
After lunch, we’ll take naps, and then maybe go outside and play or go for a walk. So much fun to watch the cousins play! And then….
WAIT. If I knew how to put in sound effects into a blog, I’d put the screeching scratch of a needle being dragged across a record album…. Yes, this is Christmas, but it is Christmas 2020.
Sigh.
Last week we finally gave in to what our heads knew we must, and called off the family get-together. Bringing 13 people together from four different locations/three states—all of which having skyrocketing COVID numbers—just didn’t make sense. All of us have some specific reason to be especially careful, be it age, health, or protecting others, and while it might have been okay if we were all careful, the risk is just too great.
I hate it. I love having my family all here, and especially seeing my kids and their spouses enjoy each other, and the cousins picking up where they left off last time they were together—which was last Christmas.
And while we can’t ever get this time back when the grandkids will all be this little, even worse would be the time that we couldn’t get back if any of us were to get sick.
So, this year’s Christmas will be quieter, calmer, and maybe shared with a video call or two. We’ll make it through, and eventually all the Christmas gifts that are either “in transit” somewhere or haven’t been mailed yet will get to their rightful recipients.
Doing this is our Christmas present to each other—and to our communities around us. Our best hope of beating this virus is by collectively looking out for each other—family, friends, and those we’ve never met before.
It is our only hope.
“I’ll be home for Christmas, If only in my dreams."
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