Bubble, Husband a.k.a Tom
Billy, 1st son, Photographer
www.billymichels.com
Scott, 2nd son, Rock Star
Mandy, Darling daughter
Erin, Billy's progressive fiance
Tatiana, Scott's wife, Artiste
www.tatianamuska.com
Matt, Mandy's progressive husband
Cadence, Grandaughter extraordinaire
Desmond, Grandson extraordinaire
Gladys, Scott and Tatiana's "spunky" canine
Murphy, Billy and Erin's "playful" canine
Puss in Boots, Our cat
Millie, Mandy's cat
Archive of Essays
An Only Child Grows Up
Christmas Thoughts
Journey to the Pew
Before Men Hugged
Love, Carol. Dot.Com
Ringing Pocketbooks
Grandparenting 101
The Bragging Absolution
Identity Verification
And I Have a Ton of Sippy Cups!
Flunking Dog Bath
Wrapping It Up
"Are we there yet, Son?" A Story of Role Reversal: Traveling with Adult Children
The Christmas celebration for our gang this year was to be simple. Simple presents, that is, each person assigned to be a Secret Santa for one other and a fun present Yankee Swap. No alteration on the traditional holiday dining room fare or libation, of course. I took the instructions pretty seriously. I had only that one person to dazzle with a present and a couple of Yankee Swap entries and a few stocking stuffers. So Relax, take your time, you’ve got nothing to do in comparison to years gone by.
Panic, however, began to seep in to my calm interior when I heard via the grapevine that the main amazing item I purchased for my person was just given to her by someone else. Reload the clever cells. Order some books on a subject very dear to her at this time. Great . .until a “we’re so sorry” message was delivered to my computer screen that the books can’t be shipped until December 31. Reload again, now two days before Christmas.
No time for On-Line shopping, I attacked Macy’s like a bloodthirsty mosquito. Lacking confidence in my choices, I initially passed on a purse I knew she lusted for a month ago certain she had probably already bought it for herself. I ended up with the last purple cashmere sweater in her size and a scarf she will probably think looks like something I would wear. Then, in a complete reversal of former thinking, went back for the pocketbook. By now, of course, I had exceeded the dollar limit placed by the organizers of our Secret Santa affair. So I wrapped all three, put the purse under the tree and held my breath, ready to run upstairs for the replacement present, until the unwrapping revealed that she still lusted for the bag. Whew!
I became so relaxed in completing my simple part in this celebration that other traditions in our Christmas feasting got lost in the simplicity. Like the Buche de Noel. The magnificent, elegant, totally decadent chocolate lovers dream-come-true dessert I have made for thirty years for the Christmas dinner finale. Thin, rich chocolate cake gently spread with mocha butter frosting then rolled delicately with stiff whipped heavy cream to form a long narrow shape. Frosted with more mocha butter cream, sprinkled with sifted snowy confectioner’s sugar perhaps even dressed with Marzipan mushrooms and a sprig of holly to give the appearance of the Christmas Yule Log. The ‘piece de resistance’ of Christmas dinner! It occurred to me in Church on Christmas morning that I had done nothing about it. While my daughter Mandy took over the dinner preparations, I raced around the kitchen covering myself and everything else in cocoa powder and confectioner’s sugar. Two icings were necessitated because I made the first with the quantity of cocoa intended to be sugar, and twice as much of the wrong kind of sugar. The second icing had the wrong kind of butter, but that was all we had left in the house. The thing didn’t look too bad, went into the spare frig in the basement in plenty of time to be properly chilled for dessert.
Dinner was divine, so was the wine, I guess. We left the table enthusiastically to get into the Yankee Swap which was so much fun and took hours to complete.
In the wee small hours of the morning as the house settled down after a great Christmas celebration, I lay myself down to sleep, with visions of sugar plums still dancing through my head. Then with a startle, I sprang from my bed and what to my glazed-over eyes should appear . . but the delectable Buche still reclining in the basement refrigerator. I knew in a moment I had forgotten to serve it!!
I refuse to think that dementia is creeping in. I’m just not used to having such “simple” holiday preparations!! I guess I do better when I am completely overwhelmed.