It's Safe to Come Out Now

It's safe to come out now. Christmas is over. (Why do cats always hide under the tree? This is Izzie, the indoor cat. Pretend you can't see her, just in the spirit of the season.)

I loved every minute and hope you did, too. So much love. So much food. So much music. So much chocolate. God is good. (Theologically speaking, God would still be good even if he hadn't created chocolate, but the fact that he did tells us a lot about him.)

Here's Paul (my husband) with two treasures from his stocking. A pocket knife, which should go a long way toward helping him to become a Good Old Boy (he's a Yankee). And a potato, which I reminded him should be worn in the front of his pants, not the back.

.
Actually, the potato is a different kind of addition to his manly arsenal. It's for the potato guns that Santa brought to each of them. Here they are in action. The smoke in the background is the smoking turkey, which Paul did and it was delicious. Plus we all get to smell like pioneers for a few days.

Santa (Lily) even picked out something special for Parker, the dog. He got a too realistic looking stuffed turkey and frolicked with it in the yard for hours, tail exuberantly wagging.

I even got chocolate in my stocking. Somebody really does love me.

My mother-in-law behaved, and I was full enough of goodwill to pretend I didn't hear everything she said or otherwise this post would be a rant. Easily triggered these days. Lily has a bad cold, so she could disappear at will and say she was resting. Paul had the turkey to tend to. And I had everything else, so I could be as busy as I needed to be. My father-in-law stayed in the kitchen with me and we had a nice visit.

I excused myself after dessert and went to see my mother, who is in the late stages of Alzheimer's. I found her dressed in a silky shirt and in a medical chair in the dayroom with the other residents. She looked good and was awake. "I'm Anne, your daughter," I said as I kissed her. She kissed me back. I could tell I may as well have announced that I was a seagull in from the coast.

"My daughter and son were already here," she said. I'm her only daughter. Somebody is showing up and I'm getting credit, for which I'm always grateful.

"I'm glad you had visitors. Here's a little Christmas something for you," I said, giving her a small but gaudily wrapped gift. My personal theory is that older eyes are weak and that bright colors are stimulating. (Just look at how some of them dress, if you don't believe me.)

"That's beautiful," she said, glowing. "I like all presents."

We literally talked nonsense, but she knew that someone who loved her was there and she was glad for the company. I rubbed her arm for a while in silence. In all likelihood, this is her last Christmas. I felt like it should feel important, moving, filled with meaning and symbols. Maybe it was. My mother was smiling for me, even if she didn't know who I was. I left and listened to beautiful music all the long drive home.

Lily and Paul were waiting for me. They knew who I was, and they were smiling anyway.

Christmas is wonderful. More wonderful still is when you are back home where you belong, with nothing left to do but love and be loved.

Comments

[wRitErsbLock]

oh, how poignant.

Happy Boxing Day to you.

[lori]

Oh Anne! I would love to see your wonderful Mama, she of the boundless hospitality and love and warmth. I don't think I have since Lily was a newborn.
love to you.

[jae]

i just wanted to say what a very lovely post this was. and the potato gun -- how very interesting. lol

[Angry]

...lovely...