December 24, 2013

At Christmas, all roads lead home.

Marjorie Holmes.

On most any other Tuesday night, a collection of silly pictures would have lined themselves up for my amusement,  six or seven or fourteen recipes would be jostling for a place at the table, and a dozen different distracting ideas would be jumping up and down waiting for a chance to play with the food.

But it's not just any Tuesday night, is it?
It's Christmas creepy eve.
The anniversary of the night when someone
persuaded Boris Karloff that dressing up as Santa
and leaning into open windows was a good idea.

No, not really.

It's Christmas contemplation eve.
The night when in honor of the famous Santa Hat
swap incident of 1465, the faithful wear unlikely hats,
 sit on chimneys and marvel at the power
accessories exercise over humanity.

This being an unusually unusual Tuesday, there will be no funny pictures, and no mention of food, and no mention of the holiday. 
And if you believe that,

Then you will also believe that this is NOT a picture of an
anthropomorphic Christmas pudding surprising a shield wielding
bird woman.

It's Christmas Eve, the night when a cease-fire is imposed on all sorts of frenzy, and the world closes down for a few hours of, if not peace, then at least truce. Carolers have rumpa-pa-pa'd the last tum and shoppers have swiped the last card,

and somewhere, the last amphibious bandit has met a gruesome end.
(it's Christmas, so we're going to believe that the well-dressed frog on the right is
escaping , having giggedthe slimy bandit who attempted to jump him and steal the money for his tadpoles' Christmas presents.)

We sit,  mellow and exhausted and eyeing off  the pile of not-completely-wrapped presents, and realize that whatever home is, it is surrounded by a magnetic field that waxes and wanes with the seasons. 

and Christmas is the wackiest, er, waxiest,
season of all.

The thing is, that as one's family grows up and disperses, one realizes that the magnetic field that makes home such a drawing force is really just the combined magnetic fields of the people who fill it. 
Home is home, in other words, because it's filled with your homies. 
And when the peeps fly the nest, no matter where they are, they exert a magnetic force so strong,

that if you're not careful, your
kitchen knives may go after them.

which is why late last week, I asked our son if perhaps, since his schedule made it impossible for him to see us , maybe, just maybe...... 

We could come see him.
He said yes, but probably mostly
because he knew that the ingredients for
Christmas Feast Part One would be arriving with me.

Christmas Feast part one will be enjoyed (or laughed at) tomorrow here in Houston, and Christmas Feast part two on Sunday in Dallas. 

And those two meals are the only two that I'm certain of. The three dinners between one Lamb roast and another are beyond planning. Maybe. 

I mean really,  if a busy traveler like Santa can make a list and check it twice, then surely I can list three meals and their necessary groceries, can't I?

Oh, wait.
Santa seems to have delegated all things listy to a mouse
riding a lobster.
Well. I have neither a literate mouse nor a rideable lobster.

I'd love to know what you and your dearly beloveds are feasting on today, and what imaginative things you do with the leftovers tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. But not the next day after that, because that's Christmas feast part two day.
 Until then,

Merry Christmas everyone.

I hope your day unwraps like a present.

And I hope

that no matter where you are

you feel safe, and loved

and you're with those whose company

is a grace and a gift.

in other words, I hope that wherever you are

you're home for Christmas.