Hear those sleigh bells jingling? Then you need to visit your audiologist. You can’t roller skate in a buffalo herd and your horse can’t pull a sleigh through mud or across asphalt. I am not sure I have ever even seen a sleigh except on the last float of the Christmas Parade or on a calendar promoting cookies.
That’s just not part of Christmas in the southern USA. Now don’t put me on your naughty list for facing facts. We love Christmas down here in the land of bourbon eggnog and pecan pies. We just celebrate it a bit differently. We put cane syrup on our pancakes while folks of northern extract put maple syrup on waffles. There’s a difference but nothing worth fighting a war about.
Our Christmas celebration begins like most other folks. On the day after Thanksgiving, we don’t bundle up in our winter coats and camp outside Macy’s but we might just put on our best flip-flops and trundle off to Target to catch that deal on earbuds. There’s nothing like listening to Dolly sing “Hard Candy Christmas” on a $200 set of AirPods. (Reduced to $175 at the Door Buster Sale.)
And when we get home with way more stuff than we intended, some of it in the form of strong drink and fattening edibles, Christmas truly starts. We turn the air conditioning down to a chilly 66 degrees and drag our three-section tree out of that cardboard box in the garage. Up it goes in the twinkle of an eye and as soon as we find that green drop cord, LED lights begin chasing each other around the synthetic seven-foot Frasier Fir. Even though no needles fall from this tree and no water is needed, we unfold the red felt tree skirt with the reindeer sewn on it that Aunt Lillian made in 1965. Once it is placed ceremonially around the base of the tree, everyone stands back
Now, I admit, there are some folks born in the South who decorate their trees with white lights and a theme, like all candy-striped bows or all silver with ribbons and birds, but mostly, I think, they’re from around Charleston and like to put on airs. I blame Martha Stewart.
Most of us just bring in the plastic storage boxes full of ornaments from Big Lots, and Mama’s house and that trip to Ashville. We like a tree that tells us where we come from and where we’ve been.
We hang memories in every available space, while the cocktail captain, a designation I gave myself, breaks out the eggnog from the refrigerator and bourbon or spiced rum from the cabinet. Bourbon is true to our roots but that spiced rum does have its appeal. The nutmeg is in a little container that looks just like the cayenne pepper and the paprika. Not a problem for the first cup of cheer but a little caution is needed for successive cups. It is always a struggle to hang all the decorations before the eggnog is gone.
When we stand back, cups in hand, to admire our handiwork, somebody has to say, “It needs to have packages under it.” I can’t say I speak for every household, but I think most of us have the wrapper-in-residence. In our house, I wrap presents for my wife, she wraps everyone else’s presents. That is a ratio of about twenty to one. So off we go to begin loading the presents and trying not to fall into the tree.
There are always so many packages at our house that I have to be careful when I try to plug the tree in. We have one of those fancy schmancy step-on buttons that turn on the lights and make them do all sorts of dazzling things but I have to be careful. No one wants to tromp on a wrapped selection of the finest cheeses and sausages that Wisconsin has to offer.
We still have a fireplace at our house although climate change has rendered it decorative. Stockings are hung by the chimney with care…not too much care since we haven’t had a fire in the fireplace since the great snow of before I can remember.
Cheryl and I still fill each other’s stockings, I mean, Santa still fills stockings for Cheryl and me. The baying hound who never caught a rabbit but continues to be a friend also has a stocking but I am afraid this will be a hard chew toy Christmas for him. The vet, Mr. Grinch, has put him on a no-treat diet. I didn’t argue because the Grinch looked at me like I should consider going treat-less too.
Christmas in our house is all about inclusion. Our hand carved olive wood manger scene doesn’t have the wise men but there are two greater kudu who have wandered up from the African savannas to keep the donkey from feeling lonely. Carved angels and Santas in kilts mingle with nutcracker soldiers and Russian matryoshka dolls. Come one, come all, if you are celebrating a season of joy then you’re one of us. Scents of evergreen, cinnamon, and vanilla (my favorite) wrestle for dominance as we move from room to room.
I envy the true southern house with lights strung around the roof and the porch festooned with reds and blues and greens. I love the white painted reindeer and the blow-up snow globes and the Santa on the roof. I don’t do outside decorations anymore, not because I’ve become less spirited or more tasteful but because I have been banned from setting foot on another ladder and going around plugging in all those yard lights was tiring. Unplugging them at bedtime, say 9:00, was exhausting. Let the younger folks do that. I will sit by an open window and enjoy the fruit of their labors.
Finally, Christmas is all about relatives…I’ll put up with yours if you’ll put up with mine. Sure, we love them, right down to my cousin Rhonda Jean who shows up in her “Bah Humbug” Santa hat and means it and your Uncle Melvin who complains about having to smoke outside on a moderately cool winter’s night. They’re ours and we love them but can’t wait to see the red taillights as they head back toward theirville.
I know all the complaints, so don’t bother. I know the true reason for the season and that Christmas is for the children and that it is the renewal of joy and hope. I also know that Christmas is the season of fun. It is a time to shake off the year’s accumulated trauma and loosen the reins of our silly sides.
I want to wish you all a very Merry…Wait? Channel 9 is predicting a chance of snow? I’ll put on the snow tires. You go to Food Lion and get the bread and milk and a couple of fire logs. Oh…Christmas.
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