My father was a Christmas nut like I am. Every section of the house was decorated, bathrooms, kitchen, you name it, it was Christmased. I wish I could spend another Christmas with him. He would whistle the Christmas carols as he cooked, dancing around the kitchen as he went. Anytime I was done with my given task of preparation he’d grab me, dance a few steps and spin me off into my next task. I loved that. In case it hasn’t been clearly stated, my family dances, all the time, anywhere, at the drop of a hat to any song. We’re not picky. It scares my husband. When setting up the table for the grand event of having a ton of people over my father would dance me from the dining room back into the kitchen. Then he’d dance my step-mother out to the table to make sure it was all in place, spin her around and dance her back. To us this is normal, to my poor New England husband it’s time to be either very busy or flee with all this dancing going on. Poor guy, had no idea he was not marrying into a normal family.
I’ll never forget his first Christmas spent at my father’s house. He came into the kitchen and whispered in my ear. “They’re moving furniture.” I nodded. “Yeah but…why are they moving furniture?” I laughed, “To dance.” I said as if he’d just asked the silliest question ever. Why else would you move all the furniture out of the parlor? To dance of course! He looked horrified. “Why are they dancing?!?!” I rolled with laughter. My father overheard that comment. “This family dances young man, you’d best learn how now.” His eyes were bigger than plates. My father grabbed my hand and took me for a few spins around the kitchen to “White Christmas”. Matt fled shortly after Carol grabbed him and back led him through a few steps. He didn’t have any idea how to dance at the time. He immediately asked for a job, then just grabbed the trash and took it out. My father smiled, “We’ll have him dancing soon enough.” Sadly we were going home to learn the Viennese Waltz from him at Christmas, but he passed on the 17th, only a few days before we got there. I know he was excited finally able to teach Matt how to dance. Only took 20 years, but he was right, sooner or later, we’d get him dancing. No one could dance like my father. He actually did the Kozak dance at our wedding. Seriously, squat down, legs kicking out from underneath him and all, it was awesome; it makes me smile to think of it. He could waltz, foxtrot, polka, swing, samba, rumba, tango, salsa, anything! He also was a fantastic lead that could make anyone look like they knew what they were doing; it made dancing a lot of fun.
Although when I begin dancing around the kitchen while I’m cooking or cleaning and Matt comes in he does generally try to flee before I grab him. He doesn’t “like” to dance, but he does go to dance because I like to dance. He does try to limit his “tribal” exposure to those times though. I however will dance with mops, brooms, vacuums and he just shakes his head and flees. I’ve even taught my Foxhound how to dance with me. When I dance she spins around and gets all excited. It’s very cute. She’s too shy to do it when anyone other than Matt and I are here though. She has trust issues, so to get her to relax around folks she doesn’t really know is difficult. One of these days I’m going to have to take a video of it, it’s hysterical. My little Pug as seen in the picture of my bio runs around under her barking trying to figure out what’s going on. Matt’s Pug flees with Matt, he’s not big on dancing either.
For Christmas this year I’m making family members a recipe book. Not like Better Home & Gardens, but a book with all the family recipes in it. All the things that you think of being there on Christmas, or Easter, or New Years Eve, or any get together. They’re all getting typed up and put into books so that no matter what these traditions, recipes will be carried on through generation to generation. Even though some of the people who created these recipes are gone, in the creation of these meals their memory is returned, and can be shared each and every year. I’m hoping that they will continue to add to them and pass them on to their children so that someday they will be making “Nana’s Potato Stuffing” and my father’s Buffalo Chicken Wings. I like gifts like this. They aren’t grand, they aren’t impressive, but I’m hoping years from now someone will open that recipe book and remember something that will make them smile, or take them back to a Christmas of past when the family was together and shared that meal. I want to spark that light in them that makes them reminisce, that makes their heart fill and recall the joyful times shared with those who have gone before us. I don’t know why but I like those kind of gifts the best.
My favorite gift I’ve ever been given was a gift I asked for. I rarely ask for Christmas gifts from my husband, and if I do it’s really for the house. “Honey? Can I have a hardwood floor for the living room for Christmas?” He laughs and says “We’ll see.” This means if I ask him a few more times he’ll say yes, but if I really don’t want it I won’t ask anymore. He never says no, to anything really, he says “We’ll see.” which means “I’d rather not but if you really want to ok.” So if I don’t really want it, then I don’t bother to ask again. My favorite gift that I asked for was Loki, our male Pug. He was thrown out of a car right before Christmas. He had a bald bum from bouncing on the tar, broken leg and needed surgery. I had been wanting a Pug, but we already had both Cooper and Kaia. This little guy needed more care than the city would provide though, and if I didn’t take
him he’d get put down. I asked Matt to let me bring him home. He didn’t want another dog, but he said fine, that I could have this dog for Christmas. The dog was here for five minutes before it became very clear, I was not getting this dog for Christmas, Matt was. He was immediately “his” dog. From the second Matt held his tiny broken body in his arms, that was it, the bond was formed and the little baboon bum dog had not only a permanent home but a man to adore with every breath he took. Matt never wanted another dog to be “his” or any animal after his cat “Little Man Tate” passed away. Yes the cat was named “Little Man Tate” for the movie, and it was for the irony. The cat was adorable but by no means or manner a genius. It was very clear though that this Pug was destined to be his dog. Each and every year as I take a picture of the zoo crew to send out I have to smile remembering the year our little Loki came home. That was indeed the best Christmas gift I ever asked Matt for. This is a picture of the first Christmas he was with us. From left to right is Loki, Cooper and Kaia. Cooper has passed on, but he helped us teach Loki how to be the very best dog he could with the time he had left.This year, since I can’t turn back time, and have my father with me for Christmas, the only thing I truly want is what I already have. I couldn’t ask for anything more than the gifts I’ve already been given. Who could want for anything else when they have a husband that loves them, three very silly sleepy dogs around them so they are quite literally never alone, (and as I type this I have Kaia sleeping to my left, "G" my little Pug sleeping to my right and Loki sleeping directly behind me which causes me to have to exit my chair by standing on the seat and then stepping over someone. This of course wakes up all three who then follow me wherever I go.) a home I dreamed of as a child, designed by my husband to be everything we ever could want and more, friends I cherish, family I love and a brother I can’t wait to see and hug and laugh with in 3 weeks. Who could possibly want anything when you have all of this? What is left to want? Sure I’d love it if somehow Massachusetts had a heat wave and it was 70 degrees out and I could play in my garden, but if I can’t alter the weather pattern of the Earth I’ll settle for baking and sewing and decorating every inch of my house in celebration of the birth of Jesus. Even if I have to get creative to keep the crèche out of reach of our youngest Pug, I’ll find a way to put it under the tree just like my father always did. He always used to keep the baby Jesus in the hutch and on Christmas Day he’d put him in his crib. It was the first thing he did that morning, and it will be the first thing I do as well, and I’ll be smiling as I do remembering the mornings I watched my father do the same.
To any and all who read my ramblings I set loose across the cyberspace I wish you all a very Merry Christmas filled with love, hope and joy. May each and every one of you get all that you wish for Christmas and more!
*wanders off singing All I want for Christmas is You*
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