On Christmas Eve I drove from work to the post office to pick up the library mail, and stopped to find a small parcel wedged in my box. Everything kind of went into slow motion when I pulled out a letter from my father. It's a strange and painful thing, caring so much about someone you've only been with a handful of times in your life. Along with the card came two enormous, long packages, which I fit into the back seat of the car on top of the library mail.
At lunch I drove home in the rain and carried everything up the stairs to drop off milk and presents.
Gavin said, "Look, I can fit into Granny's suitcase!" and he climbed into it, curling on his side.
Mike zipped it and stood it upright.
"You just turned him face-down," I said.
"No I didn't, his back is on the bottom."
"No it wasn't, he was curled the other way."
The suitcase was giggling and wobbling and my mom said, "And the cat is in there with him."
"What?"
Mike ran, unzipped it, and Sookie came jetting out from beneath Gavin, who had been upended onto her. He poked his head out of the flap, and the suicase fell over before he could get his arms out to stop it. He was was not happy with the suitcase for nearly decapitating him, and with us for laughing instead of helping him, but we assured him that we were glad he had not died by suitcase on Christmas Eve. That would have been a real downer.
Back at work, the afternoon dragged by, marked by a handful of sad tourists looking for wi-fi for their "lol I'm in Hawaii ur in snow" holiday emails. (Note to visitors: when you go to the farthest, most remote corner of the rainforest, don't be surprised that nobody has wi-fi. You're lucky the library doesn't have a tin roof.) At closing we scattered like rabbits to our homes for Christmas Eve dinner; a loaf of fluffy french bread and stinky french cheese waited for me, and as night fell and the lights of the tree winked on, a huge roast beast was pulled from the oven. We feasted, we nogged, we watched Ralphie shoot his eye out, plunked the kids in the bath like dumplings, and by 10pm everyone was in bed, listening for scruffling hooves and rustling bells.
I woke up at 5am, expecting to hear the sound of little boy feet, but there weren't any. By 5:30 I got impatient and snuck into Gavin's bedroom, where I heard heavy sleepy breathing in the darkness. My mother followed me out into the livingroom, where we turned on the tree and sat drinking tea and coffee. Mike carried Leif out a bit later, and finally the boy came staggering sleepily from bed to investigate the lights and voices. He rubbed his eyes, and frowned, "Why are you all out here?" "Because it's Christmas!" He froze, his eyes turned, followed by his head and body, and he jumped straight into the air when he saw the stockings and piles of Santa presents. He ran to the advent calendar, knocked down the toy soldiers he had put on duty, and we all grabbed our stockings.
We made out well this year. The tiny sweater I had knit and laid out with Leif's stocking had been filled with a teddy bear overnight, and Santa gave the telling gift of a Nintendo DS game. Gavin does not have a DS, so he started scanning the pile of presents beneath the tree. The rest went very quickly. Light sabers! iPod! Sewing machine! Blueray! DS! Beer-making kit! Blinky baby toys! It was a huge mess. Mike and Gavin voooshed and crashed around with light sabers, we ate too many Shmidt truffles, and Leif wore himself out studying the mechanics of plastic duckies.
In the evening we visited the landlord, pawned off the gross absinthe on his caretakers, then came home to eat Christmas meat pie and bread pudding. I even got some knitting in. The rain came down, smelling like snow.
Today it was work again as usual, and I drove to the library in the early morning in the winter storm. I was soaked to the skin while unlocking the school gate, and blown sideways with slashing rain while running inside. It's a day for cuddling with mugs and admiring your presents, not being at work. Oh, well.
Merry Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment