Yes, Some Christmases ARE Memorable, for LOTS of Reasons

In 1976, there were some, um, problematic events, at Christmastime. Nothing epic, just a series of things, that were frustrating for my mother. One of my aunts, who liked to write poetry, wrote a poem about them.

One issue involved some dessert plates. We’d gotten a set of beautiful blue glasses, as wedding gifts. Then, we found some matching plates. A few years after we were married, we moved to Lubbock for David’s graduate studies, and I packed a few of those plates. Our kitchen was pretty small, and things were stacked around as best as I could manage. One day, I was reaching for a couple of those plates, in a top cabinet. I knocked some of them over, and four of them crashed to the floor, breaking.

When we moved back to Waco that summer, I thought that I should go to one of the stores that carried them and replace what I had broken. Mother had the same idea, and, quietly, bought them for me as a Christmas present. At some point, before Christmas Day, I mentioned that I’d replaced them. Mother sighed, a little bit, about it, and returned them.

Another Aunt and Uncle always put up a large Christmas tree in their living room, and decorated it with beautiful red and gold ornaments. As Mother shopped, early in December, she found a red and gold ornament that she thought would be perfect for their lovely tree. She took it, with great holiday anticipation, to their house, excited for them to see it and add it to their tree. But, when she went inside, she was startled to see a very small, plain, sparsely decorated tree. “Oh,” they said, “it just got to be too much for us to handle.” They were several years older than Mother and Daddy, and she understood. But was disappointed.

She got a new billfold for my grandmother. Before she could mail it off to Ohio, she learned that someone had recently given my grandmother a new one.

She bought a sweater for my dad, but, some members of their Sunday School class, which Daddy taught each week, asked for gift ideas, and she handed over the sweater for them to give him.

Mother’s oldest sister, the one who liked to write poetry, had a number of in-laws who had been important in her life, when her sons were growing up. One of that family’s holiday traditions was baking buttermilk pies for Christmas morning breakfast.

The web site well plated, describes buttermilk pie as “a classic, old fashioned southern dessert that tastes like a custard pie but is SO. MUCH. EASIER. to make. Buttermilk pie tastes similar to crème brûlée.”

Sounds yummy.

In 1976, that aunt decided that she, too, should make buttermilk pies to share with family members. She purchased all the ingredients (which is a short list), along with frozen pie crusts. (Those pie crusts often come, frozen, in a stack of three.) She mixed up all the ingredients, laid out those pie crusts, poured the creamy batter in, and baked them up, the day before Christmas, and delivered them.

On Christmas morning,  Mother got the pie, warmed it up, and began to slice it into pieces. She tried and tried and tried, but just could not get the knife through the pie. On more careful examination, she saw that my aunt had neglected to remove the paper circles that were in the bottom of each frozen pie crust, to keep the crusts from sticking to each other. So, you had to scrape the yummy filling out, and eat it with a spoon, then, you could remove the paper and eat the crust.

I’m bringing all this up for a reason.

The dishwasher. At Thanksgiving, it began to develop suds during the cycle. Maybe it makes suds all the time, but they’re gone by time the cycle is finished. Now, when I open the thing up, there are suds. Still hanging around. Several inches of suds.

Then, on Monday morning, yes, just last Monday, when I walked into the kitchen, all ready to make my usual egg-and-cheese breakfast burrito, I looked at the microwave oven and noticed that the black rectangle, which usually displays the time, was blank. Hmmmm. I pressed the buttons to indicate how long the microwave should run. Nothing. I pressed start. Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. And more nothing.

I got a stool to be able to reach the electrical socket at the back of the cabinet above the microwave. I pulled out the plug and then put it back in. No time showing up on the microwave. I went outside to the breaker box and flipped the appropriate switch back and forth, then went back inside. No time showing.

I had to get out the griddle, warm it up, warm up the flour tortilla, scramble an egg and cook it, on the griddle, and then put cheese on the tortilla, which is, by now, not hot any more. And then put the egg on top of the cheese and warmish tortilla. Not quite the same.

So, now, dishwasher not working right, microwave not working at all!

I worked a little on wrapping gifts, doing household stuff, took a package to the post office to mail.

Back at home, I went to switch on the light in the room where the dining table is. And, oh, I’d forgotten. The bulb on the ceiling fan’s light fixture was out. I got the step stool, climbed up, and loosened the small screws that hold the light’s cover on the fixture. I took the old bulb out and got another one. When I screwed it in, it lit up, then dimmed, then went on and off. Hmmm. Not right.

I went and got another bulb. A different wattage. I screwed it in. Same thing. Bright. Blink. Weak.

Yep. SOMETHING ELSE ISN’T WORKING THE WAY IT’S SUPPOSED TO.

And, company is arriving on Friday night.

I went to Lowe’s Tuesday morning and bought a new microwave. I called Kevin and explained the situation, because he and April had installed the first over-the-stove microwave we had. He said that was the worst experience he can recall, in his whole life. The second microwave we had was put in by the store’s official installer. This new microwave seems very much like that one, so I said, “Maybe, since the new one is very much like the one that’s not working, it would be easy to install. Maybe.” He says he and April will try, when they come this weekend. And I said, “Great,” and that the store has an installer, which we can ask for, if they decide against installation, themselves.

David felt like the light fixture on the ceiling fan could be repaired, so I phoned an electrician. The earliest appointment was not until next Monday, so I made that. Then, on Wednesday morning, the company called and said they had someone who could come that day. “Oh, yes,” I said. “Please send them.” When they came, one of them took the glass cover off and looked at the socket. “Oh, no,” he said. And he pulled the socket part down and looked further up into the fixture. “Oh, no, no, no. You don’t want this repaired. It’s not safe.”

“So, I’m going to need a whole new fixture (fan included)?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. And I asked for input about brands and he gave me a couple of suggestions. I said we’d go shopping for a new fan over the weekend. And to please tell their office to keep that Monday appointment we had scheduled, and they could come and install it then.

As I write this, on Wednesday, things are looking up. There’s a microwave oven in a box in the garage. There’s an appointment to install a new fan w/light. And, after doing quite a bit of cooking this afternoon, I filled the dishwasher up and ran it. When I looked in, towards the end of the cycle, there were no suds. Maybe something had gotten stuck in a drain? Maybe the dishwasher soap . . . . fell into a drain and, instead of dissolving like it should, it just stayed there and kept sudsing up, which seems really improbable, because I don’t see how that could have happened. Anyway. I’d love to think that the issue has resolved itself. We’ll see.

And I, I am going to stop complaining. We’ve stayed healthy. We’re going to be able to spend time with Kevin and April and Peter. There are gifts under the tree, and the stockings are bulging. We are fortunate in so many, many ways.