The Season Begins
Thanksgiving was becoming a memory. The aroma of roasting turkey and pumpkin pie was being replaced with the irresistible smell of gingerbread baked in the form of little dancing bears with dark raisin eyes.
Toll House cookies, right out of the oven, competed for attention. The chocolate melted onto the waxed paper covering the wooden cutting board that had been wheeled into the center of the large farmhouse kitchen.
A garland of pine boughs strung with tiny lights and decorated with rustic tin Santas and oversized ornaments was draped from the fireplace mantle in the dining room.
A smaller garland was tucked into the branches
of the chandelier over the table. Suspended
beneath it was a small inverted tree adorned
with clear glass ornaments and tiny white
lights.
At the head of the table, a welcome holiday
visitor in the form of a life-size papier-mache
Santa head perched atop a stuffed body, looking
all the world like the man himself.
On top of the mantle was an array of fur-trimmed
Santas with white fluffy beards, one riding
astride a large white Polar bear while another
Jolly Old Elf carried sacks of fruits and
was surrounded by furry woodland creatures.
The hearth was home to a huge papier-mâché
reindeer, its antlers hung with miniature
ornaments hanging from red and green ribbon.
Ceramic visages of Santa Claus appeared on
plates, napkin rings, teapots, coffee pots,
and candy dishes announcing the season.
It was Christmas.
A large tree was already up in the dining
room. Tiny lights twinkled behind puffs of
white fiberfill that drifted across the branches,
looking like new fallen snow. Decorated only
with Santas, several hundred paraded around
and around the tree, all shapes and sizes;
each a treasure; each a joy.
Outside the temperature was dropping but there had been no snow in the forecast. An early flurry would be nice. The ground was almost always covered before Christmas. It was less than three weeks away but the anxiety was building as it always did that time of year.
Elaine walked out the back door and looked up at the wispy white clouds. No snow in those, she thought. The crisp air hit her face and she caught a whiff of chimney smoke from a neighboring house half a mile away. A fire with dinner tonight. That sounded like a good idea.
The barbecue pit still stood sentry on the patio, the last remnant of summer. No doubt it would stay out during the winter. It was too cold to cook outside, but there was no room in the garage.
She walked over to the pile of cordwood stacked neatly beside the house and selected several choice logs. Stuffing a few pieces of kindling into her apron pocket, she was going back into her cozy kitchen. Before she could turn around the partially shut door burst open. Two dogs came tumbling through the doorway, Cookie and Sir Winston, elbowing each other out of the way, neither willing to be the last dog out. They ran up to her, tails wagging, ears flying, logs falling.
"Hi, mom" they seemed to say in unison. "Whatcha doin'? Huh? Huh?"
"Weren't you two taking a nap?" said Elaine. "I was trying to have a moment to myself."
Cookie, part beagle, part Australian shepherd, and all mutt, jumped and wiggled in the middle of the firewood. Elaine dropped the last piece she still had clutched in her hand and rubbed the thick dog fur. Elaine and her husband had picked her up for free outside the grocery store. $70 worth of groceries and a free dog. Free, if you don't count the vet bills, the new fence, three pairs of slippers, and the prescription glasses eaten in a fit of dog pique, but that's another story.
"Dogs," said Elaine. "Do you two want a chew stick?"
The magic word. Both dogs went ballistic. Now the logs were scattered all over the patio. Cookie jumped up and knocked most of the kindling out of Elaine's pocket.
"Back inside.... or else."
The dogs dashed through the door and stopped in front of the basket of doggie chews on the counter. Cookie, a whirling dervish, barked and barked, demanding immediate service. Her eyes were outlined in black like a Las Vegas showgirl. She had a mouth full of white teeth sparkling like the snow-covered Alps.
Winston, rescued from the local pound, a blond Cocker Spaniel with foot-long eyelashes women would die for, sat quietly beside Cookie, letting her do all the work. He knew he was going to get a chew stick. Why shouldn't he? He was well behaved, cute and cuddly. He had it made.
Each was given a chew stick, though Cookie managed to take Winston's from him before they got three feet into the living room. Winston picked up Cookie's discarded rawhide and made his way to the foot of the sofa and proceeded to chew until Cookie decided the first was best and reclaimed the prize. Winston had to get his original chewy that had been dropped at the foot of the reclining chair. Ah, dogs.
"You two stay calm. I have work to do."
Elaine went over to the stack of boxes on the floor in the living room full of old cherished Christmas ornaments. She was finishing the big tree before she started dinner. Hundreds of antique treasures were nestled in the branches of the eight-foot tree. Elaine had been collecting for years and the time and effort showed in the display of mouth-blown glass figures, hand-painted porcelain ornaments, antique gold-embossed paper delights and hand carved wooden figures.
She would group ornaments together with similar themes. A green glass mermaid with blue angel hair floated with a silver fish covered with glitter scales. Gold and purple jesters danced with bejeweled crowns and a golden treasure chest. There was also the hand-blown glass cowboy with the blue Stetson hat next to the covered wagon and the bright green lizard. That branch was dedicated to her Texan husband.
It was the same routine every year. The trees went up, the ornaments were dusted, mended and lovingly hung. Memories of Christmases Past came flooding back. There was the plastic Santa and reindeer that her mom had on the family tree since she was a child. Elaine got it when she moved out on her own. There was a German Santa she bought in Munich. And of course, there was the tiny champagne bottle dated 1986 from their first Christmas together. Memories.
Elaine heard the rustle of tissue paper and turned to see Sylvester, their black cat, stepping into an empty ornament box.
"Sylvester! Get out of there!"
Sylvester continued making a nest in new territory. Elaine got off the stepladder and gently pushed him out of the box, and then picking him up, she gave him a nuzzling.
"Get up in the window. That's far more interesting." She felt his thick fur. "It's going to be a long winter, isn't it, boy? Your coat is magnificent this year. Then again, you have a magnificent coat every year. But this must be an extra special season."
Sylvester arched his back as her hands stroked him. When he wanted attention, he got it. Sylvester the Black. Sylvester the Austere. A cat among cats.
Another movement caught her eye. Angel, a black and white kitten-cat that never outgrew kittenhood was curled up on a cushion on the sofa. She gave a long, lazy stretch and one solitary meow, wanting to make her presence known. She laid there, an explosion of whiskers on her little face and then sat up, curling a black plume of a tail around her little body like an ermine wrap. Regal. Knowing it.
"Yes, Princess. You're beautiful, too." said Elaine "Both of you are the most beautiful cats in the history of cat-dom."
Cookie, never liking it when the felines got too much attention, jumped on the sofa and tried to eclipse the cats. Angel gave another meow, this time more threatening. Cookie looked in panic toward Elaine. Cookie outweighed Angel by forty pounds, but Angel had an attitude and a temper. More than once Cookie walked away from an encounter with a bloodied nose.
"Watch out, Cookie. You know how she gets. Why don't you play with this?"
Elaine picked up a small, mechanical cat; its fur a little chewed, and turned it on. Its legs started to move and its head turned as its mouth opened and closed. The animal emitted a non-cat-like sound that was more of a 'growl' than a 'meow'.
"Here's a cat you can intimidate, Cookie. Big hero."
Elaine set the mechanical misfit on the floor and let it jerkily walk down the hall. Cookie ran after the twitching body as it stumbled toward the bedroom, barking all the way. She usually pawed at the toy, knocked it over and felt satisfied. If the battery-operated playmate weren't available, she would seek out Winston and rough him up, but never the cats. They were adopted first. Animals maintain a pecking order, even in small slices of civilization.
But Winston had other ideas. He was going to disrupt the natural order. He ran over to the mechanical cat and stopped in his tracks. He never liked that cat. He eyed it. He eyed Cookie. Then, in one lightning lurch, he attacked the cat. The cat had run into the wall and was technically out of action, but the prey was his. Fake fur was still griped in his teeth when Elaine yelled.
"Winston! Stop! Leave that cat alone."
Elaine ran down the hall and grabbed the mechanical cat, still wet from dog saliva, victorious dog saliva. Now Cookie started barking, again. Winston picked up the chorus and Sylvester ran for higher ground - the upstairs bedrooms. Angel rolled over and went to sleep. Smiling. The dogs in trouble again. There is a God.
"Outside, you two. Out!"
The dogs were reluctant, but obeyed. They fled through the pet door and Elaine turned back to her chore.
"Now let me get back to business. No wonder this takes me so long to finish."
Elaine opened another box of treasures. These were hand painted balls that went in a section of the tree reserved for wintry themed ornaments. She found a bare spot and hung a midnight blue ball decorated with icy white trees near a pair of white Santas flying through the air with sprays of snowballs and stars in their arms.
Two furry shadows appeared in the kitchen doorway. They slunk into the hall and assumed a sitting position.
"I see you," Elaine said to the dogs. "Sit there quietly and let me finish."
The timer went off in the kitchen. Another batch of cookies was done. A few dozen more to do before Joseph got home. So much to do. The bustle of the holidays. So wonderful.
"I should really start this at Halloween," she said, heading for the kitchen.
............Continued
....Watch for the rest of this story coming
to a bookstore near you in the future....