“You’d better let me do the rolling before you kill my gingerbread men. Get yourself some eggnog. Add some extra nog, too.”
“I’m serious, Diana. One guy had yellow teeth that stunk as if he hadn’t brushed in days. I don’t think he’d brushed the three hairs on his head, either. The one that patted the chair was painfully prim and proper. He never relaxed or cracked a smile. Those three hours turned into the longest dinner party I’ve ever endured.”
“Did you tell Heather you didn’t appreciate her ‘surprise’?” Diana raised her fingers in air quotes.
“Not exactly. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her I’m not interested in a relationship. While we were rinsing the dishes, she asked me which guy I liked better.”
Diana set the rolling pin aside and began cutting the dough into shapes. “Sienna, you and Mark split up over a year ago. Don’t you think it’s about time you dated again?”
It had been exactly thirteen months, eleven days, and oh, let’s see, about twenty-one hours since my boyfriend had decided to move out of our apartment and into his new girlfriend’s house. It wasn’t something I could let go of easily. I’d been badly hurt, and I was scared of opening myself up to emotional pain again.
“Maybe I will have that eggnog.” I turned around to walk to the refrigerator and almost bumped into Brandon. My skin prickled as I breathed in the same air as he did.
He held out a baby bottle. “Could I have more milk? Little Andrew woke up, and now he’s snuggling on the couch watching Spider-Man with me.”
Way to melt a girl’s heart. “I’ll get you a new bottle.” I put the empty one in the sink and got a new bottle out of the refrigerator. As I removed the lid to warm the milk, Brandon leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed one cowboy boot over the other. His T-shirt couldn’t hide his rock-solid abs. My cynical side went into high alert, warning me that someone like him was too much to hope for.
He’s probably some grifter with an agenda.
“I’ll take the bottle to Andrew.” I twisted the cap back on, grabbed a plate of frosted cookies and carried both to the living room.
“Ooh! Look at the candy-cane cookies!” Grange left his post as Christmas Tree Gift Inspector and ran to the table. He picked up two cookies, handing one to Brandon. “Here you go, Uncle Brandon.”
“Thanks, Buddy. Your mom makes terrific cookies, doesn’t she?”
Uncle? Since when did my nephew call men he’d just met Uncle?
My niece opened the drawer of an end table and pulled out a deck of Uno cards. “Want to play?” she asked me.
“I’d love to, Emma. Playing a few card games with milk and cookies sounds terrific. Why don’t you put on some jingle bell songs?” I said.
“It doesn’t get better than this,” Brandon said as he carried the cookies to the dining room table to join us in the game. I wanted to dislike him and I was ready to find any fault, but he was making it difficult to do so. His easy sense of humor made the card game the best time I’d had since long before Mark left me.
I’m an accountant because the concreteness of numbers and lists gives me a sense of order and safety. I like the same thing in my personal life, so I started a mental list of pros and cons for Brandon.
Pros: He likes kids, he’s in great shape and he tells funny jokes.
Cons: Hard to think of any. Considering my decision to stay single, that’s not a good sign. Make more effort to find some bad habits.
When Diana turned on the Christmas tree lights, and the kids complained that they were hungry, I realized we’d been playing cards and chatting for hours.
“Oh my goodness! It’s almost six o’clock. Let me order a pizza,” I offered.
The kids settled in on the couch to watch a holiday movie while they waited for the pizza to arrive. Brandon and I set the table.
“Since you’re in the Air Force, you could be living anywhere in the world. Why are you here in rural Arizona?” I hoped he’d tell me he’d gotten into trouble so I could get my “Cons” list started.
“I came home early from a tour in Germany because my grandmother is sick. She’s living with my mom, and I wanted to be close so I can help out as much as possible.”
Double darn. He’d added another item to my “Pros” list. But he didn’t stop there. He added two more “Pros” when he told me he loved skiing and cooking. Those things put him over the top.
“How about we get together next weekend and go skiing? This time of year the night skiing is spectacular.”
I paused for a few seconds, pretending I might have something better to do. “I’d love to.”
“Great. Afterwards, I’ll cook dinner for you.”
“What type of cooking do you do?”
“My specialty is a secret family recipe for green chili enchiladas.” He leaned back in his chair. “Would you like me to make them for you?”
I breathed in deeply to calm the flutter in my heart. I had the same sensation I get when I’m at the top of a mountain, looking down at the ski run, the minute before I push off. It’s a mix of excitement, fear and anticipation.
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
“What did you say?” His eyebrows drew together.
A flush of heat rose from my chest to my cheeks as I realized I’d spoken my thought out loud. “I’d love to have enchiladas with you.” At that moment, I realized I wanted to share enchiladas with this man for the rest of my life.
He smiled, a bright, warm smile that rivaled the lights on the Christmas tree behind him. I started falling down the mountain, slipping off the icy, snowy slope of my singleness.
The night ended far too early, and I left for the long drive home. As I backed out of the drive, Brandon stood in front of my sister’s house, waving to me until Grange pulled on his arm and dragged him back into the house.
My phone rang almost as soon as I closed the door to my apartment.
When I picked up, his smooth voice came over the line. “Do you think tomorrow is too soon to have those enchiladas?”
“Unfortunately, it is. I’m going car shopping with my dad tomorrow.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice, which made me strangely happy. “Then how about the next night? You can show me your car, and I’ll feed you.”
As much as I already liked Brandon, this seemed to be moving too fast. I stalled and mentioned something about a busy week. We agreed to the dinner date the weekend before Christmas.
The week after Christmas we went skiing. I met his family in the middle of January. By Valentine’s Day, I had fallen so deeply that in my heart I knew he was my perfect match. In March, we sent out wedding invitations for an April wedding.
“I’ve never seen two people fall so crazy in love at first sight,” Diana commented as she helped me put on my wedding veil.
“I never believed it could happen.” I turned away from the mirror and hugged her. “Thanks for the holiday blind date, Sis.”
Twenty-five years later Brandon and I are still cooking together. His enchiladas are still just as good as the first time he made them for me. I still laugh at his jokes. And I’m still amazed at how our Christmas blind date turned out to be such a perfect gift.
SNOWY CHRISTMAS IN THE PARK
CHERIE CARLSON
I had never seen so much silverware—six forks, six knives and six spoons per person, polished and gleaming and set in a proper constellation around the plate and on the linen napkin before me.
“How can we use them all during a single meal?” I whispered to my husband, Bill. He smiled back reassuringly. We settled in to our chairs at a round table for eight, nodded greetings to our table companions and vowed to give it our best effort. The wine was poured and the feast began. Leaning toward Bill as he sat next to me, I whispered, “Happy Anniversary.”
First up, a smooth and spicy carrot soup with crème fraîche. I ate slowly (certain that I had picked the right soup spoon), sa
voring both the creamy soup and the sumptuous scene that surrounded us. An elaborately printed menu described all the delights still to come. Shrimp and scallop timbale with horseradish and a cognac sauce. For the main course a Peacock Pie, a Boar’s Head and a Baron of Beef. This Christmas feast happens only once a year. And this year was our thirty-seventh wedding anniversary.
I’d read about this event for years; the Wall Street Journal called it the “World’s Premier Christmas Dinner.” Held every December in Yosemite National Park, it began back in 1927. The nature photographer Ansel Adams produced it until 1973, and since then members of the Fulton family have continued the tradition, adding choirs and fine music, drama and frivolity to a feast and theatrical event that lasts close to four hours.
The setting is magnificent—the dining room of the Awahnee Hotel is transformed into a Gothic-type cathedral with stained-glass windows, a Parson and the Squire’s table beneath. Actors wear period costumes with vibrant colors of purple, turquoise, rich black and scarlet, gold trim and velvet, fluffy sleeves and flowing fabric. It looks like an Italian painting come to life, the perfect setting for a romantic holiday dinner for any couple. I’d anticipated it for months now, and here we were.
“Comfy?” Bill nodded yes to my question. I reached over and adjusted his shawl-collared sweater, pleased with how handsome my husband looked. Most of the other men in the room were in black tie, but tuxedoes are no longer an option for Bill.
Planning a romantic getaway should be easy; just choose a place, book it and go. But life, particularly travel, is not as easy now as it was in our earlier years. Twelve years ago Bill became disabled. Now he’s wheelchair-bound and that leaves it to me to do all the packing and unpacking, driving, checking in, tipping and carrying suitcases—the things most wives expect their husbands to help with. I also load and unload the wheelchair, help him transition from the car to the chair and then push him wherever we need to go. And we decided together that we needed to go to the Bracebridge Dinner for our anniversary. So there we sat amid all this silverware and countless courses to come. I offered up a silent prayer, a request for one perfect night in a romantic setting.
The three-day trip had gotten off to a lovely start. The day before we’d driven through the agricultural part of central California. Under a clear and sunny winter sky, I was delighted by the sight of Angus cows in field after field. I was raised on a cattle ranch and am still fond of the cattle my father liked to call “black roses.” Closer to the park entrance, the road was lined with giant trees reaching to the sky, casting their green everywhere.
We’d reserved a little cottage with a spectacular view of the waterfall. Yes, it was everything I’d hoped. After unpacking our finery for the feast, we headed over to the Awahnee to scout out the scene for the big night to follow. Bill and I would both feel more comfortable if we had a chance to survey the scene beforehand and spot any potential pitfalls for the wheelchair.
The hotel’s Christmas decor was suitably grand. A huge Christmas tree dominated the lobby, densely decorated with the glossy sheen of large red balls and silver ribbons. All around us were relaxed and happy winter vacationers, taking pictures of themselves in such an impressive setting and enjoying warm drinks by the enormous stone fireplace. Live music added to the gala atmosphere.
“Bill, this is lovely! I’m so glad we gave this a try.” He quickly agreed, taking in the scene before him. Surrounded by a relaxed and friendly crowd of strangers in the lobby, we chatted pleasantly with one or two standing nearby. I can understand my husband when he speaks, but not everyone can.
“Yes,” I repeated to him as we headed back to our cottage for the night. “This is going to work out just fine. Tomorrow’s dinner will be a dream come true.”
The drive through the dark back to our cottage gave me a chance to review the route for the following evening. I am always on the lookout for what might go wrong. Sadly, there is so much Bill cannot do, and, yes, sometimes I am overwhelmed with the responsibility I have for both of us. But life is short, and we refuse to stay at home all the time and feel sorry for ourselves. God has given us an amazing world, and I want to do all I can to help both of us enjoy it.
Next morning we woke to an inch of snow on everything. The mountains were spectacular, and the waterfall right across from us sounded like it was dropping icicles. It was cold, white and beautiful. The huge trees now resembled white statues, reaching out to us with their branches like the arms of God.
Snow. What so many dream of for their Christmas can be a big challenge for us. Snow. Ice. Cold. Slippery. Instead of going to breakfast together, I bundled up and went out to pick up coffee and breakfast. Better we stay inside and simply enjoy the dramatic view from our window until night came.
Almost too soon, it was time to get ready for the long-anticipated Big Evening. I always plan at least two hours for preparation, but after those two hours, Bill looked so handsome! After thirty-seven years of marriage and a severe handicap, I still love and appreciate this man. Not every man would be game to go out in his wheelchair on a snowy evening in an unfamiliar place.
Off we went to the hotel and the Bracebridge Dinner in our finery. The trumpet blew a herald to announce the start of the dinner, and the assembled diners entered the hall of magic, music and amazing delicacies. Huge tables with tall candelabras stood before us. We were escorted to our places by the cast of players, dressed immaculately in colorful costumes.
The room grew dark once everyone was seated, and out of the darkness came a commanding voice.
Let all mortal flesh keep Silence
And with awe and wonder stand.
Ponder nothing earthly minded…
As the Light of Light descendeth
From the Realms of Endless Day…*
In the darkness I felt my husband’s hand take mine and give me a gentle squeeze. Such a familiar touch after all these years of marriage. The lights came up again and the feast was on. Throughout the long meal, we hardly saw our plates removed before another one was placed before us with yet another tempting course. For hours on end we were transported into another time. The chorus sang with gusto. The jester made us laugh. The room was dressed like a medieval cathedral with stunning stained-glass windows and boars’ heads. What fun to leave behind cares and concerns and real-life handicaps for a few hours and just enjoy life, the Christmas season and the happiness all around us. It was long and dreamy, it was romantic and sweet. And too soon it was over.
We left the warm and welcoming room with reluctance, heading back outside into the night and a cold sky. The drive home was only a mile or so—what could go wrong?
Driving slowly along the route to our cottage, I spotted an animal on the other side of the road. A large tan and furry something was blinded by my lights and standing stock-still. I steered toward him so that Bill could help me decide what it was. Lights flashed behind me. The park police. I rolled down my window.
“Did you see it, too?” I said to the man who approached. “Was that a wolf or a coyote? I can’t tell…” The officer tilted his head in confusion.
“Ma’am?”
“By the side of the road—didn’t you see it? A big animal. I was trying to get a better look at it.”
“Oh, we thought you were drinking. Could you get out of the car and do a few simple tests for us, please?”
It seemed that I had been driving on the wrong side of the road. I passed the test and climbed back into my car quite humbled.
“Happy anniversary, dear,” I said to Bill for the second time that night, putting the car back into drive and continuing on. It was just a small blemish on that perfect evening I’d prayed for. But the night was almost over, and there had been no disasters.
Parking the car in front of our cottage, I went to get Bill’s chair from the back. He opened the door to move onto the chair, and as soon as he set his feet down on the ice, he slid right to the ground. Dress shoes and ice—why hadn’t I realized that would be a deadly combinat
ion? I can do a lot of things for him, but I can’t lift Bill off the ground by myself.
“Hang on, I’ll get help,” I said, taking a deep breath to calm myself as I walked as fast as I safely could across the ice toward the hotel, hoping that someone would be available this late at night. Soon two security guards came around a corner, and together we got him up and into his chair and into our warm room. Thankfully, he wasn’t injured; he had just a bruise and was very cold from sitting on the ice as I went for help.
For thirty-seven years now, we have lived and loved together and have only grown more patient with each other’s faults and failings. We both believe it is a privilege to serve each other and that every day is a gift from God. That night, as we kissed and snuggled together, I held Bill, gratefully appreciating his eternal patience, his courage and his endurance. As I closed my eyes that night, resting in the arms of my loving husband, I thought back to the message in the closing song of the dinner:
Now the joyful bells are ringing.
All ye mountains praise the Lord!
Lift your hearts like birds awinging,
All ye mountains praise the Lord!
Now our fes’tal season bringing
Kinsmen all to bide and board.
Sets our cheery voices singing,
All ye mountains, praise the Lord!**
FROZEN FRISBEE
RUTH BREMER
Alex and I met in college and started dating in December of my junior year. But instead of calling it dating—not wanting to jinx it, I suppose—we just said we were “hanging out.”
We “hung out” quite a lot in those last few weeks before finals and the holiday break, and whenever we got together it always involved some sort of unconventional activity. No dinner and a movie for us. We dressed up in goofy clothes and played a round of golf at the public course—although neither of us had ever golfed before. We walked along the train tracks at night sharing a sixty-four-ounce fountain drink. We cooked dinner on a barbecue grill at the park, using only a pocketknife and a spoon, and ate our baked beans straight from the jagged-edged can. So when we were invited to a Christmas party, we couldn’t just show up on time with seven-layer dip like normal people.
A Kiss Under the Mistletoe Page 4