Christmas in Switzerland

My next door neighbor had a garage that was honest to goodness tied together with turnbuckles. You know what turnbuckles are? They are cables that you tighten to draw two things together. Without them, his garage would have collapsed.

It’s funny how one person can hold a family together, and when she is gone, any semblance of tolerance for inlaws’ idiosyncrasies melts away. The person you put up with for the sake of Mom’s wishes is suddenly persona non grata once the force of her will is no longer there to bolster the family network. That’s our situation these days.

We had seventeen people at the house for Christmas Eve dinner: Kathy’s sisters, their husbands, children and their children’s children and one miscellaneous boyfriend. Kathy did the catering, making German potato salad and this meat stuffing that she grew up with—all from scratch. Honeybaked ham and two kinds of turkey, green bean casserole—all kinds of stuff filled the kitchen.

As people arrived, the pile of presents by the tree grew and grew. The little kids passed the presents out to everyone and we all tore into them. This has been the tradition for at least the thirty-six years I’ve known this family, so it’s become my tradition as well. It was funny to see how grandson Max opened a box that had shirts in it, and he made a face and tossed it away. Already at three and a half,he disdains clothes as Christmas gifts.

All this happened at our house because it could never be held at any other house. Our place is neutral territory. Feuding parties lay down their barbs, snide comments, major eye rolls and general snippiness before they enter, and exhibit some measure of politeness. I slip around and take photos of the different family groups and make sure they get copies of them later.

The one guy no one likes usually falls asleep on the couch—in an upright position—while the party swirls around him. If you want to talk to him, and I do because to me, it’s worth the effort to be civil to everyone, you have to go to wherever he is sitting, since he doesn’t circulate. He uses puns, jokes and mildly insulting comments to keep you at arm’s length. He just always has. You get the feeling he has to be on top—to know more than you do, to be blasé about it all. I don’t think I’ve quite captured his vibe in this description, but it’s close.

Kathy is not feeling well and just called her sisters to cancel New Year’s Eve at our house. She’s just not up to all that cooking and entertaining. She needs to rest to be ready for the cruise. So, it will be a quiet Eve this year. Maybe we won’t even stay up till midnight, but we threaten that every year and at 12:00am, we’re out there on the porch popping those little paper champagne poppers into the night sky while the neighborhood sleeps on.

If I don’t write again (though I’ll try), Happy New Year dear readers (and to you lurkers, too!).