Personal Xmas Report

Dear diary,

I’m writing this after attending the Ray Family Christmas Gathering at my mother’s new apartment. You probably could take or leave the idea of me relaying what happened there; and I’m right with you.

My sweetheart and I woke as usual (I’m starting out with the aim of itemizing our entire day) in a fiery deluge. You will recall, from my previous entry, that we occupy a horrible furnace that God prepared for us when we fell.

We ate scrambled eggs for breakfast; and, for dessert, we shared an orange crème chocolate bonbon. (Since we both work as tutors – my sweetheart teaches musical instruments, and I teach morality – every year, around Christmastime, we end up accumulating a great trove of treats: they are the result of gifts given to us by our students; thus, we are currently in the habit of enjoying a confection, cookie, or cake with every meal.)

Following that, instead of paging thru the newspaper, we read aloud a tale from the Brothers Grimm; also a couple poems from André Breton; a selection from the works of Raymond Roussel; some texts from Max Jacob; and chapter 8 of the biblical book of Proverbs.

Then we went outside for a walk. The sky was gray, and the air was cold. We received greetings of “Merry Christmas” from two fellow pedestrians: one was a runner; which surprised me, because runners are normally stern-faced and unsocial, but this one nodded slightly as he passed and delivered the kind regards despite being breathless: I found it touching. And the second greeting came from a family of four who were sledding on the hill near the playground at the elementary school. Additionally, yesterday, which was the eve of the holiday, a man with a dog gave us the same salutation very cheerfully. On all these occasions, I piped up and returned their greeting faithfully, despite being a freethinker myself, because I’m eager to please; plus I know how happy modern Christians are to hear that exact phrase “Merry Christmas,” as opposed to a variation like “Happy Holidays,” which, to them, sounds too diluted and might not sufficiently offend adherents of the rival Abrahamic religions.

When we finished our walk, it was lunchtime. So my sweetheart prepared mashed potatoes and broccoli – a dish that you may think sounds simple but which I assure you is delicious: for the way that she seasons it will knock your socks off.

And while we were still eating, behold, we heard our doorbell ring several times in rapid succession. So we ran to the entryway, and there stood our good neighbor Bruce holding out a plate of holiday cookies. “Merry Christmas!” he announced.

“O thank you so much,” we said. “Merry Christmas to you, too!”

Then we returned to our luncheon; and, after the main course, we selected and enjoyed a few sweets from the bounty that Bruce had brought to us: We tried a fried rosette snowflake, a chocolate peanut cookie, and a gingersnap biscuit. They were fantastic.

Now, having finished our midday meal, we took our afternoon nap. This began at one o’clock sharp and lasted until half past two. We needed to be at my mother’s place by three, so we were cutting it close by lazing so long; but I really needed my beauty rest.

I forgot to tell you that yestereven we had purchased four gifts to give to Paul’s children (Paul is my brother): two for his son, and two for his daughter. We had wrapped all these gifts already, but they were not yet good to go; for each gift still needed a way to identify its recipient – some sort of personalized card that we could attach to it. Thus, while running late, I had to create four such cards very quickly, each of which had to contain two crucial bits of info: (1) a festive greeting, and (2) the name of the child.

So I solved this dilemma by fetching the basket that held all the holiday cards that our students had recently given to my sweetheart and me – grabbing a handful of these, I opened them up, and, one after the next, copied their messages onto four blank sheets of folded paper. In other words, I plagiarized the contents of our students’ Christmas cards, only swapping out the names. Here are the results:

Card 1 of 4:

[Exterior]

At Christmastime . . .
may you have all the things
that bring beauty into your world . . .

[Interior]

. . . wishing you happy moments today
and happy memories tomorrow.

MERRY CHRISTMAS to Michael
from Beelzebub & Bry

I should mention that our nephew’s name is Michael, and our niece’s name is Una. And these are not their true names – I falsified their identities for this public diary entry, out of an abundance of caution. (My sweetheart’s name is not Beelzebub, either: I took that character from an epic poem by John Milton.)

Let me also note that the message of this next card seemed extra humorous to those of us in the know, because it was stolen from the Christmas postcard that Una’s own family sent to all of us relatives this year (recall that they bought a new house – for further reading, see my pre-Xmas entry).

Card 2 of 4:

From Bryan and Beelzebub
To our friend Una

WE HAVE MOVED!!

Holiday greetings and best wishes
for a very happy New Year!

Card 3 of 4:

[Exterior]

From Beelzebub & Bryan to Michael:

Dear Ms. X
You are a terrific
teacher. I will
always remember you.
Have a wonderfall
Christmas.

(NOTE: the original author really did misspell “wonderful” like that. And the next line below, in its source card, was accompanied by the picture of a sycamore; which, when copying, I left out, thus depriving it of context.)

[Interior]

TREE-MENDOUS!

Thank you for all your support throughout the year!
Enjoy every happy thing
the season brings!

Card 4 of 4:

Dear Una,

Heaven and Nature Sing!
Wishing you a joyous Christmas.
For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord Luke 2:11
P.S. I’m still playing + loving the violin.

Your friends, Bry & Baal

GOOD TIDINGS
WISHING YOU
EVERYTHING WARM,
WONDERFUL,
AND COZY

Merry Christmas
+
Happy New Year
See you in
2025
From all of us

So those are the heartfelt messages that we taped to the packages that we gave to the kids. I should tell you what the gifts were, too:

We got two sets of sculpting clay for Una, whose age is three. And we got a Food Truck LEGO Set and two miniature racecars for Michael, age six. One of the racecars was made to look purposely like a junker: it was all smashed up, and it had mismatched wheels – very impressive, to a young man.

I will report all the other details of our Christmas Day in the second part of this entry, if I remember. But, right now, I’m out of time. Season’s greetings to you and yours!

II:
The Party

Alright, so, at this point, we packed all the presents into our vehicle and drove to the bad part of Burnsville, which is where my mother lives. As established, she’d told us to be at her house by three P.M. – and when I’d asked “Why the odd hour?” (for the hour seemed odd to me) my mother had replied: “I asked Paul and Colleen what time would work best for them, and they said three, because that’s when Una normally finishes her nap.”

I was worried, because we were running about twenty minutes late. But when we pulled into the communal drive that leads to the home of my mother, we noticed that there were no other vehicles parked anywhere in the lot.

My mother answered her door and welcomed us warmly, and when I apologized for our tardiness, she said, “Oh, don’t worry: you’re the first ones to arrive.”

I was shocked to hear this: “Paul’s family isn’t here yet?”

“No, I don’t know what’s keeping them,” she said.

We all then entered, took seats and began to chitchat. My mother started out by complaining that she no longer sees any good movies: for, when she moved out of her old house, she naturally cancelled the subscription to the satellite network that was associated with her former residence; and that ex-network had featured a classics film channel that my mother had grown to love watching.

“If you liked what the satellite had to offer,” we asked her, “then why not just subscribe to it again at this new place?”

And she said: “Because I now get my Internet through this horrible cable company.”

That answer puzzled us; so we asked: “Why not change your current arrangement? Are you locked into a long-term deal or something?” But her answer to this and to several follow-up questions was essentially the same:

“I hate thinking about, reading the terms of, or making decisions regarding these types of subscriber contracts,” she said; “so, I just accept my present state of affairs as if it’s inevitable and unalterable. However wretched it is, I sit with it.”

We then talked about various other topics of interest.

And there was a large array of snacks on the table before us: different styles of crackers, four varieties of cheese, sliced summer sausage, spicy pretzels, a vegetable tray with ranch dip, tortilla chips with salsa, and a giant bowl of some form of trail mix. We kept partaking of these tidbits casually and carelessly throughout the conversation; thinking that, any minute now, my brother Paul’s family would arrive, and then we’d all eat Christmas dinner. But more than an hour and a half passed by, and still no one showed up. We ate so many appetizers that we killed our appetite.

“I thought that you said that Paul’s family themselves selected the start-time of three o’clock for the holiday,” I said to my mother.

“They did,” she said.

“Well, have you been monitoring your phone?” I asked; “for perhaps they tried to send you an instant message explaining that they got a flat tire, or lost their minivan at the megamall, and are therefore running late.”

My mom checked her device’s screen. “No – there’s no message from anyone,” she said.

“Why don’t you give them a call and ask if everything’s alright,” suggested my sweetheart.

“Good idea – I’ll do that,” said my mother. So she managed to get Colleen (Paul’s wife) on the line, who then clearly accounted for the setback:

“On a normal day,” Colleen explained, “Una begins her nap around noon and wakes up at about three; but, today, she was fussy and didn’t get to sleep until three: so she only just now woke up. But Paul and I are getting the kids ready and packing everything up, this minute; and we’ll be on the road in no time.”

After my mom hung up the phone, she remarked, “That’s weird – I’d have thought that they would’ve warned me that they’re behind schedule.”

“It’s only two hours,” I said: “no big deal. I’m sure that they’d let you know if they were going to be, say, a couple of days late.”

In any case, sooner or later, Paul and his family materialized. At this point, my mother decided to put the main dish into the oven, which required an hour to cook before it could be served.

Paul and Colleen had brought from their own home huge receptacles filled with items for their children’s entertainment – toys, games, noisemakers, etc. – which, promptly upon arrival, they emptied out onto the floor for the kids, who immediately began to manhandle these things; and their parents soon joined them. Meanwhile, my own mother dashed about in the background, readying the food. And my sweetheart and I stood nearby watching and wondering.

In the fulness of time, we all sat down at the table to eat.

My mother is a high-strung Christian, and she is too shy to pray in front of the family, so she said to me: “Bryan, would you please say grace?” (That’s an idiom meaning “to bless the meal before eating.”)

“Sure,” I said. Then I stood up, raised both arms above my head and yelled: “Lord God! Stay away! Keep your plagues to yourself! Do not trouble us! Begone! Return to your pavilions of darkness!” Then I bowed, sat down, and began to dine. And I remarked, between mouthfuls, how stuffed I felt already, right at the start of the meal, because of all the hors d’oeuvres that I consumed earlier.

We adults cleaned our plates. And the children pushed their food around and ate almost nothing.

Then my mother cleared the table and returned with an enormous tray of Christmas treats, which she set directly in front of the two children. The kids each immediately reached forward, took a large piece of fudge and put the whole thing in their mouth. Then their parents cried out: “No, you can’t have those treats yet – you didn’t eat any of your food: you need to finish your meal first!” Then each of the kids reached forth their hands again and took another piece of fudge and mouthed it and chewed it. “No!” said Colleen to the girl, “you cannot eat another piece of fudge – stop that, Una!” And Paul said to the boy, “Mikey, stop: you can’t have any more fudge!” And then both kids took yet another piece of fudge from the tray and put it in their mouth, so it puffed out their cheek like a plug of tobacco.

Despite their parents’ constantly repeated objections, the kids then moved on to eating other cookies and treats from the tray.

It was now time to open presents, so Una and Michael ran over to the gift pile. They tore thru package after package and murmured “Thank you” after each. When they had ravaged all the gifts in the pile except those four that my sweetheart and I had brought them, Colleen said: “Kids, look at the remaining presents – who are those addressed to?” And Michael looked at the homemade cards that were attached to each package (the same cards whose messages I had copied from our students’ offerings, as detailed in Part One above), and he said “There’s too much writing on them: they’re not for us.” Then my mother scanned each package’s card for names and announced who each gift was to and from. So the kids then both opened their pair of presents, and they liked them and thanked us. (No one read the cards’ messages.)

One of the gifts that someone had given to little Michael was a new version of his favorite board game. I suggested we all try it out, so we went to sit at the table and began to play it; but, since it was different from the original version that he was used to, at the game’s midpoint, Michael wandered away from the table. He went into the kitchen and began to sort out the magnetic letters on the refrigerator. “Are you not going to play the game with us anymore?” my sweeteart called to Michael from the dining room. “No,” he said. “What are you doing over there?” I asked. “I’m making the alphabet,” he answered. Then I thought for a minute and said: “It’s good that you know how to put the letters in order, but I want you to write a sentence of your own. If you don’t use those letters to write a sentence for me, I will be furious.” I thought that this demand would get a rise out of Michael, but he remained silent. I assumed he ignored me.

A few minutes later, Michael yelled: “OK, here’s your sentence.”

Craning my neck to view, I noticed that he had arranged a new string of letters on the refrigerator. So I walked into the kitchen and saw that he had written the following words:

THE  MAN  IS  LO  TO  THE  GROWND.

“Interesting,” I said, after reading the statement aloud. “I appreciate what you relayed here.”

Then the kids ate more fudge. Then Una requested that we all play the party game Charades, which is a word-guessing game wherein one person stands before the rest of the group and acts silly, while the members of the group shout out words and phrases that the actor’s actions bring to mind. When, at last, the desired word or phrase is spoken, the player stops and announces: “So-and-so has guessed correctly: ‘Male child throwing bowling balls at the ceiling’ is what I was attempting to signify.” But whenever it was three-year-old Una’s turn to mime, she would always pose there and croon the same pop song breathily, all the way through to the end; and then she would say “You guessed right: I’m a rock star!” However, her brother would often walk onstage and interrupt before her song was finished, whereupon she would drop to the floor and weep and thrash. This happened over and over and over.

After Charades, the party concluded. Paul and Colleen managed to pack up all their children’s old and new toys and gifts, and they helped the kids put on their snowsuits and moonboots; and then they drove away in their minivan.

My sweetheart and I made ready to leave at the same time as Paul’s family; but, since we accepted my mother’s offer to take home leftovers, we waited an extra moment in the entryway for her to fetch some containers of food. Finally, when mom approached the door to bid us farewell, she delivered the following speech sincerely:

“I just want you to know that when I remarked earlier that I dislike the movies that are on the new cable-TV system that I signed up for, I did not mean that I felt annoyed right here and now – no, the bad movies that I’ve recently had to watch did not ruin my mood tonight. I was feeling happy earlier, when we were first talking, and I’ve been happy all evening – I’m happy about seeing the family, and I’m happy about the holiday. My movie situation does not influence how I feel about you or the family, or how I feel in general – even if it makes me sad on some level, I would never let that sadness affect my social relations.”

To this, I replied: “OK . . . well, thanks! Good luck with everything!”