I had worried about that. All morning I ran around the house preparing, just in case. I stuffed laundry in the washer, tried to get dishes done and put a pot of soup on. My efforts to enlist the help of my kids were of no avail.
The two who could have been the most helpful were more concerned about keeping the computers running than filling jugs with water. Both are both very technically inclined and can fix anything wrong with your computer or electronic device. They did not share my perpective on the order of priorties.
Then the lights went out. I asked them if they had any ideas about an alternate source of heat since the electricity had failed. One boy went and found a camp heater, but parts of it were missing. They sat on the couch.
I was totally disgusted. "You guys are no use at all," I told them.
"Of course not," retorted son number one. "The power's out."
The last Saturday morning before Christmas, I heard Momma’s footsteps as she came into my room.
“Wake up, Laynie.”
I kept my eyes shut like I used to when I was small, wanting her to come to me. Maybe if I stayed in this moment I could go back to being a little girl. I clung to the edges of warmth, snuggled deep in my rose-covered bedspread. The one my mother had bought for me before all the bad things happened. The bed creaked as she sat down beside me.
She kissed my cheek. “It’s time to get up.” She smoothed my hair. “It’s tree day.”
Her departure from my side seemed abrupt, and my arm reached to feel the empty spot where she had been a moment before. I opened my eyes, but she was already gone.
The floor was cold on my bare feet, so I hurried to get dressed.
Downstairs Momma had pancakes waiting. Christmas carols played on the stereo and the smell of cinnamon filled the air.
She smiled at me, “Hungry, Laynie?”
Momma had made too many pancakes. I lifted the corners of my mouth and ignored the empty spot at the table. My plate was red, and I forked two pancakes onto it. I wanted her to sit down with me, but she leaned against the kitchen counter with her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. She kept dipping her face into the steam that rose from it. I ate quickly and put my plate in the sink.
“I have to go find my gloves,” I told her.
She nodded.
“The pancakes are really good,” I offered, hoping she would eat.
A couple of the boxes marked “Christmas” from the attic were in the living room, but the small table and chair still anchored an oval blue and cream rug in front of the big window. The set wasn’t heavy at all, and I moved both pieces to the spot they usually occupied during the month of December.
We took Daddy’s truck. Momma was tiny behind the steering wheel. Her face wore a pinched, tight smile when she glanced at me for a moment before she focused her attention on the road. As she stared through the windshield at the blacktop, I twisted the radio’s knob until “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” filled the cab with sound.
I had forgotten my gloves.
At the farm we walked up the path to the little building where Mr. Simpson or one of his helpers would always meet us. Momma opened the door. Chocolate tinged with the sweet smell of marshmallow mingled with the scent of pine. I closed my eyes and tried to catch Christmas.
Mrs. Simpson was short and round. Her smile revealed a row of tiny teeth, and dimples appeared in her ample cheeks. She even wore round, wire-framed spectacles. If it weren’t for her dull brown sweater buttoned up over a navy turtleneck and her tattered blue jeans she would have been an excellent stand in for Mrs. Clause.
Mr. Simpson’s tall, thin build did not resemble Santa in the least. His wiry frame exuded kindness, but he was very quiet and frugal with his words when he talked to anyone. A hearty Ho-Ho-Ho was not in the making.
He nodded at my mother. “ ’Lo.”
As always, he held out a peppermint stick to me, which I took. I had never saved my candy before, and so, even though I didn’t want it, I pulled off the cellophane wrapper and stuck it into my mouth.
“Thank you, Mr. Simpson,” I said, around my mouthful. His eyes crinkled up at the corners and he ducked his head.
“We’ve come to get a tree!” Momma’s cheer had a shrill edge to it.
“I’ll get one of the boys to come out to the west field,” said Mrs. Simpson as she adjusted her glasses.
Mr. Simpson nodded at her and headed for the door. He held it open for us and ushered us out. By the time we had walked to this year's section, a young man had joined our group.
“How are you doing, Ladies?” He had a hand saw slung over one shoulder and grinned Christmas cheer at us.
We murmured niceties in reply while he managed to match our slow pace without losing any of his energy.
It was late in the season, and many trees had been harvested already, thinning the selection. Between the scattering of trees passed over by previous buyers, raw stumps poked up through the thin dusting of snow.
“What about that one, Laynie?” Momma pointed to a tree that was a little fat and bunchy around the bottom. Momma always wanted the tree to be perfect. It was tradition for Daddy to tease her about dragging us all over the lot while she analyzed every tree there. I tipped my head to the side and hoped I looked as if I were trying to picture it dressed up in baubles and lights.
I squinted at it. “Do you think it’s too tall?”
Mr. Simpson’s friendly helper announced, “It’s six feet.” He rubbed a gloved hand on his thigh. “That’s ideal for a tree.”
Momma sighed and glanced around the lot before her gaze rested with me. Dark smudges left shadows under her eyes and her face seemed deflated. “Do you like it, Laynie?”
“It’s a beautiful tree.” I tucked my hands into my armpits and watched the tree wobble as the young man sawed at its base until it fell.
He was very personable. I enjoyed his talk immensely and told him so. I got to shake his hand and have my picture taken with him. Right before the picture was snapped I wished I had worn something else, but was pleased just the same thinking about how I could say to my friends, "Guess what? I met the Governor!"
Here it is week later and I didn't mention it to a soul. It's been a hectic week. We are trying to get ready for a trip my daughter is taking. Performances are involved, so there are practices, costumes to get ready, hotel reservations to make, the list goes on. One of the boys is sick with some sort of virus again. It has been raining quite a bit lately and my car sprung a leak. A good six inches of water collected in the bottom of the trunk before we noticed it. There has been some upheaval in other areas of life as well. I think the most disrupting thing has been the addition of a new puppy to our family.
He is an eight week old mixed darling who came to us needing medical care and grooming. Now that he is feeling better we have discovered he obviously has some ADHD heritage. While our new pup Thunder is a joy, like some of the human boys in this family who also have ADHD heritage, he is an exhausting joy. He is going to be l a r g e. It is imperative that he learn commands like 'down' as soon as possible. Anyone who has ever had a pup knows there is a massive time investment in the cleaning and scooping areas as well. So I've been busy. Too busy to think about name dropping at all.
Yesterday my hands were in a sink of dirty dishes and I was day dreaming about being a famous novelist someday. Perhaps people would line up just to shake my hand and smile at me. That's when I remembered meeting the Governor. If I ever do get famous I will certainly not be as important or vital as he is, and I had forgotten all about my big moment of meeting the governor.
Should my day in the spotlight ever come and my head start to swell, I will remind myself that people might have other things on their minds besides thinking about how great I am. Like getting on back to the house in hopes there won't be extra puppy messes to clean up.
