“Someday soon, we will all be together, if the fates allow. Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow.” Perhaps it’s the buttery way these words flow from Ella Fitzgerald’s vocals or the sentiment that feels like the first bite of warm apple pie, but at hearing this Christmas song’s lyrics I feel myself calm.
It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m donning red and black plaid fleece fabric pajama pants that will match those worn by eleven other family members. Seated as a passenger with 21 minutes left on the drive to my parents, the anticipation of the upcoming festivities fills the air.
As I type, the roast is in the oven. While other highlights of the evening include giving and receiving presents and playing bingo, there’s something about that red, pillowy meat of the prime rib that has me mentally salivating and eagerly anticipating the feast.
“There’s an 80% chance of snow in the next hour,” my lovely husband announces, injecting inspiration and hope into me, filling my eyes with water. Though that window of opportunity has passed, and my hope is now a trickle, the question lingers: What if?
Reflecting on Christmas Eve as a kid, for at least one memorable year, it meant my brother and I sleeping in sleeping bags under the tree. The vantage point from beneath the lovely-smelling, freshly cut noble fir, with small white lights illuminating the needles and ornaments, filled me with wonder. Yet, being that close to the presents without knowing what they were felt like being at the front of the line and waiting within a timeless frame.
Evelyn’s voice interrupts my thoughts from the backseat, “When are we going to be there?” It must be the tenth time she’s asked. Off the freeway, with only back roads remaining, the final nine minutes will weave us through the old-growth Douglas Firs adjacent to the lake—the best part.
She asks again: six minutes to go. And then, five minutes. Past the barbed wire and heavily gated watershed area where a group of deer stands, mouths to the ground.
Distracted momentarily by counting to ten, Evelyn then shifts her focus, “How long until Grandma and Grandpa’s?” One minute!
And there we are—finally arrived. All seated on love seats, recliners and the couch, conversations flowing, and the topic of Kraken’s season taking center stage, the all-hated Cowboys playing football on the TV and a peek at the thousand or so Coots on the lake.
From here on out I’ll be snapping photos. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 