That Little Voice

Holidays, especially Christmas, are often awkward for me.

We are expected to celebrate, sing, be joyous, religious, while feasting with loved ones around a brightly lit tree, sheltering stacks of wrapped gifts.

But is that really what I want to do, or how I want to spend that day?

Admittedly, my mouth waters when I think of turkey and dressing with mashed potatoes soaked with gravy, and cranberry sauce generously decorating a side of my plate, followed by a slice of pumpkin and a larger slice of pecan pie with a dollop of whipped cream on top of each.

And, of course it is more fun to eat with someone rather than drinking eggnog along with my dogs.They are good company, but seldom create humor that is music to my ears.

The problem with the November and December festivities: they seldom are what you imagine they will be.

My grandmother’s Christmas candy recipe apparently accompanied her to her grave.

My dad’s sweet potato casserole smothered in marshmallows hasn’t been replicated to my satisfaction, or I just remember that dish tasting better than what I find now.

I don’t know who made the dressing or the gravy at those long-ago dinners, but there was a certain flavor that seems to be missing in today’s recipes.

I hear you saying, “Well, just do something different like eat Chinese food for Christmas!”Come on, I can’t do that. I have this longing for the original Christmas delicacies I had as a child. I want the table to look the same, the people to be the same, the tastes to be the same, the smells to permeate the room, the jokes coming fast and making everyone laugh.

Yes, that is why Christmas, and probably all holidays, are awkward. I expect or at least want to recreate my childhood memories. Those were the best times. I didn’t know Uncle Joe was drunk and passed out in the back bedroom. I wasn’t privy to the dramas and traumas being lived by all those sitting around the table smiling.

I only knew the food was good, the sense of family was genuine, and riding my new scooter down the hill in front of my grandparents’ home was exhilarating.

This year I will be with friends, hopefully not eating Chinese or KFC or McDonald’s quick meals out of a carton, or sharing that bottle of eggnog with my doglets.

What I won’t be doing is riding my scooter down a hill. Such a shame to miss recreating that wonderful memory, but actually it’s a blessing. Scooter riding at 80 isn’t the same as it was when I was 8. Apparently neither is the Christmas menu.

Little

Voice