The Scent of the Season

When she was six and I was twelve, my sister got a dog. One of our uncles gave it to her, I think because the dog could outsmart him. The dog was a toy fox terrier named Pepper. He was unbelievably cute – he looked like a tiny white and black deer – and amazingly smart. He was feisty; he had a hilarious personality and a thirst for adventure.

He also really, really liked to annoy me.

In his defense, I think the only reason he liked to annoy me is that I didn’t like him. I was just not a dog-person. I thought he was adorable and smart; I loved him in the abstract. I just didn’t want him on my lap or in my room, and on car trips, I didn’t want him snuggled up next to me.

I think Pepper originally wanted to be with me because he had hung out with my cousin before he came to live with us, and I was her general size and shape. However, once he figured out I didn’t want him on me or around me, he clearly thought, “Hmmm. I can have some fun with that.”

Pepper was mainly an outside dog, but he was allowed to come inside during cold weather. Anytime he was in the house, he would make a beeline for my bedroom. He did not enter the bedroom, though. He was too smart for that. He would sit just outside my bedroom door, so close that it would bump his nose if I closed the door, but still in the hallway so I couldn’t say, “Pepper, get out of my room.” He would sit there and watch me. That’s all, just sit and watch. It annoyed the daylights out of me for some reason unknown to me today, and I would eventually break under the pressure and yell, “Colene, call your dog!!!!” Colene would call, “Pepper!” and he would bound off to play with her. (There was one notable occasion, still famous in our family, when Colene was actually hiding under my bed so she could jump out and scare me. Pepper was in his usual pose in my doorway when I arrived. I immediately yelled, “Colene, call your dog!!!” and from under my bed came a tiny, tentative voice: “Pepper?”)

Anyway, since it is usually cold(er) in Austin in December, Pepper was often in the house during the Christmas season. He was in his glory. He strutted around the house. He examined the Christmas tree. He examined the gifts under the Christmas tree.

And, every year, he peed on at least one of my Christmas presents.

Only on my presents. Never on anyone else’s presents.

Always, always on my presents.

Our house had hardwood floors and Lucy#1 and Leroy had to re-polish the floor in the living room every new year because the peed-upon wrapping paper would lose its dye and stain the floor. Every year. No one ever caught him in the midst of his villainy, but every year when I opened my presents on Christmas morning, at least one of them would have telltale signs of an encounter with Pepper.

The Christmas that still makes us howl with laughter (although, believe me, my original howls were not laughter) was the year Grandma gave me a box of scented candles for Christmas. Yes, that’s right; there were scented candles in a box under the tree for me. And yes, that’s also right; Pepper peed on them. I don’t remember now what scents they were originally, but by the time I opened the package . . . well, let’s just say the original scent was not apparent.

Pepper and I battled it out until I left for college. I missed him when I left, and while I still didn’t really want him on my lap when I returned for weekends and holidays, I was a little softer-hearted about having him in my room. (He still peed on my Christmas gifts, though.) Eventually I grew up, and Pepper and I maintained a reasonable friendship. When I’d go over to visit the parents, I’d go out and pet Pepper and chit-chat with him. Pepper was part of our family for 16 years, and we all took it very hard when he died.

I guess Pepper’s “mark” is as much a part of our holiday tradition as the tree and the fudge, and he is still making our Christmas memories merry.

 

If that were my tree . . . .

Our family has pretty much always celebrated the season with eclectic Christmas tree. Lots of multicolored lights, all the ornaments we own, silver icicles, sometimes even flocking were on our tree. Eclectic is what we always had and we loved the whole gaudy thing. Decorating was a walk down memory lane, seeing all the ornaments collected throughout the years, rushing to find and our hang our own personal favorites.

We deviated only once in my memory.

Sometime in the early 70s, we decided we would have a theme for our Christmas tree – we would celebrate with a blue and silver tree. It would be very wintery, almost icy. It would be so amazing to have such a cool-looking tree in the heat of an Austin, Texas, winter. We switched out all the bulbs until we had strings of blue and white lights. We shopped for new ornaments, all blue and silver. We decorated our theme tree and it was everything we had hoped. Stunning! Artistic! Beautifully modern!

The actual decorating was a little bit of a bummer because the treasured ornaments we had hung every Christmas were absent, but it was fun watching the silver and blue ornaments, the silver and white lights, and the silver icicles come together into icy beauty. We liked it!!

Grandma (Lucy#1’s mom) came to our house for Christmas that year. We always enjoyed having her with us. She was a barrel of laughs, always willing to tell us stories of her youth, always thrilled to cook us meals and do lots of Christmas baking, including her famous Mogen-David-wine-laced fruitcake.  (If you don’t like fruitcake, it’s because you never had my grandma’s fruitcake. ‘Nuff said. J)

When Grandma arrived we could not wait to show her our gorgeous blue and silver Christmas tree. She studied it for a moment, then said, “I always have red lights on my Christmas tree.”

“We usually do, too, Grandma, but this is a theme tree. We want it to be just silver and blue. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Yes, but it needs some red lights.”

She didn’t tell us we were wrong; she didn’t make fun of our silvery tree. But, every day when Grandma passed by our tree, she would say, “If that were my tree, I’d put some red lights on it.”

 

That comment’s become an in-joke for my sister and me. If something is just a little bit off, one of us will say to the other, “If that were my tree, I’d put some red lights on it.” If we see a pre-lit tree, all white lights and glittering with shiny ornaments -- “If that were my tree, I’d put some red lights on it.” Just a few days ago, I found some cross-stitched ornaments I made for my parents in 1985 or 1986. I texted a photo to my sister, with the envelope I mailed them in (which is where Lucy#1 stored them every year), saying, “Wow! Look what I found.” And my sister texted back, “If that were my tree, I’d put some red lights on it!”

Memories. They’re the best!

 

Christmas Memories

December and I have a love-hate relationship. I love December because it’s cold(er) outside, Christmas music is everywhere, houses are lit up with pretty lights, lovely cards are in my mailbox, cookies!!, and no one looks at me funny if I say I’m gearing up for a weekend of A Christmas Story, Scrooge, The Santa Clause, and Die Hard. (Okay, so they do look at me funny about Die Hard, but it takes place at Christmas, there are Christmas carols, and doesn't Bruce Willis wish the bad guy a Merry Christmas? That's right. Ha!) I hate December because I’ve been listening to Christmas music everywhere since just after Halloween, I’m always behind on sending my Christmas cards (raise your hand if you have even received a card from me in the last five years, yes both of you, raise a hand), the traffic is terrible all over town, my jeans don’t want to zip up, and the forecast is for an ice storm so we’ve had to cancel our office Christmas party. Fortunately for my seasonal cheer, the things I love about December are so very loveable that they completely overshadow the things I hate. And I do love Christmas – celebrating baby Jesus coming to save us, Santa Claus flying in on the 24^th, Christmas trees!

Having spent my youth and first 20 adult years in Austin, I equate brake lights on the highway during bleak, rainy weather with Christmas. (Now you know what December is like in Austin.) I got really excited driving home the other day because it was cold and kind of drizzling and the roads were getting slick so everyone was driving on their brakes. All I could think was, “Yay, Christmas is coming!” The minute I got home, I put Christmas CDs in my car. J

This Christmas could be a bummer because I had so many Christmas plans for Lucy#1 and me. I was looking forward to us putting up a tree, singing along with the Christmas music, decorating sugar cookies, baking chocolate pie, watching Christmas movies, and just celebrating together all month long while we reminisced about Christmases past and laughed over the good old stories and fun times.

Phooey.

But, I have decided to refuse to let gloom overcome the joy of the season or the joy of Lucy#1. So, I’m going to share some of the memorable Christmas moments our family has had over the years, and I’m going to remember these moments and more when I miss Lucy#1 this Christmas season.

The first really outstanding Christmas I remember, I was five. Lucy#1 made cookies and brownies and fudge, and then, amazingly, on Christmas Eve no one policed my consumption of those goodies. I ate all the cookies and brownies and fudge I could hold. Yum!! I was in sugar-induced heaven . . . . right up until that moment in middle of the night when those cookies started coming back up. I didn’t go straight for the bathroom when I realized I was going to be sick – I headed for my mama – so I tossed up those cookies right in front of my parents’s bedroom door. My parents were thrilled, of course, and my daddy cleaned up the floor while my mama cleaned up the kid. She put me in clean pajamas and they tucked me back into my warm sugar-plum bed. I slept a little while, then, ruh-roh! More cookies coming up! I went straight to the bathroom that time, but wasn’t fast enough. Repeat prior activities by all. Then, wait half an hour and repeat. Then, ditto, until I ran out of clean pajamas. My mother (who had apparently peeked while Santa was there) went down and got me some nice, brand-new jammies from under the tree. I don’t know how many times I have heard about me saying, “Isn’t it good that Santa brought me new pajamas? It’s like he knew I would need them tonight.” (In case you are wondering, I was never allowed free reign at the Christmas goodies table again.)

The next huge Christmas event in my memory concerns my sister. She was almost three. She loved her Christmas gifts. She loved each of them so much that she had to be forced to open the next one. First she saw toys from Santa. She started playing with one. Mama and Daddy had to take it away from her and show her the next toy. She played with that. I showed her a wrapped package. She opened it. It was a little outfit. She put it on (without help, because she was fiercely independent and wouldn’t allow anyone to assist her). Then we talked her into opening the next gift. It was a book. She sat down to “read” it. It took her what felt to me like h-o-u-r-s to open her gifts. Each year, someone would mention that Christmas morning, and our whole family would chuckle about how cute she was and how appreciative of every gift.

Our first Christmas in Germany was amazing. We lived in a little German town, upstairs from a wonderful German couple and their youngest son. They invited us to join them for their Christmas Eve celebration. Most of their children were grown with families of their own, and they all came over. The house was packed with people, all speaking German (which, by the way, sounds really rowdy if you don't understand it)! We all sang Christmas carols (not all in the same language). Neighbors came by to visit and have a cookie and/or a drink. (They had really good cookies, although I was allowed to eat only a few.) I’d never seen a madhouse of activity like that! What crazy Christmas joy spilling over onto everyone! We joined them every Christmas Eve while we were in Germany, and it was a fantastic night every year.

The Christmas I was 11, Santa brought my dad a race car set. Whoooeeeee! We all enjoyed those race cars! A young couple (in their early 20s) who lived next door came over for Christmas dinner, and we all raced those cars all day long (and for years afterward).

The first year Freddy joined us for Christmas was a hoot. Freddy is from Columbia; he was attending Texas A&M and worked where Lucy#1 worked. He couldn’t go home for Christmas, so he joined our family for the day. My sister and I (in our 20s at the time) adopted him as the brother we never had, and roped him into all our crazy Christmas traditions and activities. We ended up playing Monopoly that afternoon. Freddy was not familiar with the game and didn’t feel comfortable playing, so he offered to be our Banker. He found out all about us that day! I doubt the bank was actually robbed, but I think there may have been a lot of wheeling, dealing, wheedling, and whining in addition to other Monopoly shenanigans, and possibly some boasting and jeering. I’m pretty sure Freddy thought our whole family was nuts, but he came back every year. (We didn’t subject poor Freddy to Monopoly again, but he did play some pretty cut-throat Uno with us through the years!)

My first Christmas in Oklahoma City, Lucy#1, my sister, and my nephew came up to spend Christmas with me. We had so much fun! Since I had come to OKC from the mountains of New Mexico, where I lived in a solar-powered house with a woodstove in the living room as the only heat source, I was used to much cooler temperatures (inside as well as outside) than was my poor family, and it never occurred to me that 64 degrees was not the perfect indoor temperature. I did notice they were wearing sweaters while I was in lightweight clothing, but hey! Lucy#1 was always cold, even in the summertime, and Susan was enjoying wearing her Christmas sweaters, right? And my nephew did stay snuggled up on the couch with an afghan, but golly, he was a kid and had his game boy or whatever and I love to snuggle up with a book -– same thing, right? Well . . . .  no. I was wrong on all counts. After they were safe and warm back in Texas, my sister told me that she and Lucy#1 had considered offering to pay my electric bill if I would just turn the heat on!!

I haven’t put my Christmas tree up yet, but that’s on my weekend to-do list. I’ll pull out the old Andy Williams Christmas CD, and Billboard’s top Christmas songs, and maybe something really fun like the soundtrack to the Christmas program John Denver did with the Muppets. Or maybe my Twisted Christmas CDs. (Did you know that House of the Rising Sun works perfectly with the tune to Oh Little Town of Bethlehem? Try it. You’ll see. There is a house in New Orleans . . . . Really, it works!)

I’ll sing Christmas songs at the top of my lungs while I decorate, then I’ll admire my handiwork and toast Lucy#1 with some hot chocolate. I’ll miss her, but at the same time I’ll see her in all my Christmas memories. That works, too.