GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST, PART 3

At long last the day of Christmas Eve arrived. The Christmas marathon began with dinner at Grandma and Grandpa Szlavik. This was my mother's family gathering. By some happy twist of fate Mom's family had their major festivities on Christmas Eve while Dad's family observed Christmas Day. There was never the debate that plagued some families over where one should go for Christmas.

Christmas Eve was always full of surprises. Grandma and Grandpa always had a tree decorated with an assortment of old ornaments and several figures from a nativity set. I never did know why there wasn’t a whole set. One year when we arrived, I was shocked to see the tree decorated with all blue lights instead of the usual multicolored variety. Instead of shining with a festive light, the tree glimmered with an ominously mysterious sheen. It was a very strange effect which put a damper on the evening’s activities. Mom explained that Grandpa had always liked the tree decorated with blue lights. It says something about our grandparents, however, that in all the Christmas Eves we spent there, only once did the blue-lighted tree appear. Grandpa didn't have too much to say about how the household was run. As a matter of fact, Grandpa didn’t have too much to say about anything. I don’t ever recall Grandpa ever saying more than three sentences in a row. I don't think Grandma would have allowed it. Maybe that's what led to the thermostat war. Grandma was always too hot. She would come out of the kitchen mopping her face with a towel, sometimes fanning herself with her apron. Grandpa was always too cold. Even on the fourth of July, sitting in the direct sun, he would wear a sweater. At some time during the Christmas party, Grandpa would start turning up the heat. When the temperature matched Grandma's blood pressure, she’d come tearing out of the kitchen hollering, "Pa, leave that thing alone! You always make it too hot! What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have any blood?" That would pretty much set the tone for the evening.

The first activity of the evening was drinking. This was grandpa's domain. He always had bottles of peculiar brandies made out of fruits you didn't think could be made into alcohol. I don't know where he got this stuff, but I bet it was about 190 proof and could have eaten a hole through the linoleum flooring. Maybe that's why the drinks were always poured and consumed in the kitchen; you couldn't risk getting any on the furniture or carpets. After several drinks and the opening salvos of the thermostat war, dinner was ready. This, too, was always a surprise. Grandma changed the menu from year to year. It could be turkey. It could be lamb and pork roasted together. It could be homemade sausages and potato salad. Whatever it was, there would be plenty with an enormous assortment of vegetables and side dishes. On the table would be candles, special Christmas candles, that were never lighted. One year Dad lit the candles and Grandma almost had a fit. And there would be wine. Grandpa would concoct his own blend usually by mixing a red and a white. Round and round the decanter would go. Fueled by the wine and the brandy, conversation got lively, an almost unbearable experience for Grandpa who didn't think there should be any talking during meals. Usually a food fight would begin. I don't mean people throwing food; I mean a lot of fussing about eating between our cousins and their parents. Uncle Herb believed children should eat a little of everything that was served. It got dumped on their plates whether they liked it or not. They would whine about it and would get hollered at for not eating. It was a contest of wills that gave everyone else acid stomach. We just weren't used to this sort of thing. At our house food was put on the table and you either ate it or went hungry. No one fussed about it. By now things were moving along pretty much on schedule. Someone would pick on Aunt Marge for eating so slowly, Dad would call Grandma a Gypsy, Grandpa would turn up the heat, and the kids would look for some way to escape the rising tempers.

"O.K. lets open the presents," someone would suggest "Pa, you pass out the presents." Grandpa would go hunting for his glasses, not that they would help much. He consistently misread names. He mixed up the "to" with the "from." He passed out wrong presents until Grandma hollered at him and someone else took over. Gifts were opened one at a time so everyone could see what you got. You pretty much knew what was going to happen. Grandparents gave you clothes. Toys or games or records or books came from your aunt and uncle. Uncle Herb sometimes had an eye for giving bigger presents than any of us were accustomed to receiving. One year he gave me a telescope. Aunt Marge always taped the boxes shut so you had to borrow a knife to get into them. We accused her of having stock in 3M. "Don't loose the cards," someone would warn. It was beyond us kids why adults set such importance on the cards. No kid cared much about the cards unless there was money in them. As you got older, you learned to look as if you were reading the card carefully before you opened the package. That was a sure sign of maturity. With the present phase over, everyone made the rounds of saying thank you to everyone else.

Then it was time to eat again. Out came the cakes and cookies and coffee and milk in huge quantities. You'd think no one had eaten in a week. This repast provided and opportunity to revive the controversies of dinner all over again. Fortunately, there was a time limit to these exercises because we had to get to church for the candlelight service at midnight.

As we come to the end of our days of preparation, may the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne