It's the Thought That Counts

Christmas was just a few days away, Miles and his sister Evelyn are sitting on the porch of their childhood home in Northern California, reminiscing about Christmas celebrations from their past. Evelyn smokes her third cigarette and scans the neighbors in the cul-de-sac, putting out decorations, and visiting others with gifts and food.

           “What do you bet Blair is making his famous apple chutney to go with the ham dinner?” asked Miles. “I can only choke down one bite every year. It is my service for the neighborhood.”

           “The chutney is not too bad if the ham was not as dry as the desert. I will suffer through it though if it means I get to take home a tray of his nana’s pecan sticky rolls,” said Evelyn. Miles nodded his head in agreement.

           Tomorrow evening all the neighbors will gather at the Whiteman’s house for the annual Christmas eve party, a potluck dinner with some of the best-inspired dishes, and a few of the less-inspired but missed-the-mark-by-a-mile dishes. Favorites included barbecue meatballs in simmering sauce, can’t stop eating salty toffee, and ambrosia. These delights will be on a beautifully decorated table holding, the fore mentioned apple chutney with bone dry ham and three bean salad that used an entire bottle of vinegar.

           “Remember the time that mom commented on the lumps in Mary’s mashed potatoes? They didn’t speak for a week and ever since Mom has to take mashed potatoes,” said Miles.

           “It stresses her out, but it is her own fault. Her potatoes have to be creamy, smooth, and not watery, or else Mary will pounce right back with a derogatory comment,” Evelyn added, “With the long list of things to stress out about during the holidays, perfect potatoes shouldn’t be on the list.”

           Stress around Christmas; these two knew it better than most and not because of a long list of things to do,  but because of their mom, Betsy. She could ruin any holiday, like Easter, Thanksgiving, and Fourth of July, but she excelled at bringing out her family’s frustration and resentment on Christmas.

           “You aren’t going to rearrange mom’s kitchen this year, are you?” Miles snickered as he asked his sister.

           “You know damn well that I made everything easier to locate. Mom did not consider how much effort I put into doing that,” Evelyn said, “she never appreciates how I try to make her life easier.”

           Miles laughed, “We barely got to eat dinner that year. She could not find the spices, turkey baster, or carving knife.”

Evelyn glared at her brother, “Hmph.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again. What did you buy for mom for Christmas?”

Evelyn shook her head, “Oh no. You will have to wait and be surprised with everyone else. She is going to love it.”

Miles reflected on years of disappointed looks and an insincere thank you from their mom when she opened her gifts. This happened every year, without fail, even when she told them exactly what she wanted. It would be the wrong color, the wrong size, too much money spent, not enough money spent, or she did not remember asking for such an item. The examples of her disappointment in gifts were longer than Santa’s list.

“I am sure she will. I no longer hold out hope anymore for a smile and a sincere thank you from her over a present. That is why I will be taking her to midnight Mass again on Christmas Eve and I let my wife pick out mom’s present.”

“You are a good son considering you do not practice Catholicism,” said Evelyn.

“Yup. It keeps me in her good graces,” Miles responded.

Miles’s daughter, named after his sister Evelyn, nicknamed Evie so no one confused the two, sat in front of the most garish Christmas tree she had ever seen. The tree was artificial, but that wasn’t the problem. It was the ornaments. There were a few collectible ornaments like Kermit the Frog and the Star Trek Enterprise that lit up, but the boughs were straining under the hundreds of brightly colored glass orbs. There were round balls, big and small, plus teardrop-shaped ones, plain, striped, and covered in glitter, and polka dots. And the many strands of bright white lights made the glass ornaments shine, like disco mirror balls. Rumor was it had caused one visitor to have a seizer.

Evie was more focused on the pile of wrapped boxes and bags covered in bows and name tags. She was not allowed to touch or shake the perfectly placed presents, instead, she made guesses to herself about what wonderful treasures might be contained inside. Being the only grandchild, her name was on a majority of the presents, but she replayed Grandma’s words in her head when it came to gifts, “Do not be greedy. Say thank you, show appreciation but keep your emotions contained so no one will think of you as a greedy little girl.”

Christmas Eve finally arrived and the family went next door to the party, dressed in their Christmas best, laden with gifts, perfect mashed potatoes, and smiles plastered on their faces. The evening started with a whirlwind of hellos, hugs, jackets removed, and gifts exchanged followed by the generic response, “Thank you. It’s just what I wanted.” Except for Betsy and Mary’s gift exchange. They traded presents, smiled perfunctorily, and each opened a label maker! With years of practice, each acted surprised and faked appreciation, then they turned and walked away, mumbling under their breath.

When the party was over, the family returned home ready to dive in and open all the beautiful, cheerful presents under the bright gaudy tree. Whether the tree was over-decorated or just right, standing next to the white, French provincial, baby grand piano with the Christmas lights reflected in Evie’s eyes, it was a beautiful sight. Evelyn became Auntie Santa, passing out gifts, and saying, “Ho ho ho,” while wearing a Santa hat. Robert, the patriarch of the family received his favorite candy, Jelly Bellies from his granddaughter Evie. Kathy, Evie’s mom, opened a remote control car. Evie’s eyes bugged out in excitement.

Betsy addressed Evie, “Now that is for your mother. If she allows you to play with it, well that is her decision.”

Betsy opened the envelope given to her by Evelyn, read what the cream-colored certificate said, and looked at her daughter.

“What is this?” Betsy asked.

“Driving lessons,” Evelyn answered, bouncing a little from excitement.

“I don’t understand,” said Betsy, eyebrows, and forehead furrowed.

“Well, I heard you talking about how you want more independence and do not want to have to ask for a ride or wait for dad to get home in order to go to the food store or pharmacy,” she said.

“So you think I am helpless.” Betsy put the certificate aside. “Or that I am dependent on my friends since I never got my driver’s license.”

The tension in the room was felt by everyone, Evie was holding her breath and her mom’s hand. The only noise was from a dancing Santa. Robert picked it up and turned it off.

“No, Mom.” Evelyn was talking slower, trying to explain her choice of gift. “I was listening to you and then tried to get you something to help you out, something you could really use.”

All eyes were on Betsy. “Sorry to be such a burden,” she said. Then stood up with a huff and went to her bedroom.

The joy and merriment left the room like a balloon deflating. “Should we keep opening presents?” Kathy asked.

“Maybe now is a good time for a snack. Anyone want some fudge, popcorn, a sandwich, perchance a glass of wine?” Asked Miles.

“I am going to need more than a glass of wine,” Evelyn said, still astonished at what had occurred.

Robert started to stand, “I better go talk to her.”

Evie put her hand on her grandpa’s arm, “I’ll go.”

Miles opened the fridge and moved items around, not sure what he is looking for when Evelyn burst into the room.

“I cannot believe that woman. It does not matter what I do, she is never appreciative, happy, proud, nope, nothing. It is the iron incident all over again.”

One year, at the annual Christmas potluck dinner, Evelyn, who was ten years old at the time, had saved and saved to purchase a new iron from her mom since hers had broken. Instead of praise, Evelyn had received a disapproving look. Betsy was embarrassed and humiliated in front of the guests by the gift and let her know it for years to come.

Evie found Betsy lying on her bed, curled up, squeezing a pillow in her arms. Evie climbed on the queen size brass bed and sat near her grandma. Betsy was not crying, she never showed emotions that would portray her as weak. Instead, she looked irritated, mouth pinched closed, nose wrinkled like she smelled something rotten.

“Hey Grandma,” said Evie, breaking the silence.

“I am sorry I left like that sweetie, I am just so mad at her.”

“But why? I thought you wanted to get a driver’s license.”

Betsy turned toward her granddaughter. “I do, but I am scared to drive and I feel uncomfortable showing any weakness in front of my daughter. She would just tease me about it and make me feel bad about myself.”

At age ten, Evie did not know the meaning of irony but she knew how her grandma could make anyone feel bad about themselves. “I think she would understand this time. Besides, we can’t open any more gifts without you and you haven’t opened my present yet.”

Betsy nodded. Together they returned to the living room, Betsy sat next to her husband on the white couch, covered in protective plastic.

“Thank you for the thoughtful gift,” Betsy told her daughter.

Evelyn, slightly confused answered, “You are welcome.”

The joyful mood returned and soon the plush carpet was littered with bows, wrapping paper, and boxes. The evening was coming to a close and Miles and Betsy rose to get ready for midnight mass when Evelyn stopped them.

“I have one more gift, it is kind of a family gift. I was worried about it, but let’s do it anyways.”

She handed her mom, dad, and brother each a gift bag, and held one herself.

“Now we all have to open these at the same time or it will be ruined. Ready? Go!”

Each person opened the bag and pulled out similar baseball caps. Robert’s hat said, “Old Fart”, Betty’s said, “Old Farts Wife”, and Miles and Evelyn’s said, “Old Farts Kid”.

The silence was palpable while each studied their hat. Evie giggled behind her hand at the silly hats.

Then, Betsy and Robert burst into laughter. Real laughter that flows from the belly and is infectious to anyone within hearing distance. Soon the entire room was engulfed in laughter, side-splitting, tears rolling down the face laughter.

“So, you like my gift?” Evelyn asked Betsy when the laughter died down.

Betsy looked at Robert, smiled, and said, “Just the other day, I called him an old fart. He was puttering in the garage and would not come in for dinner. So I said, “Your dinner is stone cold you old fart.”

Betsy put the baseball cap on and nodded to the others to do the same. “Let’s get a picture right now of all the old farts.”

Betsy sat on Robert’s lap with Miles on one side and Evelyn on the other. Kathy grabbed a camera and all those on the couch shouted cheese!

Nine in the evening on Christmas, Miles and Evelyn were on the front porch again, talking about the days past events. Christmas dinner had been filled with turmoil and disagreements and at one point Betsy had threatened to put the turkey in the toilet, but the Old Fart hats moment was a happy one, shining through all the drama.

“Well, if nothing else, she gives us stories that no one will believe and unhealthy coping skills,” Evelyn said.

“She is an original,” Miles nodded. “Thank goodness Christmas only comes once a year. I can’t wait to see what Easter brings.”