Three Christmas Traditions Your Holidays Probably Don’t Include

1.  The Stocking Tree

 

I grew up in a house without a fireplace.  It wasn’t a problem—we just left the back door unlocked for Santa.  But, without a chimney by which to hang our stockings with care, we had to improvise.  Since we didn’t have a mantle, we had a stocking tree.

It’s just a fence post, painted green, on a platform of wood, with a dozen bent nails sticking out of it, but it has been in my family longer than I have, and I love it.  Seeing the stocking tree always make me feel like Christmas is really here.

2.  Catching the Mistletoe

Mistletoe, that naughty little holiday plant, grows in the trees in my parents’ front yard.  Much like the existence of the stocking tree, this was something I took for granted when I was a kid.  Some years it grows in abundance, and some years it’s more scarce, but never a Christmas goes by that we don’t have at least a little mistletoe to cut down and hang over doorways in the house. * 

Mistletoe itself may not be an unusual holiday tradition, but the way we collect it is.  My dad stands in the front yard and cuts the bunch of mistletoe down with his saw-on-a-long-pole-tool (I am thirty-seven years old and I still don’t know what that thing is called) while I stand beneath the cluster of leaves and berries and “catch it” as it falls. 

2012

I don’t know why this job has always been mine.  I don’t remember there being a tryout or an apprenticeship of any sort.  I just know that, for as far back as I can remember, I’ve been expected to catch the mistletoe.  The position can’t be based on talent either because, sadly, I’m not very good at it.  I tend to close my eyes just before the moment of impact and then hear the poor plant hit the ground or else feel a shower of poisonous berries bounce off my head.  No matter.  There’s always enough to salvage.  A little mistletoe goes a long way and the kisses are just as sweet even when the mistletoe is a little squished.

2011

* Mistletoe is actually quite poisonous to dogs.  We never worried too much about it, since we hang it well out of reach of the pets, but after my puppy ended up at the ER two Christmas Eves ago presenting symptoms similar to those of mistletoe poisoning, we no longer bring it in the house.  Better safe than sorry where the furry loved ones are concerned.

3.  The Christmas Poem

In 1997, finding myself without stocking stuffers to give my family, I wrote my own version of Clement C. Moore’s “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” (originally titled “A Visit from St. Nicholas”).  The poem was set in our own home and full of familial silliness and inside jokes.  I printed ten copies, rolled them up, tied them with ribbon, and stuffed them in the stockings.  When we opened gifts that year, everyone got a kick out of my poem and asked me to read it aloud.  And right there, another tradition was born. 

 

The following year, my brother wrote one.  Then Cousin Kelley.  Then my mom.  Then my sister-in-law.  In the sixteen years that have passed since that first spontaneous verse, almost every member of the family has contributed a poem or a story.  Some years we have quite a few to share.

My brother and his son (bottom right corner) making the
exact same pensive expression as I read my 2007 poem.

The majority of the poems still follow the original idea—personalized parodies of “The Night Before Christmas”.   But sometimes we venture out into other forms.  They almost always rhyme and they almost always contain one particularly bad rhyme or pun that makes the whole family groan.  (In the years when my brother writes them, there is significantly more groaning.)  And, though these poems wouldn’t win any prizes for literary merit, we all smile and laugh and sometimes even shed a tear or two as we huddle in the living room together listening to the latest one.  All gifts remain unopened until the Christmas poem has been read.

Most of the poems wouldn’t make any sense to non-Kinder-related types, but since I’ve just described tradition #2, here’s the poem I wrote in 2007, titled “Mistletoe”.  Please forgive all the liberties I took with the word “’Twas”. 

Mistletoe

‘Twas eight days till Christmas

2009 -- It was seventy degrees.
The hat and gloves are just for show.

And, of course, ‘twas no snow—

The air was quite warmish,

The sun all aglow.

Dad said, “Wanna get some mistletoe?”

I said, “Not right now, no.”

‘Twas six days till Christmas

And no clouds did show—

The sky was pure blue;

Birds soared in a row.

Dad said, “ How ‘bout the mistletoe?”

I said, “Nah, later on though.”

‘Twas four days till Christmas

And still ‘twas no snow,

Yet the sky darkened eerily,

And the wind began to blow.

Dad said, “Let’s get some mistletoe.”

2007 -- That is a BIG bunch of
mistletoe about to fall on me.

I said, “Maybe after I watch this show.”

‘Twas two days till Christmas

And the temp dropped so low

That the wind chill felt

Like nineteen below.

Dad said, “It’s time to get the mistletoe.”

I said, “It’s thirty-one degrees, you know.” *

“Well, we should have done this a week ago.”

I glanced out the window and said, “Uh oh.”

Covered in mittens and scarves and a hat,

I shifted my shivering feet to and fro.

Even through two sweaters, it was obvious that

The wind, to my skin, was able to blow.

Dad, with his pole with a saw on the end,

Scanned the hackberry tree for good mistletoe.

If ever I had thought to call it my friend,

1997 -- Dad lets me try using the
saw-on-a-pole.  It didn't go well.

This white-berried plant was now surely my foe.

Dad touched the tool to several large clumps,

Asking, “This one? Or that?” in a manner so slow

While I, in a frigid numb popsicle grump,

Stood in a silent, stiff, opinionless woe.

When finally the ”perfect” cluster was chosen

And Mom was summoned, camera in tow,

Dad ignored the state of my hands (they were frozen)

And issued the warning, “Look out below!”

The saw blade high in the treetop went snick—

I dutifully stuck out my arms, and then… D’oh!

Just as Mom’s camera flashed and went click—

I felt the cold bundle bounce off my toe.

Nothing was ruined, no harm had been done;

The plant was salvaged and tied with a bow.

I posed with my prize as if I had won

1989  :)

While another picture was taken for show.

So lovers who savor a kiss to bestow

‘Neath this romantic shrub, I want you to know

That more toil and sweat that you’d imagine can go

Into obtaining a bough of mistletoe.

* Remember, this is Texas.  Thirty-one degrees is COLD here.

Happy Holidays, everyone.  Remember to enjoy the little things.

 

“We Want Fireworks!”

When I was a kid, there was a street in Plano where my family and I used to go watch fireworks on the 4th of July.  It was a deserted road next to a big empty field, which is now probably the site of a trendy housing development or maybe a strip mall.  But back then it was empty except for weeds and wildflowers, giving us a perfect view of the stadium a couple hundred yards away where the show took place.  Every year, we caravanned over in two or three cars (Dad’s Checker Cab of course and maybe my aunt’s Toyota), arriving well before the sun went down in order to get a good spot.  The street was somewhat out-of-the-way but was not unknown—others used it as well and by nightfall it was always full of cars, people, and kids running around.

The years were so much the same that they blend together in my mind as one jumbled memory.  We hung around on car bumpers and blankets listening to the radio, fighting off mosquitoes, playing frisbee, and drinking Dr. Peppers in our red, white, and blue garb.  (I remember one particularly gaudy year when I was wearing a red tank top, blue jean shorts, a white belt, red socks, and white Keds.  At the time, I was quite proud of my patriotic fashion statement, but looking back at the pictures makes me cringe.) There was even an ice cream truck whose driver wised up to the idea of serving the crowded little street, so every year he appeared and we enjoyed popsicles and Eskimo bars while staring in the direction of the stadium.

The people inside obviously had some sort of pre-firework entertainment.  Music and cheering could be heard, and one year sky-divers parachuted into the stadium—an unexpected treat for us.  Whatever went on inside that arena always was, and still is, a mystery to me.  I remember wondering what those people were seeing and coming up with my own versions of their entertainment, but never once do I remember feeling envious of them.  The 4th of July in the Kinder family meant parking on the side of a road and enjoying the colorful display from our lawn chairs and tail gates.  This wasn't something you bought a ticket for.

4th of July - 1986

Waiting for the show to begin seemed to take forever.  The sky grew darker and darker, and with every star that came out, we kids grew more and more restless.  My brother Pat, five years older than me, remained a bit more composed than our cousin Kelley, three years my junior, and me.  He sat with the adults and attempted to restrain any anxious tendencies.  Kelley and I, however, were shamelessly impatient, often inventing creative chants such as, "WE WANT FIREWORKS!" which we repeated over and over, much to the annoyance of everyone else. 

There were no cell phones, no Kindles, no portable DVD players, not even a Game Boy to distract us from the snail-like pace of time.  The only way we even knew how slowly it ticked by was from our parents’ watches, and they got tired of us asking.  Sometimes we had sparklers to keep us busy for a few minutes, but for the most part we had to just wait it out, every excruciating second.

And then... just when our impatient cries had reached their whiniest levels, just when the adults were probably ready to throttle us, the first bright explosion lit up the sky.  You could sense the excitement of the moment—people standing up, turning their heads, leaning forward, the collective intake of breath as the first firecracker faded into a smoky outline and drifted off with the wind, carrying the smell of sulfur with it.  From that moment on, there was no bickering, no whining, just a symphony of Oo's and Ah's and interjections of "Wow!  That was cool!" and "That one was huge!"  

The Kinders do not watch fireworks in reverent silence.  We comment.  Do we remember that one from last year?  Was that a new color?  I've never seen one like that.  Ooo, that looked like a flower.  No, it looked like a balloon.  No, I saw a spider.  Did you see that one?  Of course I saw it, I'm right here.  That one was sparkly.  I like the ones you can see on the way up.  I like the ones that make the whistly noise.  I like the purple ones.  I like them all.  Forty minutes of non-stop descriptive chatter about something that we are all watching at the same time.  And afterwards... we rehash it all again in the past tense.  It is our way.

In addition to the color commentary of the explosions, Pat and I also had a game we liked to play.  Several airplanes circled the area repeatedly during the show.  (It was not until later that I realized they were there to watch as well; as a kid, I just thought that was a busy flight path for small planes.)  The game was simple—count how many planes got "killed" by the fireworks.  Although of course they were completely safe and nowhere near the actual explosions, every time it appeared that one was blown up by a pink burst of sparks or a strobe-like flash of light, we cheered uproariously for its death.  All in good fun.

Every firework display ends with, what is known in Texas as, the "grand finale".  This finale consists of setting off dozens and dozens of rockets at the same time so that the eye is blinded by two or three minutes of simultaneous flashes of color, and yes, it is quite grand.  Therefore, toward the end of the show, it is traditional for the Kinder commentary to shift from the general Oo's and Ah's to the impulsive predictions.  Oh my!  I think this is the grand finale!  Ooo, no THIS must be the grand finale!  Wow!  Look at all that!  Do you think it's the grand finale?  This time I'm SURE, it MUST be the grand finale!  Eventually, inevitably, someone was right; it was the grand finale.  We whooped and cheered and said “Happy 4th of July!” We smiled and laughed and stared at the giant smoke cloud slowly drifting away from the stadium, knowing it was over, but secretly hoping for one last blue or green ball of flame to appear.  Once in awhile, we got our wish.

The ride home was always subdued.  We recapped the events of the evening, voted on our favorite parts, and finally drifted into a satisfied quiet.  Sometimes, out the car window, we caught glimpses of other firework shows finishing up in the distance and smiled at this unexpected bonus.  Often I was asleep, or at least pretending to be, by the time we pulled into the gravel driveway of home.

This is still my favorite way to enjoy the 4^th of July.  Tomorrow night, the hubby and I will grab some chairs and a blanket and a cooler of drinks and drive out to some out-of-the-way spot, where I will fidget and whine and chant, “WE WANT FIREWORKS!” until the colorful flashes appear in the sky, or he stops my annoying lips with a kiss.  Which is a whole other kind of fireworks.  :)

The Christmas Letter

With a few interesting exceptions, I am not a fan of Christmas letters detailing the ups and downs of the sender’s year.  I have never written one myself.  But, it turns out that I am not the only aspiring writer in the family, and the last thing I would ever want to do is stand in the way of someone else’s desire to share their stories with the world.  So, with that said, I hope you enjoy this holiday letter from Gabby, the tabby cat.

[Disclaimer:  The views and opinions expressed in this post belong to Gabby the Cat only and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of the blogger herself.]

Greetings From Gabby

Dear Feline Friends and Their Humans,

Greetings!  Meowy Christmas and Happy Mew Year to you all!  I hope this letter finds you and your furry loved ones well.  I know that everyone is busy this time of year ingesting curly ribbon, bathing obsessively, and searching for the warmest spot to nap, but I thought I should catch you up on everything that’s been going on down here in Austin.  We’ve had a big year too!

2012 started out pretty routinely in the Juettner household.  January was cold, necessitating a bit of snuggling for the sake of warmth.  Of course the rules of snuggling must always be followed.  Rule #1: Try to snuggle with someone who will snuggle you back, because it’s more fun that way.  Rule #2: If a consenting snuggle-partner can’t be found, take what you can get. Rule #3: Never ever snuggle with a dog, no matter how warm he looks.

 (<-- Rule #1, in effect)

(Rule #2, in effect -->)

Disgusting.

Speaking of dogs, this one is still here, unfortunately.  We were all hoping he was just passing through, but it now looks like the clumsy oaf is here to stay.   I honestly do not know what my humans see in him.  He just keeps getting bigger and BIGGER and despite all the diplomas he brings home I haven’t seen any improvement in manners or grooming.  For a couple of months they came to their senses and started keeping him in a cage, but now he’s out again, draining our water bowl and taking up too much space on the couch.  I just don’t understand why they need him when they already live with four purrfectly good cats.

Equally disgusting.

In February, Gink turned thirteen and we had a small  party/intervention for him.  Now I’m not one to hack up a hairball and tell, but everyone knows Gink has some issues.  So Zora and Toby and I simply suggested that it might be time for him to give up his little “friend”.  Well, talk about the litter hitting the fan!  It did not go well.  That doll is still hanging around the house.  My human washes it once in a while, but I don’t care.  There is not enough soap in the world…

Me in the penthouse

Spring and summer were fairly uneventful.  We got a new kitty condo, so now I’m living the highlife.  And our humans left for a couple of weeks.  I had mixed feelings about it.  On the one paw, they took the dog with them, so that was a plus.  But on the other paw, I had to listen to 14 days of Gink muttering to himself about how he was going to kill the poor girl who came over to give him his medicine.  (Seriously.  The guy has issues.)  Anyway, eventually our humans came back and order was restored.

In August, I kept waiting for our female human to start leaving the house again, like usual, but… she didn’t.  For some reason she’s been hanging around the house a LOT more, demanding attention and sticking her nose in our business.  It’s really been an adjustment for us all.  Zora hasn’t been able to continue her “sofa art” and I don’t have the quiet necessary to pursue my study of string theory.  (My theory is that if the string moves, I must pounce on it.)  But it is nice when she uses her opposable thumbs to open the porch door.

Toby is actually a dog-supporter.
I try not to think about it.

Then last month everyone had a big hissy fit over the election.  At times like these, it's difficult to keep one's opinions to oneself.  I’m all for the legalization of catnip, but once they start talking about equal rights for dogs, that’s when I get fuzzed up.  Our kind know how to handle ourselves in public, which is why we are allowed our freedoms, but those good-for-nothing canines need to be kept on leashes—short ones!  Sorry, I don’t mean to get political.  But some of those ideas being thrown around really poof my tail!

Now it’s December and we’re all getting ready for the holidays.  Zora is hiding in gift bags and Gink is spending "quality time" with his doll by the fire, while visions of belly rubs dance through Toby's head.  (I don't know what's dancing through the dog's head and I don't care.)  My favorite tradition is probably the annual tree of toys.  Every year, my humans set it up and say, "I hope we don't lose any this year..." and that's my cue!  Each night, after they go to bed, I take one toy off the tree and hide it deep under the couch.  Then the next morning, they wonder out loud where it could be.  And the best part is when the finally look under the couch in January and find all the toys I hid for them.  They're always so happy and excited!  Humans can be quite adorable at times.

Well, that’s about it!  2012 is swiftly drawing to a close.  We’ll all be hiding under the bed from New Year's Eve fireworks before you know it!  So keep your litterboxes clean, your food bowls full, and don’t forget to leave some milk out for Santa.  (I’m keeping an eye out for him this year.  I want to ask him if he’ll take the dog.)

Peace and Paws,

Gabby