We had some snowy Christmases, Stephanie and I. It’s
unavoidable when you live in the midwest. But the snow had always been on the
ground for days or weeks before. Only once did we have what I’d call a genuine
White Christmas – where there’s no snow on the ground the day before, but you
wake up on Christmas and fresh snow has covered everything overnight.
Well, we had a genuine White Christmas in Madison this
morning. Where yesterday there was grass, today’s there’s snow. It looks nice,
and Stephanie would’ve been enchanted. Me, I’m a little less than enchanted.
“It looks nice” is all you’ll get from me.
Actually, Steph
would've squealed like a little kid at the snow, and would've wanted to go
outside and play in it (though there isn't really enough snow to do anything
but look at it). And if she was here, she would've gotten a stocking full of
trinkets and mini-whiskeys, and I would've gotten one too, and we'd be having
Mom's Breakfast Casserole, our traditional breakfast for Christmas. Maybe we'd
go for a walk, to see the nutty neighbor's house that always decked out like
the Griswolds, or we'd go for a drive, through the delightful light display in
Olin Park.
Instead I ate a
Spam sandwich, read the newspaper on-line, and now I'm writing about the spirit
of Christmas Past. Christmas Present has no spirit, and the notion of Christmas
Future seems unlikely and irrelevant.
For years
before Steph, and for almost every Christmas we were together, we went to a
movie on Christmas – except for one year when she wasn’t feeling well, and one
year when there was nothing playing anywhere that interested either of us in
the slightest. Goes without saying, I didn't go to the movies today. Didn't
even check to see what's playing.
And so this is
Christmas, but I’m really not feeling it. It's just another day. No tree, no
twinkly lights, no ham roll-ups, no cards, no season’s greetings beyond the bare
minimum required by social interaction – meaning, if someone says “Merry
Christmas” to me, I’ll say it back and try to make it sound sincere. Heck, it is
sincere – if I wish you a merry Christmas, I bloody well want you to enjoy your
25th of December. I ain’t lying. I’m just not participating.
Any day with
Stephanie was a good day, and we had some memorable Christmases. Our best
Christmas story is probably our first one, half-told
already, but I’m saving the second half for where it fits
chronologically. It was 1997, not long after we'd arrived in San Francisco, so
we’ll get to that point in our stories within a few weeks or chapters or
whatever these entries are.
There is, though, another Christmas story I’d forgotten,
which came to mind with this morning’s snowfall. It’s worth telling because it
shows just how stubborn, how plucky Stephanie could be. One Christmas some
years ago (2008, or 2009 or 10, I’d guess), we were going to eat at a Chinese
buffet on the west side of town, and then catch a movie at the discount cinema.
Our apartment has a parking lot in the back, and before
Steph was in a wheelchair we usually parked there. So we strolled out to the
parking lot, and found glass and snow all over the seats of the car. Yup, fresh
snow – that was the first genuine White Christmas we had, before today. And
some time between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, someone had smashed our
driver's side window, and rummaged through whatever was in the car.
They didn’t steal the car, and that was nice of him
or her, but why anyone would break into our car is a mystery. Our car was a
beater, almost ten years old, with rust stains and dents and a cracked
windshield, and a mess of fast-food wrappers in the back seat. And what did
they get for their trouble? The only thing missing was a map-book of Wisconsin,
value perhaps $10. And the driver’s side window.
It would’ve been easy to scuttle our plans. That was my
reaction – it sucks, but Christmas was over. Maybe we could call out for
Chinese delivery, and watch one of our DVDs or something on Netflix, and start
pricing our options for getting the window replaced. Because what else are we
going to do? Are we going to drive across town and go to Christmas dinner and a
movie without a window?
Yup. That's what we did. Stephanie insisted. “Nobody’s
going to Grinch our Christmas,” she said. “Do we have cardboard? Do we have
duct tape?” While I swept glass bits from the seat and floor, Steph measured
the window with a ruler, and then cut a chunk of cardboard to exactly the right
size and shape, and duct-taped it to the car. She left one side of the
cardboard only lightly taped, so she could fold it back while she was driving,
allowing her to see out the side window. Total time lost: perhaps twenty
minutes.
Then she drove us across the city, where we had a good but
not great Christmas dinner at a so-so Chinese buffet that’s not there any more.
And we went to the movie theater, where we enjoyed the show very much, though I
don’t recall what we saw.
What I recall is, we celebrated Christmas our way. What I
recall is, my wife was stubborn and determined, an impressive woman – and I
told her. Once Stephanie’s mind was made up she got things done, and she was
pretty good with an X-Acto knife.