Have you ever had a Christmastime mishap? Or maybe in the attempt to create really special memories or a family tradition things go really badly and that new special memory may actually require your loved ones to get therapy in future? By now I am sure you can guess that all of the above applies to me and my family.
Let’s start with the making of rosettes. I love rosettes and no one in my family makes rosettes (now I know why) so I decided that I needed to take that task on myself, I mean really how hard could it be? Off I go to purchase the little rosette maker and the ingredients to make them. I should have been leery as soon as I noticed I need to heat grease, that never goes well for me and this time was no exception. With a batter or dough of sorts and frying pan sizzling with hot grease we dipped the rosette thing-a-ma-gig into the batter and then into the frying pan and everything just seemed to fall apart and become a big clump of gooey mush. I didn’t give up right away I kept at it until the house was filled with smoke and smelled like a greasy dinner. Eventually I was yelling, Kent was looking for a fire extinguisher and both kids were in tears. I have never tried to make a rosette since. For years I kept that rosette maker in my drawer just in case I got my nerve up to try again. One day I just couldn’t take having it in the kitchen drawer sneering at me and daring me to try again so I donated it to the thrift store so that some other family could be tortured by trying to make rosettes. When I eat a rosette you better believe I savor every bite.
I tried my hand at making divinity once, again something I love. Along with hot grease anything that requires me to determine a soft ball or hard ball stage or take the temperature of something boing on my stove provesto be just too much for me. I was making the divinity to bring to a Christmas gathering I was attending. Liquid, that’s all I really have to say. My divinity was liquid; I poured it into the decorative tin, brought it to the party and suggested serving it with a straw.
Lefse; don’t you wish I had a story for making lefes? But I’m no fool I’ve never even attempted. I am resolved to the fact that some of us can make Scandinavian treats and others of us can just eat them. Trust me, it could be worse.
One Christmas Eve poor, dear old Kent stubbed his toe on a doorknob and I am pretty sure broke his toe. He wasn’t doing a cartwheel or anything, our house is always in state of being remodeled
(part of the charm of living in an old house) so this particular door was lying on its side in our closet. The kids and I were trying to rush Kent, who had just gotten in from blowing snow, because we were filled anticipation for Christmas Eve and couldn’t wait to get to the big family gathering. In haste, Kent stubbed his toe on this doorknob and was instantly doing a Fred Flintstone kind of rant, holding his toe, yelling and turning in a circle. I could not and still cannot muster up any sympathy; all I can do is laugh until I cry just thinking about it. Kent’s toe turned black and blue instantly and it hurt to but socks on let alone shoes. Eventually we were all in the car headed to our family gathering, as we were driving on highway 59, cruise control set at about 55 (or so) Kent missed our turn onto the interstate. Of course I was the total critical passenger, “Kent what are you doing you’ve missed our turn.” To which Kent replied, “I can’t step on the break it hurts my toe too bad.” I apologized to the Kids telling them that apparently we were going to have to keep driving until we ran out of gas and then spend Christmas Eve where ever we ended up. Merry Christmas
The absolute worse Christmas was when I was single and had severe asthma problems. I took myself to the emergency room on Christmas Day. I was flying to Phoenix with my brother and sister-in-law that evening to spend the holidays with the rest of the family. I spent three hours in emergency and thought I'd miss the flight. The doctor said I was a hair's breadth away from being admitted, but I managed to make the flight. I was feeling pretty lousy though. When we got off the plane my brother announced "Here comes Typhoid Mary." I had one good day on that vacation and spent the rest of the time balled up on the couch in misery.
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