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2004-12-28 - 11:00 a.m. How my mother stole Christmas. Sorta. And I thought the Christmas stories would be about the rules and rituals of Southern food. Nope, this year it�s petty larceny. And waterfowl. Thursday evening, Roland and I open the door at my mom�s to find my brother and sister-in-law struggling to put up a huge spruce in a completely inadequate tree stand, with our nephew Ryan recklessly endangering his life by attempting to help. My mom is, who is unhelpfully taking pictures, turns to us and announces Come in, come in. We�re putting up the stolen Christmas tree. Shocked, we pause in the doorway, long enough to let two dogs and a lot of cold air into the room. At least, we slammed the door before the ducks waddled into the house. Apparently, my mother had tried to buy a Christmas tree all week. There was even a handy tree lot set up in the office supply store parking lot. So, she tried in the morning, and the tree lot was closed. She tried in the evening, and the tree lot was closed. Then, it was do-or-die, the-kids-will-be-here-tomorrow day, and the tree lot was still not open. What is a desperate mom to do? Mom marched into the office supply store, which is run by Ken and his wife, Rita. Now, like all good Southern stories, this one has a tangent in the middle where I explain that Rita was my grandfather, then my father�s secretary in the days we still called administrative people secretaries, and she wore a beehive hairdo. Thus, my mom and Rita�s husband have shared years of friendship and common hospitality, and Ken is easily enlisted as my mother�s accomplice. No, Ken hasn�t seen the folks who run the tree lot. So, when my mom announces that she is simply taking a tree, he offers to help her load it into the back of her truck. A plan is struck that, if Ken ever finds the tree people, he will pay them and mom will provide recompense next week. Now it�s Thursday evening, which I spend saying over and over I cannot believe you stole the Christmas tree, till my brother makes me stop saying that in front of his four year old. This must be where I inherit the urge to skip out when the waiter is taking too long to bring the check. After Mom�s walk on the shady side, what did we do Christmas Eve? Went to the church and set the Lord�s table for evening communion. (Mom�s worship guild.) I even feel like a contributing member since I was the purveyor of linen needed for the altar cloth. Apparently, SCAdians aren�t the only ones who have difficulty finding linen � but we�re more determined about it. Christmas Eve service even included a leap of faith, where they set to congregation to singing �Silent Night�, then turned out all the lights before we got all the pew candles lit. You know, not that many people have the second verse memorized. Christmas day! Presents and paper! Gifts and family enjoyed by all! Leapfrog toys for my nephew! My mom had been letting Ryan play with our old globe, which I said was bad since Africa and the former Soviet States are no longer like that, but she�d already taken care of it. Oh, but woe are we, the leapfrog globe doesn�t have a volume control! Hey, Ryan, why don�t you play with the leappad, sweetheart? We made dinner, and peace on earth was maintained by each person making a different dish. My mom, who sulks occasionally that my grandmother taught me to bake and not her, was going to serve frozen biscuits, so I made yeast rolls. Stuffing, turkey, gravy, Darby famous cranberry conserve, ham, mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts, deviled eggs, and four kinds of dessert. My Jenny even came by on Christmas day. Okay, she said, pausing in the front door. The cats I�m familiar with, but could someone explain the ducks? Ryan�s Easter ducklings have grown up. Turns out Puddles and Quackers are boy and girl, so I anticipate the cycle of life continuing come spring. However, it�s presently winter, they are not migratory waterfowl, and the ponds are frozen in my mother�s hollar. The ducks are quite sulky about this, and have taken to nipping my mom. In self-defense, my mom has installed the ducks on the front porch, built a nice nest behind the cat food can and everything � complete with a bright orange washtub which is refilled daily to serve as a substitute pond. Peace reigns, but the front porch is rather a mess now. Jenny�s son Adam thinks this is very cool. More presents are opened, and Jenny gets a complete set of beanie baby Muppet characters which causes happy shrieking. Her husband, Drew, begins to negotiate for possession of his Muppet totem, Gonzo. I get a smiley faced corkboard for my office, including a black push-pin so I can add a correct nose. (Jenny also thinks smiley faces don�t have noses, which is why I am never, never, never letting her meet Kyna. Jenny and I have been fighting about this since second grade; she doesn�t need an ally.) Sunday my favorite pastor, Harry, is preaching. Harry�s the guy who married Roland and I. I�ve known him since I was about twelve, when his wife�s forays into hair care had given him a blonde afro and Mom sorta of threatened him with a knife. (Hmm. Mom�s apparently sorta been into minor crime for years.) So, we get to see Harry. And we get leftovers for lunch. Best of all, sister-in-law�s father is cooking dinner. Ah, the joy of a grill master who raises his own livestock. Burgers and hot dogs never had it so good. Afternoon nap. Then, we de-decorate the tree and take it to my brother�s where the town trash will dispose of the ill-gotten shrubbery. Nephew systematically and joyfully beats all the adults at Shrek 2 Monopoly Jr. (No, we didn�t let him win.) before dinner. Monday saw us safely home, where we ordered sushi and Chinese and will spend today sorting out the baggage. But, for those who were worried, Mom called yesterday. It was a free tree. What? Ken tried to pay for the tree, but they wouldn�t let him. They had decided to take the rest of the trees to the landfill, cause it was three days before Christmas. Only in a small town would they assume everyone had bought their trees the week before. Only in a small town would they not take your money anyway. � � � 
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