Christmas Tree

Santa Claus brings our tree, fully decorated, sometime during the night on Christmas Eve. The next morning, the five of us descend the stairs together, making sure we all witness the tree’s glory at the same moment. But at four years old, I didn’t feel like respecting this tradition. I burst from Daddy’s arms, raced down the stairs, through the dining room and the kitchen until I hit the back glass door. The excitement had distracted me from turning into the living room where the tree shined bright. Instead of rerouting to the living room, I slinked back upstairs, guilty.

CVS

The Chester CVS is our go-to place for Rutter’s dark chocolate bars, batteries and peanut butter crackers. Tonight, Libby needs shampoo for her biweekly bathings. Usually I go in with her, our arms locked like good sissybelles, but tonight she goes alone. From the car, we watch her half trotting, half skipping to the automatic doors. As she draws closer, her strides get shorter and, in a less-than-graceful movement, she throws her body at the glass doors with a flying kick. They open. She repeats the attack on her way out, this time while greedily clutching at her new possessions.

L.L. Bean Classic

It’s a faded red sweater, with discreet white snowflakes. Not too showy, just subtly Christmassy. An L.L Bean classic. In essence, perfect for a middle-aged school-teaching woman. Yet something about it grates on most everyone. It’s not the person inside of it. It’s not the knowledge that it has mucked out one too many cow stalls. It’s not the quality, brand, or color. This sweater is offensive purely for its persistence; it’s worn beyond the Christmas season. Beyond winter and into spring. It’s tied around her waist as the early summer sun beats down. And no one knows why.

Albuquerque Turkey

Elementary school teachers don’t celebrate holidays right. At Thanksgiving, we sang Albuquerque Turkey, a song which told us a pet turkey was better than a dog. During that lyric, I’d close my mouth up tight. No one was about to convince me some turkey was better than my basset hound. Christmas was even worse. Mr. A dared to read The Night Before Christmas. Didn’t he understand that this story is only read on Christmas Eve? I closed my ears and pushed his words out of my brain - anything to stop the sound of Mr. A’s voice reading those sacred words.

Ruination

In the dark of night, a fat little groundhog emerges in the feed stall from his underground tunnels. Eyeing the wooden bins which contain an endless supply of sweet feed, he flips open the heavy lid, and, in an explicable feat of athleticism, climbs inside. Without any means of escape, he settles into the dark and gorges himself. In the morning, when unsuspecting little girls come to fetch their ponies’ feed, the fattened groundhog is discovered. But these unwanted rodent invasions ended as Roxy the Patterdale Terrier moved in and brought ruination to the groundhog population at the Essex stables.

Grilled Cheese

Pre-basseting lunch time menus often consisted of grilled cheese and Campbell’s tomato soup - Daddy’s favorite. He made it in bulk for all of us. In the frying pan, slices of cheese were laid against the edge of each sandwich’s long edge. We called them “wings,” and we wouldn’t eat grilled cheese without them. After everything became perfectly browned, Daddy stacked the sandwiches in a towering pile. I remember it being at least two feet tall. It likely wasn’t. Either way, we’d all gather around to watch the glorious moment when Daddy sliced the whole stack diagonally in one great chop.

Lunch Ladies

Elementary schoolers settle into the lunchroom at assigned tables. Above their chatter, lunch ladies rhythmically chant their spells “...eat your lunch before you eat you snack…” Mrs. Moose is the most popular of these mechanical chanters because she holds the power to core and slice assorted fruits. But when she isn’t wielding her apple-corer, she paces the tiled floors in her white moose-embroidered apron, reciting “...eat your lunch before you eat your snack…” At random moments, she and the others silence us by clapping two slows, then three fast claps. An announcement is made before the chatter and chanting resume.