Skelly 2009 Christmas Website

The mashed potatoes tonight may be a little dry, too, "Tonight" being a term used in only the most relative, directional sense. We just got up from brunch and the turkey already appears done. June insisted on putting it in at 10:30. She didn't want to be stuck cleaning up late on Christmas night. We'll let the turkey "rest" for a goodly while. Carving should be a breeze, and even so, late clean-up shouldn't be a problem.

Now we commence the quiet time. A mellow interlude before dinner and before the La Bron/Lakers game. June will finally get her shower, and the kids go back to bed. If the rain will let up just a little, I'll go out and try to bail out the pool.

Tonight, "A Muppet Christmas Carol" is planned and maybe even "A Christmas Story," a movie I've never watched. After that, well, Santa brought daddy a bottle of Remy Martin, so we'll just have to see.

Epilogue: Woke up at 1:20am in front of the Christmas Tree and a dying fire. Had been trying to read "Decline and Fall," a Christmas present. Fell asleep on page one.

12/24/09

The countdown begins about noon. Two more presents to find, then a late Christmas lunch with JJ at the Nirvana Indian Restaurant buffet. Which JJ has designated a new Holiday tradition, now in its second annual iteration.

I used to leave all my shopping til Christmas Eve, but June eventually put a stop to that. It was a kind of madness, getting home from the city barely early enough to find everything I needed�assuming I could even figure out what I wanted�in the local Ridgewood shops before they closed so their sales staff could go start on their own Christmas. I used to think of that as a tradition, but it was one I didn't have much trouble getting over once June insisted.

Last thing before heading for home on Christmas Eve was a trip to George Washington Memorial Park to visit my parents' graves. It was usually dark when I got there, and I'd stay only a few minutes. Admittedly, the cemetery was a maudlin punctuation for the holiday tension, but going by there seemed to give the holidays a familiar and reassuring texture.

Before my mother died, I'd go over to her little place across town on Christmas night, after the kids were in bed and June was ready to do the same. Gramma almost always spent Christmas Eve and the next morning with us and the kids, but this was a different kind of time together.

We'd share a beer at the kitchen table and listen to the end of WPAT Paterson's 24-hour Christmas marathon, which had coursed through the anticipatory holiday favorites of the night before, the morning litany of traditional carols and then back through Johnny Mathis and Bing Crosby before fragmenting into random, loosely thematic instrumentals. It would end in a series of unrecognizable, almost amelodious, bell and chime pieces.

At the stroke of midnight regular broadcasting returned, as if Christmas had never happened. We'd exchange one final Merry Christmas wish, and I'd go home.

This time I was all done and back in the house by three and ready to start dinner. Visiting the cemetery was not an option. My folks still rest back in New Jersey and June's now are in Florida.

In the past year we managed to stop by both sets of gravesites in our travels. The remembrance of such visits must suffice now to tie us back to our respective ancestries and our oh-so-common pasts. A momentary glance backward before rededicating ourselves to the holiday's festiveness and our children. Christmas is a season rich in family and memories and history and lore, but the truth is, always it looks forward.