Christmas Gift

The farmhouse phone is ringing. We already know who's calling and what she'll say when we answer. It is always the same. My beloved Aunt Bessie has a special greeting on this day, "Christmas gift!!!" She is not absorbed with receiving, but rather with giving. As the years progress and I move time zones away, the tradition continues, despite the extravagant cost of long-distance calls at the time. Aunt Bessie's sweet Southern sounds transport me home instantly, despite the real distance between us. That dear voice lives in my memory and I never fail to think of her as holiday decorations proliferate.

Being a somewhat self-absorbed mom, the Christmas gift I want every year is to have our daughter in residence, even for a few days. I'm totally comfortable if she isn't here on Christmas day. Anytime is fine with me and her dad. Because Caitlin started a new job in August, we were doubtful that she'd see the desert in December. However, the lure of sunshine, friends, Mexican food, In 'n' Out, and piles of presents is difficult to resist. Lucky us.

The Christmas Eve arrival is delayed due to the JetBlue plane's mechanical problems. Caitlin's driving a rental car from Long Beach and is inspired to hasten the journey knowing that her favorite unturkey sandwich awaits in our frig. The parents wait impatiently and happily throw open the front door as her Mazda 3 hatchback pulls into the driveway. Let the celebrating commence.

With six days to squander, Caitlin vows to keep a flexible agenda. She'll see some people, explore a couple of new restaurants, seize every sun-filled moment, and laugh unchecked. Henry will tutor she and Bobby in the mystical worlds of muni bonds and mortgage re-financing. I'll gratefully accept numerous sessions of 'computer Rx' from the two Portlanders and enjoy the results of enhanced ease of use.

Caitlin and I delve into the cluttered closet in her old bedroom and soon are tossing childhood treasures. She enthusiastically unearths now vintage letters from favorite friends, elementary school yearbooks, once loved toys. The most special articles are carefully placed in a plastic box and will be transported to Oregon in February. During my own fall cleaning frenzy, I discovered a Foster family photo, taken in 1959. Its black and white crispness evokes pungent memories as I recall my red dress with velvet trim, my mother's pale lavender suit, and the men of the family in proper 'church clothes.' Somewhat tentatively, I ask Caitlin if she'd like to have this historical relic and am so gratified when she responds positively. It will have a place of honor on the mid-century buffet she and Bobby hope to acquire. A perfect match.



On Christmas Day our own family rituals are observed with presents containing enigmatic clues as to their contents and the whole process faithfully recorded on video and photo format. She's the dutiful daughter, enduring our quaint customs. It's the year of the owl, her favorite motif. Pajamas in turquoise sport a flock of plucky owls. Adorable owls peep from notepaper and one, quite decorous in grey, centers a new doormat. Small silver owls with beaded black eyes make perfect earrings. Perky birds cover a soft-sided lunch box, probably meant to be carried to elementary school. An electric toothbrush, sans owls, is much appreciated. The unwrapping is a bit hasty as a Santa visit is expected at the neighbor's house.



Henry, aka Santa, is festive in his red suit and snowy beard. This year he's decided to forgo his preferred footwear (tennies) and chooses his black dress shoes instead. The sisters next door always tease him about his shoes and say that's how they know it isn't really Santa after all. Caitlin thinks the dress shoes are a hilarious choice. We use the dolly to load presents which include a computer we've been storing for Gilly to give to Shawn.



Jointly we've agreed that the holiday meal will be enjoyed at Great Wall, a Chinese restaurant downtown. Reservations are set and we each look very presentable as we arrive on time. Unfortunately, our waiter either loses our order or gets involved in some other activity and we wait nearly an hour for the food. He is noticeably absent the entire time. When food finally appears, my entree is missing. Eventually there are three plates on the table and we're concentrating on our good fortune to be spending this special holiday together. No cookies necessary.



Days drift into nights as sales beckon and bargains are found; Rio Azul nudges Las Casuelas from its vaulted position as favorite local restaurant; totally unhealthy food is consumed at In 'n' Out;

an unturkey encore satisfies once again;



high school friends ring the doorbell;



a pecan chocolate pie proves not as sublime as the original recipe;
little girl sprites infuse the house with their boundless energy;



lying on lounges in the sun-drenched backyard brings perfect bliss;



the guys immerse themselves in a PlayStation car racing game;



and northwest-living young people succumb to the serenity of a hot tub on a cool December night.



I continue my ditzy behavior by mistakenly mixing Swedish glog with iced tea. (Well, both liquids are the same color.) Caitlin thoughtfully attaches a note to the probably undrinkable combination.



Dad and daughter play a highly competitive game of Bananagram. He wins. She is not pleased and admonishes him sternly.



When Bobby arrives on the 27th, our household is complete. Watching he and Caitlin interact is exhilarating. Bobby tolerates the clue strewn present process and delights in his gifts.




The happy couple investigates the menu at Pinocchio's and pronounce it worthy, just not quite as good as similar places in Portland. Cactusberry's frozen yogurt is a repeat treat. On the last day here, there's time to finally eat at Tyler's. It gets raves and will be on the agenda for the next desert visit.

It simply can't be Friday already. I want to lock them in the bedroom and throw away their boarding passes. However, I act bravely and busy myself removing pine branches from the mantle and various locations around the house. I know Caitlin and Bobby must go home. There's a party waiting, friends who miss them terribly, jobs to restart, kitties to love.



We've been gifted.