Forget Green Gables

Faithful Friends Who are Dear to Us

The 23rd arrives with sub zero temperatures and flurries of fat, fluffy flakes perfect for snowballs and forts. My dad agrees to drive me to Rebecca's house. Leo catches him at the doorway and the two disappear into Leo's wood shop to discuss some sort of chair or swing Leo is making for Dad to give to Mom for Christmas. As a way of mentally taking himself out of the chaos of Congress, Leo took up wood working, only to find he has a natural talent for it. Dad saw some of his projects and requested this be made for Mom, hoping that it is something so close to her childhood that it might bring her some comfort. I suspect that all it will do is upset Mom even more, but I know better than to push it with my dad. His temper is quiet, controlled, and terrifying. Goodness knows he can throw a barb into my heart when he really wants to.

The whole house smells deliciously of warm French bread and homemade soup. Jamie is already there, leaning on the kitchen counter and talking to Kathleen Pittman about basketball, popping strawberries and grapes into her mouth in between words. Rebecca is at the stove, stirring the soup. Jessie comes in only a couple of minutes behind me, Mrs. Sloan stopping for a few minutes to talk to Kathleen. Mrs. Sloan never lets us call her Carla, her first name; Kathleen is strongly against us calling her Mrs. Pittman. I slice warm bread into a basket, and Jessie begins putting ice into glasses for drinks. When was the last time my family made a meal together? I love the feeling of a family preparing a meal together. Maybe there are more than one kind of family.

Without discussion, we sink into the same circle as at Homecoming, spooning unwanted ingredients from our bowl to their neighbors'. Kathleen and Leo come in, filling their bowls, and retreat back to the living room, wanting us to have as much privacy as possible. When we finish eating, we wash our dishes, put the butter back in the fridge, and wipe the table off.

Kathleen pulls a bowl of sugar cookie dough from the fridge, and she sets multiple bowls of colored frosting on the table as well as at least two dozen bottles of sprinkles and decorations. I feel like a little kid in a candy store. On her counter, Kathleen drops a pinch of flour and rolls out a ball of the dough. We grab cookie cutters and begin cutting shapes from the dough. Jamie cuts out wreaths; Jessie, gingerbread men; Rebecca, stars; and me, snowflakes. Kathleen lifts each of the dough shapes with a spatula and places them on a greased cookie sheet, sliding them into the oven. She sets an egg timer for ten minutes and sends us to put our stuff in the basement rec room. I pull a pair of slippers from my bag and slide them on my feet.
"Where the heck did you find Jack Skellington slippers?" Rebecca asks, admiring the white and black shape.
"Hot Topic. My mom was horrified by the store and everyone who worked in it, but she got them for me. She doesn't like Christmas much, but she really liked this movie." I wiggle my toes, making the slippers look like their eyes are moving. I do not bother mentioning it has been almost three years since my mother bought the slippers.
"I wonder if my mom will buy me a pair," Rebecca says, unrolling her sleeping bag. "I put your presents under the tree upstairs, if you guys want to put yours there too."

We make a mad dash for the stairs, and a thundering sound like a herd of elephants as we make our way up the stairs with wrapped gifts. I love the tree best. One of my favorite things to do during the Christmas season (at least, in years past, when my mother actually pulled it together enough to have a tree) is to lie on the couch in the early morning hours and stare at the lights on the tree. My mother is a fan of hodge-podge trees, voting that all lights and ornaments deserve a spot on the tree regardless of the helter- skelter effect it leaves. I find this approach rather irritating, preferring instead a tree with white lights and just a couple colors of bulbs. The Pittman's tree, a big, bushy pine, is decorated with white lights and green ornaments; a Michigan State Spartans tree through and through. I love it. I spread the presents for Jamie, Jessie, Rebecca, the Pittmans, the Sloans, and the Ashburns under the tree before joining the others in the kitchen, where a fresh batch of cookies cools on a rack.

"You girls can eat some of the dough if you like. Cheyanne, it's dairy-free."

"Thanks, Kathleen." I pop a piece in my mouth and smile a little, though I wish my mother were there for this. When Mom feels better, and anytime Mom is on the verge of flying too high, we buy a tub of cookie dough and eat the entire thing while watching a movie or two. The moments never last, though.

Shaking it off, I grab a few of the cooled cookies and begin decorating them, happy to be sitting at the table, listening to the *NSYNC Christmas CD and the voices of my best friends singing along loudly-and badly. We decorate batch after batch, finally calling it quits just a bit before midnight. Leo lights a fire for us downstairs, and we agree to open presents in the morning. Settling into our sleeping bags, my hair flowing everywhere, the smell of Jessie's lotion in the air, Jamie telling a story from her sleeping bag and Rebecca giggling, I feel content and whole.