On the gateway to the holidays
serve me a second piece of pie
We simply want the romcom favorites the same way we want a familiar sweater, or this red striped wool blanket we have wrapped around our ankles and pulled up to our knees.
“There it is,” says my spouse Janyce, “He just broke off the tree.”
“Why is everyone wearing brown?” I say. “I thought it was supposed to be a party?”
“This is a casual party,” says Janyce. “Look, there’s the little girl again, she just grabbed the gingerbread man. Now there are only two left.”
It’s Thursday morning and the two of us are sitting side-by-side on the couch in the living room, our wool-socked feet outstretched on the ottoman. Swirly is curled in a tight ball on her chair across from us. It feels like Thanksgiving in this house at 6:00 a.m., while everyone is still sleeping. Well, almost everyone. There are plenty of people who are awake everywhere. They’re standing in the kitchen right now, blinking while holding their morning coffee cup, pausing just long enough to notice that the sun hasn’t quite risen yet, but it actually may be brightening up a tad on the neighbor’s leafless lawn across the street. They are turning on the oven, hoisting the big buttered bird out of the refrigerator to warm up to room temperature before crouching down and shoving it in for the slow roast.
I started thinking about this upcoming “gateway to the holidays” a week ago when I suggested we begin a binge of holiday movies. Not many of them are very good as far as movies go: Love Actually, The Family Man, About a Boy … but they are predictable, we’ve seen them a million times, we know the lines, we know the music. It’s too early to watch the real classic movies, I need snow and cocoa and the the holiday wreaths hung up above the wood stove before I suggest we cue up any of those. And neither one of us wants to start watching anything new or challenging. We simply want the romcom favorites the same way we want a familiar sweater, or this red striped wool blanket we have wrapped around our ankles and pulled up to our knees. Despite my desire to add novelty to spice up our relationship, I actually don’t want any of that on Thanksgiving morning. The last few years of holidays have been weird and a bit lonely. I’m thankful to be gathering with extended family at a fairly large table this year.
“Oh there it is,” says Janyce. “He broke off the whole corner. Good man.”
“I want to make one of these,” I say.
There is something oddly mesmerizing and relaxing about this video we are watching. It reminds me a little bit of a blurred zoom background. Every so often, a headless person walks into the frame, tinny jazz music playing in the background, and scoops up a ladle full of amber liquid from the punch bowl, creating a ripple that sloshes over the surface and causes the cranberries to bob up and down a bit. Then each person uses their free hand to break off a sizeable piece of the gingerbread house and walks away with it out of frame again.
“You can tell this was made pre-Covid,” I say. “There are no plates, no napkins…”
“Hey, he just touched that spot and now he’s taking a different piece!” says Janyce.
We bring our steaming mugs of coffee up to our lips. Outside the day is finally beginning, the remaining yellow leaves starting to glow. Still, we linger longer, looking straight ahead with rapt attention at the quaint gingerbread house with it’s a coconut-covered path lined with candy cane posts that lead to a sugar gumdrop festooned door, watching as it gets disassembled piece by piece.
“Let’s watch The Holiday next” I say. The scene on our flatscreen reminds me of Kate Winslet’s little house called “Rosehill Cottage” in the English country about 40 minutes outside of London. The quintessential holiday picture postcard.
“Sure, we can watch that tomorrow with leftover pie,” says Janyce.
Swirly sits up tall and stretches before jumping over to us in one gazelle-like motion, landing on both of our laps.
“It’s time for us to get moving, huh Swirls,” I say. “ You can smell the turkey and it’s time for your breakfast, right?
“You ready?” I say to Janyce, looking over to her while pushing our 50-pound dog to the floor.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do it!”