The Christmas Spirit

I filled my days. Baking, cooking, cleaning... avoiding thinking.

Pip-a-doodle helped me wrap.
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"Christmas, children is not a date. It's a state of mind." - Mary Ellen Chase

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I was writing a story from my childhood. A story that vividly evoked and celebrated my father's life. I was missing him.

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I watered every bit of greenery in the home. Including the orchids which were sent from my cousins in the days following the loss of my father. Never mind that they now were a stick. I would water that stick until it crumpled into dust.

"On Christmas Day, we're going to make a Bûche de Noël," announced my daughter. I blanched a bit for I cook more than I bake. But it was Christmas and if it didn't turn out well, the process could still bright yuletide joy. Unless of course, it ended up in the garbage can.

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For the first Christmas Day in my children's lives - there would be just four of us. The first Christmas without my father. My mother and sister would be in NYC. Was it possible to keep it celebratory when it was so small?
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"Traditions change all the time. We want to save the culture of food here." - Giovanni Rebora, Italian food historian.

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And so our new Christmas would establish a culture of food - past and present. Lasagne for the old and a new Bûche de Noël for my French-loving daughter.

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"He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming! It came! Somehow or other, it came just the same." - Dr. Seuss

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And so it came.

But a Bûche de Noël! Suppose after rolling and rerolling the cake, it cracked? Suppose the mushrooms were blobs? What if? What if?

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Christmas Eve:

The Christmas-tidal wave that is the Haas family came. Oyster stew, two turkeys, 4 sides without dairy or eggs to combat allergies. Cookies. A vegan chocolate cake.... and some plump, puffed doves resting after their Christmas Eve meal of seeds.

Grateful for Hickory Farms which I received as part of the Foodbuzz tastemaker Program. It saved me time which was running out before the feast. Slice and serve. 30 people are about to enter my home.

And they all brought cookies. Delicious caramels, molasses cookies, sugar cookies, and chocolate truffle mice.

I was grateful for the Christmas spirit that said, don't bake - make food. You will need food.

A torrent of hungry people. Chasing wee ones. While the wee ones chased Pippin and Sadie.

I'm dishing out Oyster Stew and the Christmas Spirit says "look down and don't trip." And so I do. And below me are the youngest fascinated by Pippin drinking. They were ready to try getting their water in the same way.
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We stopped them.

"Kirsten, could you be wearing any less?" mentioned Grandma Haas as she gazed at her granddaughter in her old, high school show choir dress. We all felt a need for sparkle this year.

Grandpa Haas turned 92.

And Santa visited. The wee ones followed him out looking for reindeer. We danced as fast as we could and scurried Santa out the door. Christmas Eve was boisterous. Loving. Filled with food and laughter. Would Christmas Day be too quiet?

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And late that night after all were snuggled inside their own homes, we all slept the sleep of children hoping we had been mostly "nice."
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Christmas morning: the day of the Bûche de Noël. A lot was riding on that log. It will fill a void this Christmas.

Christmas morning:

all is bright.

Pip took refuge but he was safe. All is calm.

Coffee and waiting for the kids. Reading the Bûche de Noël recipe again and again. In the same way, I memorized lines in the days of yore.
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The Christmas challenge awaits.

Kirsten decided on a Williams-Sonoma recipe. Williams-Sonoma has never failed her. It has a lot of steps. More steps than my lasagne.

But you get to douse a dish towel with confectioner's sugar and play. My husband took one look at the kitchen, grabbed a book and some coffee and retreated. Matthew napped with a cat and a dog who were still exhausted from Christmas Eve. Kirsten and I took out every measuring cup in the house and rolled up our sleeves. Creating a new tradition must be taken seriously.
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"If it cracks while rolling, we'll cover it up with the frosting." Always good to have Plan B.

A cleverly-disguised log. Not even the cat knew the secrets inside this towel

Kirsten piped the meringue mushrooms. I know my limitations. I piped the stems. I've spent a lot of time with mushroom stems. They don't need to be perfect.

And after squeezing squiggles of all sizes, we removed the frosting from the ice bath and started speading. I don't particularly love frosting. Too sweet and cloying, it's never been worth the calories.

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But this was a chocolate-mousse-type confection. All silky and embracing. Delicate as an angels wing and as rich as their hymns.

The meringue mushrooms were in the oven. The lasagne was assembled.

The cake was re-rolled and the lasgane was still waiting its turn in the oven. It was three hours later. Six-thirty. The men-folk were getting hungry. We had been noshing on overflowing meringues and errant frosting. We were sated,

The lasagne was worth the wait. All was working out. I had a Guardian Angel.

Kirsten glued the stems to the mushroom caps and returned all to the oven. All was too good to be true. Kirsten also had a guardian angel. Still, we were sure they would explode in the oven. Nothing happens this easily in our household.

Bu they didn't explode. The stems stayed glued. The chocolate curled. The cake didn't break. Christmas was here. Without fanfare.
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"Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more."

Maybe it's a process. Maybe it's teamwork. Maybe the Christmas spirit does guide all if you summon it.

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It's not too late to make your own Bûche de Noël. The recipe is here. In our season of change, we didn't change a thing. But one thing did change Christmas Eve. Paul called me into the living room.

The orchid was in bloom.

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Happy Boxing Day! May your New Year bring confections and blooms.