Christmas in Quarantine
Family holidays and special events used to be at my house. I had a kitchen the size of my current walk-in closet, but no matter. My “extra” refrigerator was the enclosed breezeway—it was actually colder than the real one. We would bring the old kitchen table up from the basement to add seating. For the children, I had an outdoor side table and triangle shaped luncheon plates. We would add children’s chairs and fill their plates first. Usually, a teenager would volunteer to sit with them.
The refrigerator, stove, and about 12 inches of counter space were opposite.
I go through the place cards from those times and see a long family history. There’s the boyfriend who only came once. There’s the girlfriend who came and went. And here’s the one who came, went, and came back permanently! Some of the names are family members who are gone now, kept alive in our memories.
I had several sets of dishes back then for formal meals. China for the center table, stoneware for the side one, and more china for when the drop leaf was extended. Then, my father decided holidays were not enough and we began to meet casually all year. I would answer my work phone to hear his loud, “Hey, kid!”
I knew what came next.
“Don’t go to any trouble—hotdogs will do—but get everyone together tomorrow. Mother and I are coming up,” he’d say.
I had three children, one husband, and a big old house to keep up, in addition to my job, but “don’t go to any trouble” for all of us to meet for a common meal. The grocery store and I put on a lot of suppers. They once dropped the ball and sold my order for 35 pieces of chicken to someone else. They froze, saying there was nothing they could do. I chided the manager, later. In a grocery store, they had no offers. I had replaced it in half an hour.
“I know,” he sighed, “I did ask them about that.”
But they were not, after all, the family home.
Those casual meals are why I have twenty-some of my stoneware plates. One of my daughters opened the door to one side of a cabinet a while back.
“Wow! You have a lot of plates!” she said.
I didn’t reply. If she had opened the door on the other side, she would have seen a stack just as high. But back during those years of grandparents and kids growing and Plus Ones who sometimes became Minus Ones we-do-not-speak-of, we needed those plates. My father did not like paper plates. He said they changed the taste of the food. But if you tried to give him a stoneware plate, he would protest.
“No! No, no, no!” I’m not a special case!” he would say, reaching for a hated paper plate to prove he was one of us.
So, I bought my Yorktowne patterned plates everywhere I saw them. Finally, I had enough to use stoneware for everyone so he did not have to use a paper plate. He might not acknowledge his special status as father and grandfather to us, but we knew he was head of the table.
Now, those times are past. And this year, they are forbidden. You cannot wear masks and social distance in a private home full of two dozen people. So, we wait. There is no linen to iron, no table to set.
I remember the holiday turkeys we used to have. They would have a little red pop-up button to show when they were ready to serve. Everyone, especially boys, would check the turkey for that pop. Is he ready yet? No, not yet. This year, it is us who wait. We protect those we love, use Facetime and package delivery. We watch for the pop. Is it in the percentages? Is it in a vaccine? Is it done yet? Like a holiday meal, we must wait.
But, trust the woman who often fed an extended family on little notice using thirty inches of counter space. That “pop” will come.
Merry Christmas to you and yours in quarantine. Stay safe!