A Week Before Christmas
[ A true story]
It was just
one week before Christmas when I finally awoke to the fact that my shopping
wasn’t even half finished. I really
meant to get it finished early this year, but I was too involved in making wreaths,
spraying pine cones and just thinking about all I had to do.
Then too, I
kept expecting some surprise check to come in the mail. I didn’t know where it would come from, but
it was a nice thought. Why hadn’t I
joined that Christmas Savings club last year?
Oh well, I’d just have to stretch that paycheck a little bit further
even if it was already like worn out elastic.
Early one
morning I set out with determination, if not enthusiasm, to finish my
shopping. I checked my list out over
morning coffee; I thought knowing what I wanted was half the battle.
Arriving
downtown, on Western Avenue
At last the
day was over and I checked off the final item on my list. I was cold and hungry and hadn’t taken time
to eat. TIME! The parking meter was half
a block away and I could see the little white paper fluttering on the
windshield of my car. With a black
heart, I thought to myself, “I bet it even says ‘Merry Christmas’ on it.
Reaching
the car, I found that I could not get the keys out of my purse without putting
down all the packages. Those in my left
arm were shifted to my hip and then slide them over onto the trunk lid. I then unwound the string handles of the over-weighted
shopping bag from my right arm, only to find the circulation had been shut off
so long my hand was numb.
As I
clumsily unlocked the door of the car, I noticed my packages were slowly
sliding off the trunk with the melting snow.
Making a quick grab, I somehow caught them and piled all in the car,
which was quite a feat, being on handed at the moment.
Sometime
late I pulled into my driveway and glancing at my watch, was shocked at the
lateness of the time. The children would
be home in ten minutes. I jumped out of
the car and began grabbing packages. By
this time I could use both of my hands, but in my hurrying the shopping bag
slipped and fell to the ground, ripping and spilling it’s contents in the
snow. I gathered up an armload and
slipped and slid up the slippery walk.
Once inside I deposited the load on the living room floor. Huffing and puffing I ran back out to get the
rest.
It was then
I began a rare balancing act – first on one foot, then a foot and an arm and
for the grand finale; the posterior and one elbow. The former being well padded only bounced,
but the elbow suffered. With what
little dignity I had left, I gathered my various parts in order and again
one-handed, managed to get the remainder of the packages into the house.
My elbow
was beginning to get a strong feeling in it as I crammed everything into my
bedroom closet. I closed the door just
as the children all tromped in from school.
Susie, bless her heart, had thought to bring in the mail. Glancing quickly through the pile of bills, I
came across a familiar shaped envelope.
I knew before my shaking hands opened it, that it was our first
Christmas card. I collapsed into the
nearest chair as I thought of the neatly stacked boxes of cards on the shelf
that hadn’t been addressed yet.
Weary, in
pain and faint from hunger, I got to my feet and went into the kitchen to
prepare supper. My only thought was to
hold on until my husband came home and then he could take over. I would swallow two aspirins, crawl into bed
and address cards while resting. It
would save time and the way I felt; maybe even my life.
A car
crunched to a stop in the drive; “He’s home” I thought with joy and reached for
the aspirin bottle. He came in singing,
“Jingle Bells” and dragging what looked to me, like a twenty foot pine
tree. Propping it against the
refrigerator, he came over and gave me a kiss.
“Merry
Christmas, wife,” he smiled. “It’s the
night to trim the tree.”
“Why are you crying? What’s wrong, ” he asked?
Sniffing loudly, I dried my tears
and tried to smile, but when I moved the pain shot right through my elbow. When I finally pulled off my sweater, I was
surprised to see a lump the size of a big tree ornament right on the tip. The color of dazzled my eyes; a shiny blue-black. He looked at it and was sure it was cracked
and from the way it felt, I had to agree.
A call to
the doctor; a trip to the hospital and several x-rays later, the verdict was
that I had a badly bruised elbow that was to be kept wrapped in a vertical
position for a week while the swelling went down.
Home again; my husband fixed supper; his specialty of cold
scrambled eggs and burned toast. It was
a jolly affair with the children laughing while I clumsily ate with my left
hand, spilling food and trying to butter the toast one-handed.
After
entertaining the family during our meal, I took advantage of the sofa while
they directed the pine tree that just wouldn’t stand up straight.
It was late
when we crawled into bed. The pain pills
helped a little, but I was tense and miserable thinking about the baking,
cleaning, gift wrapping and the other million things to be done in the few
remaining days before Christmas. “How do
you roll out sugar cookies with one hand,” I mused? “I wish there wasn’t such a thing as
Christmas.”
At that
moment, I heard music coming from down the street; a group of carolers blending
their voices in “Joy to the world, the Lord has come.” Hot tears began to trickle down my cheeks and
the anxiety drifted away. A prayer found
its way into my weary mind. “Forgive me,
Father,” I prayed, “the blessing of Christmas somehow slipped by me.”
I had been
so wrapped up in all the preparation parts of Christmas and gave no thought to
the real reason we celebrate Christmas.
With my
heart back on the right road and thinking of the joy that Christmas brings to
each of us, peace began to flood my soul.
I knew that everything was going to be alright. After all, “all things work together for
the good of those who love God.”
Wanda L Ritter
~ Christmas - 1963 ~
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