Excerpt: Christmas In A Nutshell

CHRISTMAS IN A NUTSHELL
Chapter One – December 21, Late
It could be said that the sky is falling as well as snow, but I suggest that the sky, as full of snow as it is, is secondary to the calamity about to happen. All of this foreshadowing is usually left to mysteries and other stories of suspense, but I can assure you that it is quite apropos in this setting.
Imagine that you are the writer of wonderful literary fiction, the occasional non-fiction essay or collection of essays reprinted from prestigious magazines, and that you have had a friend in the television industry for many years whom you have met in New York but never hosted at your house. Then, in a fit of holiday spirit, you invite that friend to your happy and quiet home to share the wonder of Christmas with you. Ah, you say. This seems like a nice thing to do, take the girl out of the city and expose her to the life of the lowly, yet successful, exurban writer. Sure, it sounds good, but is it really? We shall see.
Sarah O’Brien is the young and lovely niece of author Maureen O’Brien. Sarah moved in after college to work as her aunt’s personal assistant, which is a polite say of saying secretary-typist-errand runner- and proofreader. Sarah gets to live in Maureen’s big old house on six lots in Wembly, in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, which is a huge bonus, because she and her cousins have been obsessed with that house since they spent summer vacations there as children. Sarah, being the only one with typing and proofreading skills, got the nod. Her cousin Meg groused, “She was always Aunt Maureen’s favorite,” when she was turned down for the job. That was a year ago. To this day, Meg is disgruntled and has a hard time not showing it. Hopefully, Sarah thought when she heard her cousin was coming, she will be over her snit. After all, she reasoned, it is Christmas.
Meg is married to Carlos who has never been to Wembly, never lived in a non-tropical climate, and has never seen snow. He is too old to cheer for snow. He is supposedly too smart to be so dumb. But, you know, I really like him. He’s honest and pleasant and ready to do anything at the drop of a hat. He is the perfect guest.
I am Maureen’s brother James Patrick Valentine O’Brien. As you have probably guessed, we are a family of Irish extraction. My grandmother used to use that word, extraction, although all I know of the word extract is what’s written on my vanilla bottle at home. But nonetheless, as my dear old granny used to say, ‘Tis a blessing to be Irish. Let’s have a drink! Or two!
Getting back to the first day of the beginning of this great idea of my sister’s, I arrived last night. It was late, so I used my key, went upstairs to the bedroom which was mine as a child, and went to sleep. Maureen was asleep in her room, which was our parents’ room, and the lovely Sarah, my most charming of all nieces and certainly of all nephews, was still awake and reading in her bedroom, the one that I shared with my brother Steve, the one to the left of the stairs and across from Sarah’s. I visited the bathroom, thought twice about saying hello at midnight, and toddled off to my room for a long winter’s nap. How nice it was to slip beneath the sheets of a twin bed, work to adjust my frame to the confines of the thing and its coffin corners (that’s how Maureen’s housekeeper, Liddy Cornwell, makes beds) and fall asleep, knowing that the next day would be busy and hectic and not a little bit of a surprise to Maureen and Sarah and Liddy who were not expecting me.
I wondered before I drifted off to sleep if they would welcome me as the mother on the Folger’s coffee commercial welcomed her son Peter (I have a brother named Peter too, who is Meg’s father – don’t you just love big families?) Knowing Liddy, she would hug and squeeze me and thank Santa and all his reindeer for bringing me home and then wonder who else would drop in unexpectedly and how she would ever cook enough food for another person – even though she could cook for an army with one hand tied behind her back and no recipes in sight. The woman, as you might have guessed, is the most remarkable housekeeper in the history of the occupation. If I could, I would pack her up and take her home with me. I’m a packrat and a lousy housekeeper with too many hours alone. She would straighten me out. She would put order into the chaos I call my house and probably find a way to get me a hobby like bowling or bridge or whatever a widower does after a respectful period of mourning. And if I remember her correctly, she would probably find me a girlfriend. Girlfriend at my age? Is that the right word?
Pshaw, she would say and hustle off to the kitchen to make a pot of hot tea and set out some homemade cookies and turn on the television for an afternoon of serial dramas, otherwise known as soap operas. More times than I can count, she has used this vehicle for bringing me out of a funk. Look, she would say. Look at the problems these people have. And they brought them on themselves! Do you think they’ll ever learn? Not on your life, James O’Brien. If they did, they’d be out of a job.
She has a point.
So, instead of saying hello to Sarah, I snuggled into the covers, said a prayer of thanks for a safe trip and the blessing of a family, and fell asleep, feeling like a kid again, anticipating the arrival of Santa and wondering if I’d get underwear and socks yet again. That’s no gift for a kid. Humbug, I say!
CHAPTER TWO – DECEMBER 23, BEFORE THE CRASH
December twenty-third is traditionally the day of my sister’s big open house. On this day, she invites special people to grace her home with their presence. She invites people from New York who never come, or come occasionally, usually when they can combine business with the pleasure of a table loaded with food and a well-stocked bar. My sister invites the neighbors also, and they trudge in, leaving their snowy boots on trays in the foyer, and shuffle into the living room to the bar or into the library to warm their hands at the fireplace. There is always someone who can play the baby grand who spends most of his time in the library playing carols, getting drunk, and sometimes spending the night. That usually is Nick Gentry, Maureen’s last serious love. Nick is a lot like Maureen: in his fifties and not yet ready to settle down.
This year, Maureen has Sarah to help Liddy and herself get ready for the open house. Sarah is all about Christmas, both the sacred and the secular aspects. She lives to decorate the tree, can mix, cut out, and frost cookies faster than anyone I know, and she has a voice straight from the angels. You should hear her sing “Silent Night.” Brings tears to my eyes every time. And it’s been such a long time since I heard her sing. Perhaps she will sing for us at Maureen’s soiree.
So anyway, like I was saying, I arrived the night before, let myself in, went to bed, and felt right at home in the old homestead. Our parents would have been happy to see us together, except they had moved to a retirement village in Florida and weren’t coming north for anything, not even Christmas in their house. I couldn’t blame them. We’d do it all again in May when they moved north for the summer. For now, Maureen and I would be the only siblings, with Colleen, Michael, and Dennis joining us here in the spring. All the kids would come along, they’d be sleeping on the sofas and floors and a few would be tenting in the yard. This special time cannot be explained adequately as only this Christmas story can, even though both stories have a tendency to sound more like an old Irish yarn being embellished and expanded as the teller repeats the tale. We all have this tendency to stretch the blanket, but we mean well. Really we do.
I got out of bed on the morning of the twenty-third and, hearing a stirring in the kitchen, hurried through my bathroom routine, threw on some clothes seemingly wrinkled permanently by my suitcase, and went down to say hello.
Liddy was holding court. No one knew anything about food and holidays like Liddy. I waited around the corner of the doorway and listened. I’d heard it so many times, I could almost recite it from memory.
“We need more cookies. We have seven dozen cookies, but no gingerbread men and no macaroons. We cannot have the open house without gingerbread men and macaroons. I have all of the ingredients, but I will need your help. I only have two hands, mind you, and I can’t do it myself.”
It was at that moment that I made my move.
“I’ll help.”
“Jimmy!”
“Liddy, you dear old girl. Still trying to whip the O’Brien family into shape, are you?”
She ran across the kitchen and gave me a hug. I looked over her shoulder and watched Maureen dab her eyes. Sarah was smiling, enjoying the emotions springing forth like Niagara Falls. Maureen wiggled her way into my right arm and pushed Liddy out of the way.
“Let me give my favorite brother a hug.”
“I saw him first,” Liddy said, spoofing hurt, or so I believed.
“No, I saw him first. Remember, I’m six years older that Jimmy, and I saw him first.”
“Hi, Uncle Jimmy,” Sarah said, her voice cracking, hopefully from the kind of emotional overload that only an O’Brien can foist upon another O’Brien. Otherwise, she might have a cold, and that would utterly and positively destroy her entire Christmas experience.
“When did you get here?” Maureen asked.
“Last night.”
“Last night? When? We were here all evening. I didn’t hear you. How did you get in?”
“I used my key.”
“Perhaps we should have the locks changed,” Sarah said as she came to give me a hug.
“Perish the thought,” I said. “Nothing is more fun than seeing your faces this morning. It’s priceless.”
“And so is securing your home from intruders.” Maureen kissed me on the cheek. “Coffee?”
“I’d prefer a cup of tea, if you have it.”
“If we have it?” Liddy was incredulous. “Of course we’ve got tea. What’ll you have? English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, Orange Spice?”
“How about some simple Salada? I’m not ready for anything fancy right yet.”
“Cup or mug?” Liddy asked, knowing the answer.
“A mug. Nice and hot, a little cream, and some toast on the side.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your breakfast, Jimmy O’Brien, just so you don’t get lazy and forget how to make it yourself.”
“That I’ll never do,” I said and sat down at the table beside Sarah. She was still in her pajamas and robe, a matching navy set with white Nittany Lion logos all over. We all went to Penn State, so we could always buy licensed products for each other, and the gift would be a perfect fit.
“In that case,” Liddy quipped. “You can make your own meal.”
“Ha ha, Uncle Jimmy. You opened your mouth just a little too far.”
“When don’t I?”
“Jimmy speaks first and thinks later,” Maureen said.
“Don’t remind me.” I had an instant vision of a Thanksgiving dinner at my brother Dennis’s house when I suggested we have a pumpkin roll in addition to the pumpkin pies my sister-in-law Carla made. I said I preferred the pumpkin roll, and much to my dismay, she suggested I make one. I suggested that I spoke unadvisedly, but she found the recipe, set out the ingredients, and watched until I started the journey into the depths of pumpkin roll hell. Do you have any idea how hard it is to roll a cake without breaking it? That’s another story, and I haven’t time to tell it to you now – or ever.
Liddy made some buttered toast and poured a glass of grapefruit juice and set it at my place at the table. My tea was perfectly brewed, and the combination of foods in my childhood home made me quite sentimental. I ate as silently as possible, lest my quavering voice give me away and blow my cover as a manly man of the world.
“How long can you stay?” Maureen asked as I spread some blackberry jam on my toast.
“As long as you’ll have me,” I said, wishing she would not tell me to find a hotel room. I think she was a little uneasy that I still had a key and used it under the cover of darkness. Actually, she was upset that I could sneak around the house, walk in the hall, use the bathroom, and spend the night in one of her guest rooms without her knowledge. I’m stealth, truly a manly man of the world. And Wembly, PA.
“We have a very busy day planned,” my sister added. “Liddy says we need more cookies.”
“So I heard.”
“And Sarah and I are going to do the last minute clean up, especially in the guest rooms.”
“We are expecting company?” I asked. Sometimes I think she keeps us all out of the loop.
“Yes. Meg and Carlos are coming. This is his first winter in Pennsylvania, not to mention any place that could have snow.”
“It will be nice to see him again,” I said. “We hadn’t much time to chat at the wedding.”
“Yes, as I remember, you were rather seasick on that cruise.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Tell Uncle Jimmy who else is coming,” said Sarah who had been looking under the kitchen sink for a can of Pledge and clean dust cloth. She put the jar of silver polish on the counter and turned to me with a big grin.
“Yes, sister dear. Who else is coming?”
“You won’t know her,” she began as she thumbed through her cookie cookbook.
“Try me. I know lots of people.”
“Not this one.” Sarah set the Pledge on the table and waited for my reaction.
“Anita Lewis.”
“How wonderful,” I said, fully aware of Miss Lewis and her reputation on the front of the tabloids I feel obligated to scan as I wait in line at the supermarket. “When do we expect her?”
“After lunch sometime. She’s on hiatus or vacation or whatever for the next week or so, and she’s so graciously agreed to spend Christmas with us. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“It’s great. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You don’t even know who she is.”
“My dear sister, what makes you think I don’t watch TV in the daytime? Hmm? I know who she is. She plays Elizabeth Fennmore on ‘Love and Secrets’ which is perhaps the best soap opera on TV today.”
My sister stared at me with mouth agape. Sarah looked at her and started to say something but stopped mid-thought. I smiled. I was home, in the midst of family, and already I’d scored some big points. Just wait for Anita to arrive and watch me schmooze the soap diva out of her Jimmy Choos. Thought I didn’t know about shoes? Since I’ve been on sabbatical from teaching this semester, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. It’s a shame to have to go back to work in January. I’m really enjoying the break.