While I don’t have quite the fan base that Josh has in Portland, I especially enjoy spending time with old friends. The highlight would be Ben’s annual cookie decorating party the night before Christmas Eve. Many folks from my high school days (people who I see regularly in Seattle and folks I haven’t seen in years) show up for sugar cookie decorating, stiff drinks, and good conversation. With the absence of the highly alcoholic “Christmas” drink in a mug, (Ben said the combination of wine and five different kinds of liquor heated over the stove was too intense for him this year) Kris made me a hot apple cider healthily spiked. Some guy who was in my class in high school and middle school was there with his wife and I grilled him saucily about his life. Where did he live? What does he do? If he’s always warm in body temperature does he wear shorts everyday? Three children? He’s been busy during the past twelve years. He was robust and round in a Hawaiian print shirt–a stark contrast to the kid I remember from middle school. Suddenly, I felt useless, what with the absence of my husband (Josh was at a slumber party in Portland with his own friends from high school), unimpressive job history, and non-procreation since graduation.

I found out another friend is pregnant, which adds to a total of three women I know who are all expecting sometime in the June/July range–a lovely time to have a child in my opinion. In a panic I suddenly feel ‘behind’ as if everyone is out there experiencing life to its fullest, having babies, and nestling down into the fabric of life. My performance career seems pale in comparison, a facade, a selfish hobby that I have in order to put off the inevitable pull of babyhood. My sister-in-law pawns off her crib, a decadent little piece of furniture that tears down into a delicate pile of baby representation and is stuffed in our backseat. Why turn down a free crib? I try and hide the fact that we’re taking this gift but end up telling everyone. The crib becomes a weird iconic object; a shaking of my clock so violently that I can’t wait to stash the thing into storage.

My family operated without my brother this Christmas Eve/Day for the first time in 27 years. As much as we wanted he and his wife to be with us the pull to her hometown was stronger. I tried to keep my sadness private, understanding that things change and traditions shift. Without him, our Christmas Eve mass seemed strangely serious: I missed the way he used to tickle my palm during the offering of Peace, jingle his car keys in place of bells, and turn to me very seriously and state, “It is right to give God thanks and praise.” When we were little it was my brother who was always up first–sometimes not sleeping at all–ready to open his presents at 5am (but waiting patiently until 6am when our parents finally gave in). As adults he is the last person to rise, only moving when placated with the smell of coffee, and me shouting at him to check his Christmas stocking, (which my father artfully fills every year). Typically, Sam will roll out of bed and then spend a frantic few minutes wrapping his presents before presenting them to us moments later. Lumpy and oddly shaped packages give way to some of the best gifts I’ve received…

My sister is usually absent, dutifully showing up for the actual holiday celebrations of Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Faux Christmas (Dec 22), but otherwise entrenched in the drama she left behind when she moved to Seattle. My parents and I jokingly resume the solitude we once had 29 years ago–before the addition of my younger siblings–although I doubt we went on as many stoic walks as we do in the present day. My Dad and I watch MST3K’s Manos: Hands of Fate, a documentary on Wolves, and listen to classical music on OPB while we drink cups of black coffee and read the NY Times Sunday edition. My Mom and I hike the nature trail outside of Burnt Bridge Creek, talk about contemporary literature, and eat chocolate constantly.

Last year at this time Josh’s grandfather died and we spent most of the holiday apart, as Josh handled the very personal experience of losing a family member while surrounded by kin. We went to a wedding and then a funeral and then back home to our cat. Similar to this year our cat has been extremely restless upon our return. The first night she woke both of us successively every few hours with pitiful and insistent meowing. Part of it is Josh is sick and sleeping on the couch and I can tell Hobbes feels uncomfortable by our separation. I try everything to placate her, even allowing her to sneak under covers with me. She is restless and unsettled as she leaves me time and time again to go bother Josh in the living room. Josh threatens to throw her outside into the wind and cold rain, but I tell him ‘no, it’s the middle of the night.’ At 7am Josh returns to our bed, his coughing subsided in the meantime, and Hobbes falls asleep exhausted against my back.

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