Christmas Train, a whole new definition

I have to acknowledge that it's 8 days til Christmas and 5 days til Mamp gets here. Like a freight train it's barreling through the tunnel and I'm tied to the tracks. No way am I going to get away from it, believe me, I've tried. A week and a half ago, I placed an order for 2 lousy gifts from B&N, this morning the website tells me that the order is scheduled to be pulled on the 24th. Isn't that special? Last night Jacob came in and "had a talk", gotta admit, did make me feel better, like I wasn't the only one that was worried about pulling off Christmas in this mess we have. Jacob had actually given thought to the practical side, making safe space, what we can manage to cook and even offered to hang a tree from the ceiling so I could have one without it messing with the structural work Jim's doing. Haven't decided on if I can realistically take him up on the tree offer. Considering sneaking out and seeing if I can find an old aluminum tree to go in the pitcha winda, especially if "it turned red". That I could live with, would truly fit our Christmas this year, don't think anything else would cut it. Jim's response to my concerns has been the noble, "true meaning" lecture, including his annual disapproval of my "ingrained over commercialized" version of Christmas.

So blame it on Grandma Gahn but my earliest holidays memory was the magic of her house on Clematis in Gentilly. Those huge white pillars wrapped in red ribbon like candy canes, big bows on the necks of her cement lions and her tree...LOL, she used to make Grandpa buy her 2 trees and drill holes in the trunk of the largest to insert the branches cut from the second tree (then he'd have to trim it all into the perfect shape) and I can still so vividly picture the big glass clown ornaments and the sitting elves. Nobody was allowed in her living and dining rooms except for special occasions but at Christmas, the door stayed open and the whole house was filled with the smell of the tree and carols floated through the air and Grandpa and I would sit on the sofa and the lights from the tree glowed down on the Nativity set, presents everywhere, absolute magic to a small child. Of course during the holidays, she always made sure that Grandpa fixed my "highball" before anybody else's. And to just put it waaaay over the top special, that damn uglyass, miserable psycho chihuahua PeeWee wasn't allowed in the room. Hated that dog, he ignored me when anybody was around but when he'd get me alone, the lips would roll back in that overbreed fat skull of his and those monster teeth would show and he'd growl and lunge, never actually touched me, he knew better but just the show was more than enough. The worse was when he catch me in the long hall and I didn't have shoes on, I wouldn't be able to inch around the big heater floor grate, didn't have the time, I'd have to just run like hell across the grate to the den. Still hate chihuahuas, damn overgrown rats. Everything was special at that house, I so wish Grandma was still here so I could tell her. Even going in the backyard to the mirliton arbor. Grandpa had the vines creating this amazing green cave, with my swingset right in the middle, during the season mirlitons would hang over my head and he'd lift me up to pick them. Always it started the afternoon of Thanksgiving, while Grandma was cleaning up after the meal, Grandpa would take me up in the attic with him and let me play in the old French Market coffee can filled with Daddy's marbles while he pulled out the boxes of decorations. Grandma set the bar high, can't imagine ever being able to pull off what she did but her legacy leaves me with the hope that I'll leave my children and grandchildren a fraction of the magical Christmas memories that she left me with. Sniff, sniff, wonder if I can find an old wino seltzer dispenser for Kylie's highballs.