Year Old Fruitcakes Taste Good Too.....

Christmas Night had arrived. I lay on the floor under a sea of torn wrapping paper, empty shirt boxes, and catnip stuffed, toy mice. I was exhausted, but the weeks of shopping and wrapping and mailing and cooking and company coming and going had finally come to an end. Now I could lie in this ocean of debris and watch the tree lights twinkle while listening to my grown kids play with the toys that Santa had thought they still needed.

From beneath the tree, I had a ground level view of all the interesting gifts that a bad economy had brought about. But, then re-gifted presents had been around for probably a lot longer than a bad economy. They had probably been around as long as Christmas itself.

Under the television sat the tissue stuffed box with the shirt my aunt had brought me. Her mother-in-law had given it to her and it was too big and far too ugly for her taste, so she thought I would like it.

"Gee, thanks," I said. "That was very thoughtful."

Then there was the wrinkle cream my mother gave me. She made a point of handing it to me in a special mother/daughter moment. Telling me she had paid a lot of money for it and it was excellent wrinkle cream, she really wanted me to have it. I stared at her and gave her a special daughter/mother moment of pointing out I sure as heck didn’t have any wrinkles yet! Smiling and patting my back, she said I really needed this cream and it smelled really good. She got it from the Avon lady, who also happened to be her closest friend. My son, ever the apple of his mother’s eye, swooped in and said not to feel bad, his grandmother had wanted to give him a new purse. With high heels that matched.

Still on the table was the box of frosted biscuits my cousin had sent from up north a week ago. Making the mistake of mailing them parcel post, it took them two weeks to arrive. Knowing they were a special gift, the three week old biscuits had been required to accompany the desserts, right next to the spice cake I baked that morning and the lumpy pumpkin pie my friend brought that afternoon. My mom just nicked off the spots of mold so company could appreciate an ethnic gift from so far away. Appreciate them without fear of needing penicillin injections later.

Then next to the pies and biscuits was the tray of cookies our friend brought on his annual Christmas visit. As he walked in with his elaborately wrapped tray and presented it to me, I noticed I recognized some of the cookies from his Christmas party two weeks earlier. I said, "Thank you for the wonderful gift. Are these the same cookies from the party?"

"Of course," he replied, "I noticed you liked them at the party, so I brought you some more."
I questioned how long a lifespan did these particular cookies have? He stated that it would have to be at least two weeks. He also threatened to stop by in a few days, just to make sure I hadn’t thrown them out as soon as he left. Then he insisted I bite one to show my appreciation, and lack of fear, of a thoughtful gift from a close friend.

But I smiled from my nest of wrapping paper and ugly sweaters as the tree twinkled brightly and the sounds of my children drifted over me. Grown sons still need at least one toy on Christmas morning. Men are never too old for that. And two indoor helicopters now buzzed around over my head. What a great idea the magazine had in suggesting these helicopters. Now I had broken figurines, scratched ceilings, traumatized cats, and a torn retina from catching a rotor-blade in the eye. That partnered with the pain in my shoulder from being forced to play Wii boxing for hours to be a good mom and interact with my daughter on Christmas Day.

But the tree twinkled brightly and I could not think of any place I would rather be than exhausted and happy in this red and green nest on the floor while helicopters attacked my hair. Because shoulders can be iced, eyeballs can be repaired, and a doctor could provide the needed antibiotic injections for having eaten three week old cookies and biscuits. But nothing in the world could replace this moment in time in this room full of people I loved.