Caren Ware's Blog

December 30, 2012

Merry Christmess

Filed under: Uncategorized — Caren Ware @ 11:22 am

christmas4 - Copychristmas2I left -15 degrees and flew down to California to be with family. I had purchased two display mountain bikes from Fitzgerald’s at the end of their season and had hidden them in the 91-year-old Latvian’s bungalow during the fall. They seemed like the perfect gifts.  We were having to pay for campus parking. My daughter had gotten into fender benders in a new car on that packed campus already this year. And upon my arrival, she sheepishly admitted that the chalk markings on the back of her window were from being towed away from the wrong parking space. I wanted to give them the start-up opportunity to pedal some of life. I stopped into a very busy, pre-Christmas sports store and added helmets and bike locks to the mix. None of these gifts were CHRISTmas nor the meaning of, but yes, I was trying to GIVE them what we have designed as a good Christmas.

My Christmas gift would be a morning spent in my daughter’s apartment making pies and deserts for all the gatherings.  My son agreed to come join us. He had to be the truck delivery of her bike. I already cherished the time that would be spent.  The aroma of cinnamon and spices filling the air.  The conversation and chatting that gets to come from just hanging out.  This is Christmas.

I got a late start as the battery was dead on the stored Porsche.  I had to be jumped.  I got a call that I had left a key bag of groceries behind in my haste.  I pulled into a very busy Albertson’s and stood in a very full line.  I was hoping to avoid this kind of bustle on the morn of Christmas eve.  Dag nab it.  I left the lights on.  The car was so Christmasy red and handsome…and not going anywhere.  I called my daughter and AutoClub.  The nice tow truck driver said the battery tested poorly and he did not have my size.  He jumped me.  We drove into a very busy tire place, ditched the car and still, dag nab it, determinedly had just enough time to whip out pies.  So much for casual conversation.

My son had gotten to the apartment.  synchronized.  We went into family operation.  We were raised race timers.  John cracked the eggs.  Carrie took off to the store for more sugar.  I made the pie crusts in record ticking time…and we got them into the oven.  All I had to do was squeeze in the little  tin bundt cakes around the pies and we would soon have cinnamon and spice and my Cinderella staged Christmas atmosphere.

I dumped the full cake pan over as I slide it toward the back of the oven, which in turn dumped the little pans over on that shelf, which in turn, splattered the batter all over the bottom of a 425 apartment oven, which in turn instantly charred, which in turn instantly filled the kitchen with smoke.  Well, the entire apartment with smoke.  My son went into emergency mode.  He belted commands for the situation.  I had to smile at the trained cop he was becoming to be.  He didn’t run to the stove, but through the apartment looking for the smoke detector.  Yep, he bellowed.” It’s wired to the Fire Department, as should any college apartment be.”  He grabbed a chair and starting fanning as I ruined a spatula trying to scrape out the charred goop.  And in doing so I flipped the second tray of cakes.  And the alarm sounded.

We arrived to my brother’s an hour late. No pies.  Smelling like Chimney Sweeps.  And the entire cinnamon and spice project was steaming out of the top of a university campus dumpster .

My kids shrugged, never even balked, and chalked it up as just another normal day with mom.IMAG2542

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