The guests have gone.
I am a hundred times more comfortable being the hostess than the guest. So much easier.
While waiting for family to arrive, I made a batch of snickerdoodles. I grew up on the campus of a very small, private Bible School and the students would bake cookies frequently; I think about once a week. They were stored in a large pantry off the kitchen. It was one of the delights of life to go in and snag a cookie or two on a slow afternoon.
The recipe called for Cream of Tartar. I had to call my mom to ask what the heck was it, what did it do and could I replace it with anything? Also, if the white power is the cream of the tartar, what does the tartar itself look like and how does it get creamed?
It makes egg whites stiffer, it's not necessary, your dad and I have no idea, were the answers. Cream of tartar: one of the great mysteries of life.
Unless I want to Google it.
Anyway, we stuffed our guests on cookies, the guys went upstairs for some sound pumping, Adrenalin rushing Modern Warfare 2 or 4 or whatever the heck the newest one is and we girls sat around looking at the Snapfish story book albums that describe how Keith and I met and our first Christmas.
Then we all ate nachos while the girls watched Christmas movies and the guys got drunk while watching Ironman. My husband's tolerance for whiskey is, I have to say, of John Wayne proportions. Not so much his brother, who managed to upchuck over the rail and not onto the deck, which was considerate of him.
Then we all had casserole, Velveeta broccoli and salad, all sitting around the dining room table. The men sobered up, the women helped clean up. The dogs got theirs and everyone collapsed into the various living areas to digest.
In being the hostess, I get to be busy all the time. It gives me a purpose, which helps take the tension away from socializing. I ended up being in the kitchen most of the time, chatting away with my sister in law as though I'd known her all my life. It was downright fun.
Also, as soon as I made sure everyone was comfortable for the night, as hostess I could say goodnight and retreat to my own private abode, knowing my guests had their beds, sheets, towels, soaps, snacks and glasses handy and the general run of the place. I, on the other hand, had my book, glass of water and large bed. It was marvelous.
From the sound of it, the guests all had mad fun for hours after until I put my earplugs in and fell asleep, to be awakened hours later by my husband crawling into bed with me.
Lately, I've been rereading "Prodigal Summer." Love that book. I re-read it now very slowly, trying to savor each chapter. In the book, one of the characters losses her husband right off the bat. In the past week since I began reading the book, I have welcomed Keith with an added touch of gratitude.
Deployment has left a lasting sensation of hunger for my soldier that hasn't quite gone away, despite the petty annoyances of every day living and the adventure that is a marriage.
We curled up together on the couch late this morning, after the guests had departed and after we had put the house back in order, and drowsed off. It was sunny and peaceful and the girls were both quiet; probably worn out as well. I could hear Keith's heart thumping away steadily under his worn work shirt.
Those are the moments.
December 7th
I think I must have gotten the date wrong a couple days back.
On cable TV, I have found the "Holiday Pops" channel. Now it feels like Christmas.
Early this morning, I was woken up by this huge soldier bending over to kiss me before heading off to work. Yum.
Later on, I woke up to a dusting of snow. I must still be adjusting to the slight time change between here and Colorado and/or just generally worn down because I can't get out of bed any earlier than nine.
Now that normal life has commenced, that will change.
Yesterday Keith and I went out to look for a professional folder that he could carry all this papers in as he goes around signing into his new post. This took us into the small, local grocery store for the first time.
Oh my goodness, how it took me back to my childhood in New England. It was something about the narrow, towering isles of food, the variety, the small town look of the shoppers who popped out unexpectedly from corners and behind food displays.
We didn't find it there, though they did have a small selection of school supplies which included those mottled black and white notebooks of yore. I wrote a journal in one of those, long long ago and some fairy tales.
We went one store down and into what we figured must be a hardware store, though we weren't sure. It was sheer enchantment, is what it was. My goodness. Everything, I mean, everything, was in the that store.
Snow shovels, fabric swatches, mops, buckets, Christmas toys, Chicklets, holiday patterned pencils with green and red erasers. There were Chocolate candies and dolls for dress making, kitchen mats and dog houses. There was a whole isle devoted to the American flag, the entire back wall was lined with various cleaning implements, solid tools made of wood.
Officially, I will now eschew Walmart. (Isn't that a marvelous word, eschew? Sounding so like a sneeze.) I am supporting my local economy and America in general. I've been on the fence about this for a while, since despite my interest in politics, I have always been a little dubious about cases in general and cloudy on the effect of Walmart on America in general.
I'm still not entirely sure, to be honest. All I know is, that little General Store now gets all my patronage. Everything in it makes me feel nostalgic.
