Making Christmas

Krumkake is our--MY--big holiday treat. My sister is the better cook and baker in every area except this: I am the reigning krumkake queen. It's a small claim to fame, but I admit it makes me happy; everyone in the family loves my krumkake. They put in requests months before Christmas--requests that never got filled in the past because, well, the krumkake would be eaten as soon as they came off the cone mold. And it's so time consuming; in an hour of pouring and flipping and rolling I get maybe two dozen. If there's no swiped inventory.

This year, however, with Dad 70 lbs lighter from his hospitalizations and rigorous diabetic diet, and me 50 lbs lighter--yes, 50; yes, I had that much to lose--there's going to be a surplus of krumkake stock. And frankly, I'm nervous about baking them at all. It's like asking the alchoholic in the group to stay sober and tend the bar for guests.

Or: it's a fun little challenge. What attitude will she ultimately assume? Hard to say.

I rarely feel the holiday shopping mania. I love to give gifts, but I also love not to lose sleep over bills. My shopping was done a month ago.

My mania is everything else. The baking--most of which (krumkake notwithstanding) turns out horribly, and yet I keep trying. Visions of sugarplums, etc. The wrapping--the ribbons and the frills and the candy canes stuck on in weird places by the kids. The decorating--the evergreen candle we got years ago and love too much to burn; the nativity scene--the little figures acting out a moment we don't even really believe in, but still feel symbolically and deeply. I love the smell of the wreath, which hangs on my back door because the sun hits that side of the house most of all, and bakes the wreath and fills the house with the scent of it.

Most of all I love the funky ornaments--the fragile, glass heart I bought the month I knew I was pregnant: my little totem of good luck--my little secret--my private acknowledgement that I loved that kid and I was changing, even though I still looked like the same caustic, dedicated single my friends and family knew and loved. The bell that a street vendor in Calcutta gave me the day I left with Liam: "Don't forget your country," he'd intoned seriously to the bewildered kid. "Don't forget who you are." The Li Bien peace doves that Pier One sells every year and I buy up, and give away, and really mean it--really wish peace, really send love. The dancing elephants and feathery ballerinas, the school projects and baby photos--the bizarre little things the kids have seized upon over the years. Some people would go for the birth certificates if the house was burning down. I'd go for the Christmas decorations.

I love every crazy minute of it.

What's your favorite thing? I want to know.