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Last night we had a big Christmas supper. We usually do the traditional meal with a couple of friends, or my partner's parents, but this time we had nine people in the house: her parents, two pairs of friends, our godchild, and us.
We didn't even have enough room at the dining room table for everyone. Big as it is, it only seats eight. So we set up a small table for our godchild, decorated with a tiny Christmas tree and little knick-knacks, and where the dogs hovered hopefully, ferrying between tables, hoping for a bit of seasonal generosity.
I don't understand people who get tired of the traditional meal. We had turkey, stuffing, garlic mashed potatoes; jellied salad (admittedly, a divisive food in our group, and which my father-in-law and I love); homemade creamed corn; Brussels sprouts with pecans, blue cheese, balsamic vinaigrette, maple syrup, and cranberries; soft, buttered buns; a huge bowl of homemade applesauce...
Then dessert, a rich hazelnut torte, along with a tower of dainties. Plenty of beer. Rosé on the table. Tea and coffee afterwards, both regular and decaf, and a huge game of 31, in which I aggressively knocked with bad cards to ensure I'd be the first one out and able to focus on the mound of dishes. My partner did all the cooking; I wasn't going to let her do any washing up.
I haven't had a gathering like this in many years, not since my childhood home was the muster point for my east and west coast relatives, the eight of of us picking at the spread laid out on our small dining room table and retiring to the nearest available couch or loveseat or chair. My dad always did all the cooking, all the washing up. In retrospect, Herculean.
It was really nice. We hadn't had my in-laws here for Christmas since before the pandemic, and it was wonderful to get everyone around the table and refill the snacks and offer drinks and even tackle the intimidating pile of washing-up that glowered by the window.
I'm exhausted, but good. Today a Zoom call with my own family, scattered across Canada, England, and Spain. People I haven't seen in months to years. Some I've never met. A number I never will.
After that should be a bit of relative quiet. Board games, cards, reading, and hopefully a bit of writing. I owe someone some editing, so I need to sit down and start collecting my thoughts there as well. This is one of my favourite times of the year, that dim season between Christmas and the new year where things move at their own tempo. Easy enough to say what I'm going to do. I'll make space for things to unfold at their own pace, too.