Think twice before crooning that old Bing Crosby classic, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.” You may be stuck with a lot of ham.
Our rare snow-white Christmas was pretty, but it disrupted lots of plans.
The six inches of snowy powder provided us with a free Christmas dinner.
Neighbors Deb and Ralph Harding were expecting to entertain a dozen of their out-of-town relatives Christmas night. They all cancelled rather than risk the hazardous roads, leaving Deb with an 11-pound ham and all the side dishes. Hidden Creek neighbors gladly substituted as their relatives.
Had the snow started falling a day earlier, even more Christmas traditions would have been disrupted. The many Christmas Eve love feasts, communions and masses would have been paralyzed. Family gatherings would have been delayed.
The first hints of snow began falling at 11 a.m. Christmas day. We had Christmas breakfast at my in-laws and lunch at my mother’s house. The Sparks clan ate and ran this year, wanting to get off the road before the snow began to stick.
Christmas events turned me philosophic: Beware doing something new on Christmas because you might start a 50-year tradition.
Elizabeth’s father cooks once a year, only on Christmas morning. He makes eggs a la goldenrod, a concoction of gravy and boiled eggs poured over toast. Yolks are sprinkled on top, the “goldenrod” of the recipe. The process takes a lot of time.
Before Christmas, my father-in-law suggested a change: How about scrambled eggs this year? Easily made. Little mess. Quick clean up.
The polling results were disastrous. The grandchildren were appalled. Anybody can scramble an egg, one said. He can only get eggs a la goldenrod at Papa Bill’s.
That’s what we had again. The grandchildren pitched in to …