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A Cookout for Christmas

I know I’m not alone in thinking this. As I walk in the air that smells of spring, I keep thinking how this is this the oddest Christmas season in memory. No snow. No Jack Frost painting the window panes. No woolly mittens or snuggly scarves. It seems that Heat Miser from that old Rankin-Bass Christmas special took over and won’t let go.

But I’m not complaining.

In fact, no one is. After suffering through the coldest February on record and endless snowstorms last winter, no one is in a rush to get back to all of that. We’re shrugging off the jackets we wore in November and walking through Christmas tree farms in short sleeves with smiles on our faces. Brandy for after the tree is selected? Nope. Hand me an icy cold brew, please.

I go to my mom’s on Christmas Eve. Everyone else will be arriving the next day or the day after, so the night is ours alone. We talk about baking cookies, but we don’t. Who wants to heat up the house by having the oven on all that time? Instead, we take a long walk around the neighborhood to look at everyone’s lights.

It’s downright balmy.

The next day, it’s even warmer. The outside thermometer reads seventy. The lawn is green and it feels more like Memorial Day than Christmas Day. The sun shimmers on the lake, making bright little star patterns. There is no winter wind.

The movies on the Hallmark Channel, which are basically all the same girl-gets-boy stories, also all feature the same swoony swirly snow scenes. Mom and I play find-the-cliché as we watch. Ah, there’s the Sympathetic Butler Character. The Teach-the-Girl-to-Dance Scene? Yes, it’s here. Icy Blonde Snob Character Who Gets in the Way of Nice Brunette Who Deserves the Prince So Much More Character? Uh huh. Snow Falling Lightly and Softly on Palace/Mansion Gates. Yes.

These movies all seem even more ridiculous than they usually do.

We talk with my brother days beforehand about what to have for Christmas dinner. No one wants a turkey. That’s unanimous. Pork with roasted vegetables? That sounds tasty, but doesn’t really spin anyone’s wheels. Ham? Ugh. Not really.

We decide to take advantage of our circumstance. When will we have such a spring-like Yuletide again? Maybe never. So, it’s hamburgers on the grill, potato salad, and greens. A Christmas cookout.

Once the potatoes are boiled and cooling, Mom and I go across the road to dip our feet in the lake. Why? Because we actually feel like doing so. Who wants to be cooped up in the house watching Christmas movies? As for baking cookies, again this does not get done.

The air is warm, but yes, the lake is freezing. We last only seconds before our ankles scream. Still, it’s worth it and I will always have pictures to prove we did it.

As my brother mans the grill, I haul a ridiculous giant Santa out of the house and pose him next to it for a portrait. This day must be preserved for posterity. We eat out on the three-season porch. There’s no need to turn on any heat source even as the sun begins to set. We dig into our holiday hamburgers and summer salads with all the enthusiasm of Fourth of July revelers. All is right with the world.

The next day the rest of my family arrives and my niece takes the lake dip even further. She does a full-on dive in. Yes, the water is cold and she’s shivering like mad when she gets out, but the air temperature is in the sixties. I take more pictures.

I receive wonderful gifts as I always do because I’m a spoiled brat. The Hallmark Channel shows how one woman gets a boyfriend for Christmas while another gets a husband who is also a prince. Still another gets an entire family for Christmas. I sit back on my Mom’s couch in my light shirt and think about how I got a cookout for Christmas. I couldn’t be happier.

Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com.