Something completely different #2

Continuing the story from a two posts back . . .

At the office, where Michael usually felt the most comfortable, everyone was stressed over holiday spending and end of the year reports. The office party last week was nothing more than an excuse to have a few drinks on the company tab, not a bad thing at all, but it was more of an occasion designed to help one forget rather than to remember. And then there was home. Not that Michael was the most qualified to comment on the status of the holiday atmosphere at home. He too, had been caught up in the end of the year rush at work, trying to get things wrapped up so that he could enjoy Christmas day with the family. By the time he walked in the door every night after work, the house was quiet. Everyone was either in bed, watching TV, or in their rooms doing whatever kids do in their rooms these days. Jan was usually at the computer, searching the world wide web for whatever toy was in short supply. There apparently had been time for someone to put up the Christmas tree, he had noticed one late night as he tip-toed in quietly. But he had not yet seen it with the lights on this year. There would at least be time for that on Christmas Day.

Suddenly Christmas Day was tomorrow. Michael would have to hurry to make it home in time for the Christmas Eve Service. If he could not make that, he simply had to get home in time to say good night to the kids and help Jan with the Christmas Eve duties. And then maybe, if he were lucky, there would be time for Mr. and Mrs. Claus to conspire by the fire. But she was probably already worn out from working on the pageant at church and cooking for all the family coming for Christmas dinner. Michael‘s mind wandered for a few moments, remembering the first time he used that “conspire by the fire” line on Jan. There were no children then; just the two of them in that little apartment. And there was no fireplace. But when Michael came home that Christmas Eve, the small potted Norwegian Fir was sitting in the middle of the dining table, decorated with tiny ribbons and a few homemade construction paper ornaments. The room was full of candles, Christmas music was playing quietly, and the smell of spice tea and cookies filled the air. And there was Jan, sitting on the sofa in a crimson velvet gown, holding out a glass of wine. Nat King Cole crooned, “Later on, we’ll conspire, as we dream by the fire, we’ll face unafraid the plans that we made . . .” The wine disappeared, plans and dreams were shared, and then the wonderful conspiring . . . now that’s a tradition worth keeping.

copyright 2008 Bob Bentley