Sounds Of Christmas

By Margie Keane

Two days before Christmas and bedlam reigns throughout the house. The oven door creaking like arthritic knees, is tired from the myriad trays of cookies, cakes and breads that Grandma has been popping in and out of the oven for the past week.

Upstairs giggles and whispers blend with the rustle of paper and the snick of ribbon being curled as the last of the presents are wrapped.

In the parlor the “annual tree fight” is going on, my husband yelling “next year we’re getting a fake tree!”

“Aw Dad, says the daughter, “you love real trees, okay turn it around. There’s a bare spot, wait, now it’s leaning, pull it to the right, no, now left, wait a minute, it’s leaning backwards…” And on and on.

In back of me a door slams and the clunk of boots stomping across the kitchen like a Russian Cossack invading. It’s the six year old, ice chunks slithering off his jacket making little puddles on the newly waxed floor.

Grandpa’s practicing his “Ho, ho, ho’s for his big part in the church Christmas program, and me? I’m taking time out for a quiet activity.

I’m listening to the snow fall.