I knew it was possible. Thankfully, I don’t often become ill, but when the courtroom was an orchestra of hacking, coughing and sneezing this week, I asked to be hosed down in Lysol. I try to be green, but this called for chemical measures. And I thought I’d escaped it, had even forgotten about it until ...
I woke up the next morning. Everything aches and sneezes. It looks like it snowed Puffs Plus in here. I missed church; no need to breed sneezes to others. So, I “took it easy” by washing a few clothes, baking some bread and reading the paper while watching classic Steve McQueen movies. All day in pajamas with Mr. McQueen should make any girl feel better.
Now, this evening, my beloved Baxter and I are curled up in a blanket watching “The Holiday” (which I will later dream of as I imagine transporting Kate Winslet’s petite cottage to downtown Bentonville). The LED glow of my Christmas tree softly lights the room, and I smile at the lovely fir tree as it happily beams back at me.
I really don’t feel well. You know, my grandfather used to keep a bottle of hot cinnamon schnapps on hand. He said it, especially made into a hot toddy, helped a cold (and asthma, arthritis, heart attack and gout) better than anything he knew. Like Nyquil, only better. I think my mom had a bottle of it in some of her things I’m storing. She didn’t drink, but my grandmother owned a liquor store. (Granted, those aren’t words typically strung together, but that’s another column.)
Let’s see, where would that be? Dig, sift, ah, here it is. Full bottle, unopened. “A Natural Cinnamon Flavored Liqueor since 1695.” Huh, they’ve been at it a long time. Must be good.
I don’t know how to make a hot toddy. Let’s Google it.
Honey, water, clove, lemon, nutmeg ... I have all that. “Add an amount of liquor to your liking,” it reads. Wonder how much that is. I’ll just throw in some. Maybe a little more. Eh, a little more couldn’t hurt. And in my pretty Christmas mug, doesn’t it look lovely? How festive!
Okay, back to the decor. You see, my tree ... oh, this is quite good. Warm honey and clove, very soothing. Sip.
My tree is loaded down with the craziest hodgepodge of ornaments with not a matching thing to be found on it anywhere. Martha Stewart would shriek in horror if my tree appeared in her living room, and that fact alone makes me grin. My tree isn’t meant to be an impersonal statement of interior design that could easily be found in anyone’s home. It is meant to speak to the soul — my soul especially — as an illuminated scrapbook of years past. A representation of times lived and the hope of good things to come. You cannot look at my tree and not smile.
Sip sip.
There are beautiful glass ornaments passed down from my Grammy Peg. How I admired them as a child! A mirrored bird I rescued from a local flea market. Flocked snail ornaments with human faces that my parents bought not long after they married in 1961. Those are a little disturbing, but happy and ...
My, I’ve polished off my drink. That went fast. Better make another. Let’s see, little water, schnapps, clove and something else. Where were we?
Oh, yes, the ornmanets. I see starched crocheted snowflakes and pipe cleaner candy canes from when I was 10. A tiny brass babble from reaching the top of Pikes Peak. Colorful globes Mom bought me when I got my first apartment in college. Nary a branch is untouched from holidays past. My roots and my Christmas tree know each other well.
Sip sip. Paw-Paw was right, this stuff works wonders. I feel less, I mean better, already!
I really like that cottage. I wonder if Kate would let me live there. What was I doing? Oh, yes, writing my column. My Roots are Showing. And boy, aren’t they? Gray, gray, gray! Sip, sip, sip!
Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy your dalls hecked as much as I do, and that they bring you floods of smiles an good memories. May you have a merry lil’ Christmas, peace on earth, good will toward men, raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens and liberty and justice for all. Play ball!
Note: No writers were harmed in the making of this column and no endorsement of holiday drinking, medicinal or otherwise, shall be inferred herein, lawyers.
LISA KELLEY IS A WRITER, MASTER GARDENER, ANIMAL LOVER AND ALL-AROUND GOOD OL’ SOUTHERN GAL WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO PRACTICE LAW AND MEDIATE CASES IN DOWNTOWN BENTONVILLE.