Dear Friends and Family,
For the past twenty years or so, I’ve sent our Christmas greetings well after the holidays. Most often, our cards have not made it to the post office until the end of spring or in early summer. I am embarrassed to admit that one year I barely mailed them before the first snowfall.
In my defense, I was loosely following the precedent from my many years of running the Old Faithful Clinic in Yellowstone National Park. Almost every year there, the first snowflakes arrive in late August coinciding with the end of the summer season when employees return to home, college, or their next adventure.
Many decades ago, two feet of snow blanketed the park on August 25, so a large group of employees pretended it was Christmas. They wore makeshift reindeer costumes to their jobs, sang yuletide songs, and drank eggnog.
A tradition was born.
Since then, Yellowstone employees “celebrate” Christmas every August 25. They call it “Christmas in summer” and the tourists love it.
With the final week of December being the busiest tourist week in Park City every year, I loosely adopted Yellowstone’s tradition. Annually, I wait until the holiday bug bites me sometime after ski season. It might be May or it might be late August. I never know when I will be seized by the moment. It doesn’t matter. One day when I feel like summarizing my year for our friends and family, I declare it my holiday season. I toast to Santa and out go my cards.
Yesterday, on July 8, there were nine people sitting around our dining room table and Julie, Nancy’s longtime friend from Tucson, asked, “Your Christmas tree is really beautiful. How long has it been up?” Our dining room is two steps above the living room and looks out over the sitting area below. At the far edge of the living room, a fourteen-foot highly decorated Christmas tree resplendently resides.
“Well,” I answered, “About ten years.”
“It’s been eleven, Dadder,” Jayna interjected. “It’s Christmas all year at our house, Julie.” There was general laughter as I explained Christmas in Yellowstone and my long personal practice of choosing the exact day on my whim, and how having a Christmas tree up year round made that possible.
Jaret was too excited to let this conversation continue. “Happy Birthday, Mom!” he announced as he handed Nancy a present and kissed her on the cheek.
Our birthday dinner group was the largest Nancy has hosted since she fell ill. In addition to Jaret, Jayna, me, and Nancy’s sister, Linda, Jayna’s college “parents,” Howard and Rhonda, who are visiting their son Louis in Denver from New York, also flew over for the occasion. Louis has been one of Jayna’s best friends in college and his family “adopted” Jayna for several holidays when she couldn’t make it back to Utah. All of these guests were expected (and preapproved) by Nancy. Julie, Nancy’s first flying partner at TWA, was a notable and truly unexpected surprise. Nancy’s face lit up when she rang the doorbell; she hadn’t seen Julie in years.
For me, a full house of guests echoed times past, and Nancy embraced the happiness of being surrounded by a jovial group with one common goal: to have this be Nancy’s best birthday ever. Julie prepared a mouth-watering meal of baked fish and tempura vegetables and matched it with her favorite sake. Nancy gave it her highest praise: “This tastes better than the hospital pancakes.” To complement the meal, Howard and Rhonda related their recent adventures in Japan. Though all the serving dishes were empty by meal’s end, our biggest (and very tiring) activity yesterday was laughing. (Quite honestly, I had to make an excuse and leave the table twice because the carefree mood provoked tears I didn’t want Nancy or the others to see.)
When the birthday cake’s arrival was imminent, each of us donned a brightly colored, cone-shaped party hat. Mine was blue and had orange balloons on it; the elastic band that held it in place made my beard tuck under my neck. I am sure I looked more ridiculous than usual even though the hat hid my bald spot as it stood straight up on the back of my head. Nancy’s bonnet was pink with blue and white balloons. She looked both natural and elegant even though the twenty-five-cent cardboard hat only partially covered her beautiful and completely hairless head. The cap matched her new pink scarf and exquisitely highlighted her skin tone and eye color.
I must admit—when she had modeled the scarf for me earlier in the day before our guests arrived, she had enthusiastically asserted, “I don’t have to wear a hospital gown tonight!” An ear-to-ear smile spanned Nancy’s face. Her eyes sparkled in the early evening sunlight. I froze the moment in my mind’s camera. It was our happiest snapshot in a long time.
Nancy’s requested cake was chocolate decadence. I put five candles on one edge and seven on the other to mark fifty-seven years. I didn’t light them. Nancy still has a cannula in her nose delivering oxygen, so no flames are allowed in the house. But that didn’t dampen Nancy’s spirit. Without a second’s hesitation, she pretended to blow out each and every candle one by one. We cheered and sang “Happy Birthday” again and again. There were more stories. There was more laughter. I didn’t tuck Nancy into bed until almost eleven.
July 8 was truly a special day this year. Our family had dreamed of this birthday yet wondered if we’d be celebrating.
For me, July 8 was also Christmas.
The best one ever.
Summary: July 8 finds our family hosting a real party. Friends and family surrounded Nancy for her fifty-eighth birthday. It was such a wonderful celebration that we also celebrated the day as Christmas.
Very much love,
Winnie