eve

The windows steamed yesterday with the boiling of the ham. The fragrance lingered well into the night, of smoke and salt.

My Oklahoma family gathered in my home, around my table, for the first Helfrich/Freeman style Christmas eve feast in this house.

My husband said "that went better than I expected it to," I think meaning that his dad, who has mild alzheimer's disease, behaved himself.

Dave has said that his family does not come from a place that understands true tradition. They don't "get it."

To them, it was just dinner.

This is difficult for me. Being away from my family is hard enough. Being surrounded by people who have no clue of the meaning of what I worked so hard to present to them makes it worse.

But certainly, that's not their fault!

It's just a completely different family culture.

After a little while, I soaked my tired bones in a hot bath, where I could hear the Pavarotti playing, and sipped my cognac.

And I cried.

But I could hear my dad's voice in my head, saying "Good girl. You remembered everything. Good."

And that, my dears, is all that really matters.