Merry Christmas Eve!

Since I used that tonight, originality demands that I come up with something else tomorrow. I quake as I consider the Herculean effort of thinking up an alternative!
The Good Lord has truly blessed me this evening by allowing me access to the wireless network from the comfort of my mother-in-law’s living room. It’s not exactly raw outside, but who wants to sit in the dark on a dank sidewalk?
After the previous blog entry, Mary took Shelly and I to Frank Liske Park up the road here in Concord. The park boasts acres of rolling hills, a modern recreation building, swing sets, and an amphitheater, of which we availed ourselves to none. (I’m not sure if that last sentence is grammatically correct and it’s bugging the heck out of me). Instead, we headed straight to the large lake in the western end, where, months ago, we encountered scores of ravenous, aggressive honkers, one of which bit Shelly, sending her screaming for cover. Alas, there were only half a dozen of them, and they didn’t seem very hungry. I had been more interested in the dozen or so Pekin ducks I’d seen the last time, but we couldn’t find them anywhere. This slightly depressed me, as I know they can’t fly away and their disappearance likely meant they’d suffered an unhappy end. Seeking an answer to the puzzle, Mary asked the park ranger, who, it turns out, has quite an affinity for the ducks. Our report of their absence worried him, so he drove his van around to the side of the lake, set down a few dishes of grain, and called "C’mon guys...c’mon guys!" To our astonishment, all 12 of them emerged from a hidden spot in a waterside grove of trees, crossed the lake, and started stuffing their bills with grain. The sight of such healthy, well-cared-for Pekins lifted my spirits as few things can.
Now that I’ve written 247 words wholly devoted (again) to waterfowl, I’ll continue telling you about Christmas Eve.
Shelly and I woke today at 5:30am to the sound of Mary banging pots and pans and preparing for today’s feast. Being the loyal, helpful progeny we are, we closed the door and ably returned to sleep for another three hours. Once the streaming sun beaming through the window made further sleep impossible, we rose and did what we could to help her- in my case, moving dozens of chairs down from the second floor. And not the light, folding metal chairs either; the big, robust, hernia-inducing wooden chairs. With arms.
Around noon, everyone began arriving. Uncle Charles and Aunt Linda came in from Charlotte, with the afore-mentioned Collier twins, Misty and Christy. Aunt Mary (that’s "Murry" if said around a mouthful of cookie) and Uncle David arrived in from Rock Hill, SC with their previously-unmet daughter Allison, who lives in Myrtle Beach. Uncle Mike came, as did his son Michael, daughter-in-law Mandy, and their kids Michael and Madison, who was recently a flower girl, and the best one ever, if certain boasts are to be believed. Shelly’s father Louis lived up to his promise and came too. Rounding out the crowd were Mary, Shelly, Michael Bibb, his girlfriend Holly, and myself. So, yes, for those keeping track, there were four Michael’s in attendance.
The main course was prime rib, which ended up being prime indeed, though slightly bloody. Charles was in charge of doling it out, and under his administrations, I took a healthy splash of meat juice, thwarting my evening plans of spreading Christmas cheer among unfortunate canines, which now seemed too risky. Other courses included mashed potatoes, cheese and crackers, a vegetable platter, green beans, biscuits, corn, and probably others I’m forgetting. One thing we didn’t have was ice, since the icemaker picked today of all days to go on strike. Guess who got sent to the store to pick up a couple of bags? Yep, that’s right! Who da man? I da man. My trip was delayed a few moments by the inexplicable absence of my shoes, but after shaking down Misty (who has a history of such thievery), I remembered Shelly had put them away in the closet.
After dinner, we all played Dirty Santa (that's San-TA, not San-CHEZ, Matt and Martha. We know how you roll). On my first turn, number ten out of sixteen, I unwittingly chose a frilly, sexy bathrobe. After much ribbing, Allison had mercy and relieved me of it. My replacement pick of a girly winter cap, gloves, and scarf did little to alleviate my feelings of insecurity. Thankfully, my mother-in-law took interest in them and traded me for a nice coffee sampler set from Starbucks.
There were a few illnesses, so everyone left fairly early. Now, only Shelly, Mary, and I remain. They’re watching the Nutcracker Suite in the other room, and even in the interests of love and Christmas I can’t force myself to join them.
That’s about all for now. I will probably make some familial calls tonight and get to bed early. Santa might not come if he catches me up!