My Christmas Eve

About 4:30 Christmas Eve I get a phone call from Grumpy Batchelor Brother. We're both on the same well that had one very old pump and an even older, very small tank. We had water pressure so low that if you turned a garden hose to the sky, no water would come out.

Hey, I was happy. Some water is better than no water and 30 minutes to fill the bathtub was OK if I fixed supper in the meantime.

Anyhow, for some reason, the last month or so, he's gotten really froggy and decided to replace not only the pump, but the tank with not one, not two, but THREE big ole tanks.

OK, so the first time I turned on the water after this change it scared the bejeezus out of me, the dogs, not to mention the poor birds who got knocked off their perches by the force of the water. But it was nice to actually have water pressure strong enough to make a shower actually feel like a shower instead of chinese water torture.

Anyhow, getting back to Christmas Eve... I get a call from him that is basically "Something's wrong in the pump shed, we won't have water for about an hour or so." So I thought "Merry Christmas! No water!" and there I stood with myself and the kitchen covered dust, flour, cookie dough and a peanut shells. OK, I didn't have peanut shells on me, but I really needed a bath no matter how you look at it. And I also know that in South GA redneck lingo an hour could be anything from 20 minutes till Valentines Day--- 2008.

So, just about the time I get the first layer of sweepable crud up off the kitchen, I get another phone call, with a muttered "Sumthin's blown up, I need you over here to help me."

OK, barefoot, dirty, grungey me trots next door to my brother's, expecting to find the pump shed leveled and him sitting there with a case of Killians wanting me to help find his bottle opener that got lost in the debris.

Instead I find what he's been up to for the last week--- The old 10X10 wooden pump shed, modeled after the house is now covered, walls and roof with bright, shiny roofing tin. Through the 2x4 opening on one side I hear "I'm in here!". I stick my head through the opening and see my brother in the middle of three big water tanks standing in puddles of water. Standing those same puddles of water I see my mother's prissy cyrstal table lamps--- with the light bulbs now blown out.

OK, I admit, at first I was shocked at such crude treatment of such delicate fixtures. BUT-- I then realize I have both hands and a foot on sheet metal, with the possibility of live electricity running rampant--- now or at least in the future. So I quickly let go, take three steps back and lean wayyyyyy forward to stick my head through the opening.

The exchange went something like this-- Me- "What happened!" Grumpy Batchelor Brother- "I was working on the pump, the lights blew up and they threw the breaker in the house. It popped the crap out of me--- my hand is still tingling." Me- "I have a drop light at home, you want me to go get it?" GBB- "No, what I want you to do is go in the house and turn the breaker back on--the pump is fixed, I just need to watch it when it's turned on."

I look at the two lamps, the water and my brother; incredulous. Before I can speak, he then adds "And bring me two lightbulbs to replace these broken ones."

OK, at this point, I'm debating just going home. But I know him well enough to know he would still electracute himself with me there or not. At least with me there, I can call the parametics and start CPR. I am also a bit concerned that I look like I should be leaning out of a trailer in an episode of Cops...complete with bare feet and ragged T-shirt, but who am I kidding? We ARE an episode of Cops at this point.

Me- AGAIN "I have a drop light at home, you SURE you don't want me to go get it?" GBB- "Nah, these lights are working fine, it was the pump the shorted. It's safe. Really."

Now I'm thinking "Great, just effin' great. Merry Christmas! You're brother blows himself up and you'll still be out of water too." I also really, really, REALLY want a bath....so I'm willing to work with him.

I go inside and in this order-- Find two lightbulbs. Find the phone and the auto-dial for 911. Go to the breaker box, looking out the window at the shed, intent on turning on the circuit, but turning it off if I hear a yell, or if the shed glows and arcs lightening bolts.

There's my brother, massaging his previously shocked arm, grinning smuggly at the fixed pump.

He asks for the two lightbulbs and I hand them to him and watch in horror and amazement as he screws them in and turns on the lights. He looks around, surveys his handiwork and checks all the fittings and then turns the lights off.

He then walks inside and states he's going to self-medicate his injury with beer, lots of it! He wishes me a Merry Christmas and that his gift is even MORE water pressure.

Oh boy. I go home, take my bath and discover that the toilets now sound like B52's at take-off. And I now have one more story to tell our niece about her Uncle, the Man Without Fear (and too much beer).

O.K., here goes nothing:

Christmas 1970 will stay in my family's heart as one of the best, if not the greatest Christmas we have ever had. My large family, and all of my nieces, nephews, family friends, and neighbors were to have Christmas dinner with my Mother and Dad.

There were going to be 48 people for this dinner, and Mother was going crazy making sure everything was just perfect. We had set the main table three different times to satisfy Mom's desires, and we had set up numerous card tables, old tables, t.v. trays, all over the living room, the study, and the kitchen.

My sisters and sisters-in-law had been working in the kitchen like dogs, making casseroles, breads, cakes, and pies. My Mother baked three turkeys, two big hams, and a huge roast beef for the dinner, and as always, she did it the day before because she liked to just "warm things up" in time for the big dinner on Christmas Day.

She had three ovens in her kitchen, and each item had its' very own time to cook properly so when it came out it was hot, and ready for the table. The potatoes were all peeled, the sweet potato pies were ready, the mincemeat pies, pecan pies, and casseroles were ready to cook Christmas Day.

When we tried to put all the prepared foods into the refrigerators, there wasn't enough room to everything to fit, so Mom told me to take the turkeys, hams, and beef to the garage in covered containers, and to put them on top of the work table there.

I did as she asked, and covered everything with a blanket. It was really cold that Christmas Eve, and Mom wasn't worried about the food spoiling, nor was anyone else. Christmas morning came, and we all celebrated and opened our gifts, ate a huge breakfast, got dressed, then began preparing the big dinner.

We were to eat at two o'clock that afternoon, and at 12:30 Mom and I went to the garage to bring in the cooked meats to warm up, carve and serve...we both noticed at the same time the door to the garage had been opened. As we approached the door, 15 wild dogs came running out, barking, growling, and throwing our meat around! We looked inside, and the beef was gone, the turkeys were gone, and the hams were no where to be found ! Mama had a hissy-fit, yelled louder than I had ever heard her yell,and Pop came running out to see what the problem was, as did other family members.

We all knew then the dogs were really happy, but we weren't real pleased with the situation. Mama cried, which made all of us feel terrible as we had never seen her cry, and Dad hugged her and told her not to worry. "If anything" he said as he hugged her, "it's cold and the dogs are happy, and I'm happy because you're my wife and it's Christmas."

(my Dad was a smooth talker!) Mama smiled and we all went back inside. About that time the friends and neighbors were arriving for the feast, and then Dad got my brothers and me to start a fire in the fireplace.

We then took wire coat hangers and "opened" them out so that each of us could cook our own "Christmas Tube Steaks!". The grandchildren loved it more than anything, getting to cook their own hotdogs with all the fancy foods that had been prepared. The adults loved it as most of us hadn't cooked a hot dog over a fire in many years, and Dad liked it because it saved the day, and gave everyone something to think about.

As my Christmases have come and gone, I still think of that cold winter day in 170, when I learned that it isn't what's on your plate that makes a meal great, it's what is in each person's heart you are sharing that meal with. That was my Dad's last Christmas, and Mama died the following year of a broken heart.

I think of them often, and smile when I think of the " Christmas tube steaks." As far as the dogs go, I captured one of them a few weeks later, and his "granddaughter" is laying at my feet when I type this. Her favorite treat happens to be a piece of a hot dog!

Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.