"There is nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and
not be a child." ~ Erma Bombeck
Babe said we should sleep in on Christmas Day. Our grown
children were in South Carolina with their little ones, so St. Nick had no
reason to drop down our Saluda chimney. The kids and their kids planned to
visit after the live greens had wilted and the fat man had long since flown
back to the North Pole.
So it was early on Christmas
morning while I dreamed of sugar plum fairies and stockings hung by the chimney
with care that my two hungry cats turned my stomach into a pincushion. Dragging
my sleep-deprived body to the kitchen, I searched the pantry for a can of
non-smelly cat food. Since it was Christmas, the kitties deserved to be treated
to turkey ala Fancy Feast instead of mystery fish parts.
When I left the kitchen I almost
stumbled over Babe who was sitting on the floor in front of the Christmas tree
as though it were the Holy Grail.
“Whatcha doing, Babe?”
He looked at me like I had glitter
for brains. “Waiting for you so we can open up our presents.”
I leaned over and kissed him smack
on his smackers. He grinned.
“Can we open ‘em now,” he asked.
“Can we? Huh?”
“What are you, five? Oh, all right,
let’s do this thing.” My Starbucks had begun to kick in so I was almost ready
for tearing into the carefully wrapped packages.
Later, after expressing gratitude for socks, ties and perfume that we didn’t need, we were both hungry for
food that didn’t require cooking in my kitchen. We got dressed and hurried to
the car.
“Where to,” Babe said playing taxi
driver to his lone passenger.
“Waffle House,” I replied.
“They’re always open.”
The diner known to every man, woman
and child South of the Gnat Line was packed, the parking lot jammed with cars,
motorcycles and pick‘em up trucks. A family of four got up to leave
just as we arrived, so before leftover waffle crumbs could be swept onto the
floor, we grabbed their abandoned table.
“Cheese omelet,” I declared to
Donna, the server dressed in a red Tee with Merry Christmas, Y’all stamped
on her bosomy front. “And leave the coffee pot.”
Donna looked at me like the
aforementioned brain glitter was leaking out of my ears. “Not gonna happen,
Girlfriend,” she said. “Not today.”
Undaunted about that missing front
tooth of hers, Donna grinned and then winked at Babe. He ordered one of
everything on the menu and then returned her wink.
I looked around at an assortment of
people eating Christmas breakfast at the little house of pecan waffles and
enough fat fuel to power us all to Mars and back.
Crammed into a booth was a group of bikers clad in red leather. They were happily chowing down on waffles, hash browns and milk. Milk? Go figure.
A young mom and dad seated at the
table next to us were kept busy trying to keep their pajama-clad children from braining
each other. I figured earlier in the day Dad probably told Mom, “Let’s eat breakfast out at the Awful Waffle.” Mom took three
seconds to reply, “You had me at eat breakfast out.”
I saw an elderly woman seated near the back of the diner wearing a red wig that didn’t fit. She was too thin
and her eyes matched the color of her wig. She was alone and looked
sadder than anyone in the place. It broke my heart.
Donna appeared with a coffee pot
and spilled some on the table. “Oops,” she chirped and Babe winked at me. There
was a lot of winking going on that morning. ‘Tis the season …
Old friends stopped by our table
for hugs and holiday good wishes. We hadn't seen them for a while and I
wondered how we had allowed that to happen.
My omelet arrived loaded with
cheese and animal fat. Babe dug into his eggs, waffles, bacon, sausage, grits
and hash browns, and then asked Donna for non-fat milk. Go figure.
Between bites, I gazed at kids wearing pajamas and their exhausted parents wearing blood-shot eyes and droopy lids. Seeing them made me think about when my kids were young ~ all those late
Christmas Eve nights spent searching for misplaced nuts, bolts and missing
screws before we could put together the unassembled toys.
Had it been that long ago when
instead of cats jumping on my stomach, tiny hands shook me awake with, “Wake
up! Wake up! Santa was here!”
Where had the
years gone?
We didn’t go out for breakfast on
Christmas Day when my children were little. I made waffles and bacon and then
threatened them with Time Out for life if they didn’t put down their toys and
come eat breakfast at the table. Family life is different now, but that’s not
such a bad thing.
As I looked at all the cute kids
eating big mouthfuls of waffles and dripping syrup down the front of their
pajamas, I smiled.
Seeing Donna proudly showing off
her Merry Christmas, Y’all T-shirt, made me realize that happiness can be found wherever we happen to be ~ even in a diner that never closes.
So when Babe ordered every item on
the Waffle House menu and the paramedics did not need to be called, I did a happy dance and asked him if he had saved room for fruitcake.
He swallowed a big mouthful of hash
browns. “Don’t be silly. They don't serve fruitcake at the Waffle House.” He
paused. “But we’ve still got some left at home, don’t we?"
Merry Christmas,
y’all!
