Upon our mid-day arrival at Bill’s family’s house on a blue-sky Christmas Day, we immediately struck out for the cricket pitch.  When the sun appears in England, you act fast. A couple days before we flew to England, I remembered how muddy the boys’ sneakers get on these walks and quickly sorted out low-cut boots for both of them to take.  Snow boots are too hot and rubber Wellies are too cold. The boots with leather soles that wrap up the lower portion of the shoes worked a wonder for this muddy outing.

Our brother-in-law Graham takes the helm in the kitchen for abundantly amazing Christmas dinners.  On Christmas Eve, he baked the gammon and prepped the vegetables: carrots, potatoes, parsnips, broccoli, cauliflower, and brussel sprouts.  He made black olive and caper tapenade from scratch, plus two gravies, cranberry stuffing, Yorkshire pudding batter, and little sausages wrapped in bacon.  Given all this prep the day before and throughout Christmas morning — and having just put the turkey into the oven for our evening dinner — Graham joined us for the walk.  

We looked like a motley crew walking along the gravel path: four of us in winter coats, one in a lighter coat, and Liam and I in short-sleeved t-shirts. Every body reacts differently to 45 degrees and bright sun.  The fresh air brightened us up and invigorated our step, and in our minds, the hour-long walk made more room for Christmas dinner.

Back at the house we kicked off our boots and shoes, put the kettle on for tea, and moved to the sitting room. We returned from our walk with twenty minutes to spare until the Queen’s Speech started at 3 p.m. As long as I’ve been part of the family, watching the Queen’s speech on Christmas Day has been a steadfast anchor in Bill’s family. We may eat early or late, we may walk before or after Christmas dinner, but the Queen’s speech is a spike in the ground around which the rest of the afternoon spins, particularly when June was with us. Bill and Anne’s mum was a true dedicated royalist.

Following a live version of “God Save the Queen” played in the castle, the Queen’s five-minute speech started with historical highlights from the year: the 50th anniversary of Apollo and the 75th anniversary of D-Day. Video clips supported the speech throughout, like the one of Queen Elizabeth and German Chancellor, Angela Merkel, exchanging smiles in greeting. The Queen’s voice-over of that scene was “...faith and hope over time bring harmony and understanding…“ In this brief speech, Queen Elizabeth thanked the many charities and public protectors, and she acknowledged the new generation taking on major world issues, like climate change. The final family scene was of four heirs to the throne stirring up bowls of Christmas pudding in front of the Christmas tree. The seven-minute video of the Queen’s speech is worth the time, for I’m not summing up all that it encompasses in English pomp and circumstance.

With the sun setting at 3:53 p.m., the twinkling lights in the conservatory, where we would be eating, transformed the room into a place of calm and magic.  The Christmas table was pristine. My sister-in-law Anne is a visual merchandising artist and has worked at John Lewis, a major English department store, for over twenty years.  Her Christmas tables look as stunning as the Christmas windows at her store.

The gold runner down the table was accented by a little lit tree in the middle of the table. Gold and white napkins, rolled and folded neatly in half, were tucked into Dartington wine glasses.  Gold Christmas crackers brightened each of the Denby dinner plates, the collection of Bill and Anne’s mum’s best pottery; it was reminiscent of the many Christmases celebrated with June. Silverware laid to the sides and above the plates reflected the sparkle of the lights.  

As the final push for Christmas dinner was underway, I sorted out drinks for Will and Liam.  I opted away from pedestaled wine glasses on the table and headed for the cupboard housing the coffee mugs.  I was intercepted by my sister-in-law with an eyebrow lift in jest, yet she meaningfully said, “You’re not going to put a coffee mug on my table, are you?  Here, how about these?”

She held out two narrow-based pint beer glasses etched with beer logos.  I lifted my eyebrows and thought, beer glasses? And said, “Maybe something with a wider base?” 

We settled on short-stemmed crystal brandy snifters.

The back and forth to and from the kitchen started with moving all plates to the warmer in the kitchen, two pitchers of gravy to the table, and vegetable bowls to the table.  The turkey, ham, bacon-wrapped sausages, and stuffing, plus Will and Liam’s steaks, would be served up from the kitchen; all the vegetables would be dished up and served family-style in Denby bowls that would line the center of the table. On one trip, movement on my sister-in-law’s feet caught my eye. I lifted my eyebrows and said, “You’re walking around with toilet paper stuck to the bottoms of both of your slippers, and you’re telling me not to use mugs on the table?”  

To which neither of our eyebrows could lift because our faces were pinched with laughter.  Paralyzing laughter. She nor I could move. She managed to eke out the words “paper towel” and “wet floor,” but the scene had been set and couldn’t be unseen.

Our sons drew nearer to see the spectacle of us and wondered out loud what was wrong.  In all the seriousness of preparation for Christmas, our untimely and out of character outburst of the giggles concerned them.  Only she and I could have explained the whole story, and neither of us could.  The string of communication between the two of us built this sketch into an inexplicability. We moved in turns toward the bathroom to regain our composure.

Hours later while she and I sat in the kitchen, the memory flicked, and I was caught up reliving the belly laugh.  Without a word as to what had set me off, she quickly caught the bug. Each of us was immobilized by the memory, barely catching a breath between chortles of laughter. Again, concerned boys and men came to our side.  

Any game we had played for a bit of good cheer could not have come close to our Christmas Day burst of endorphins.