I've been writing for my company's newsletter recently. Here is my most recent submission:
As we approach Christmas and the weather turns cold, Westerners in Japan get homesick for family gatherings, halls decked with boughs of holly, the smell of pine needles, and—everyone’s favorite topic—holiday food. In my family, Christmas afternoon means chatting in the kitchen while snacking on fresh veggies, home-baked cookies or fudge, and celery stuffed with cream cheese and paprika. If we’re lucky my sister will prepare nacho dip with tortilla chips or spicy cream cheese with shrimp and crackers. You’ve got to be careful not to fill up on the appetizers, though: dinner is in the works.
The kids disappear into their bedrooms to play with their new toys while the adults discuss gravy recipes and cooking times, fiddle with the oven, and clatter pots and pans about the kitchen. When everything is ready, we spread our feast out on the dining table: mashed potatoes and stuffing with homemade gravy, thick slices of warm turkey or ham, fresh-baked rolls with butter, and some salad and steamed vegetables to round out the meal. Everyone has a favorite; my sister’s plate is dominated by mashed potatoes, while I take second and third helpings of stuffing and slather them with gravy. Christmas dinner is American over-indulgence at its best. It is the time of year when you are given license to eat as much as you like and not feel guilty.
After dinner we clean up the evidence of our gluttony (saving the leftovers for future meals of turkey sandwiches and enchiladas) and then, too full and tired for anything else, gather together in the living room with cups of hot coffee. We sink into the big soft couches and our bellies struggle to digest the huge meals with which they have been burdened. Our chatting fades along with our energy. My nieces cuddle up with fuzzy blankets as we find a movie on TV.
When he has waited as long as he can stand, my dad (who is ever quick to metabolize his meals) breaks into a grin and asks, “Pie?” Whether it’s homemade or store bought, marionberry, apple, cherry, or pumpkin, there is always pie—and vanilla ice cream or freshly whipped cream to top it off. We load up our plates for one last feast and eventually, as the clock ticks later and later, we bundle up in our winter coats, gather together our presents and leftovers, and slowly say our goodbyes. Every Christmas must end eventually, but there is always another ahead.
As you may have read between the lines, it’s not so much miss the taste of stuffing and gravy that I’m really pining for, but the meaning those foods carry. It’s the moments that happen between bites; it’s my niece’s head on my shoulder and my mom’s bright laughter. It’s watching my family grow and change.
I am not going to be home for the holidays this year, so I won’t have marionberry pie at my holiday table—but I will feast on memories of Christmases past. Happy holidays, everyone!
