FEATURE
AS EASY as EPCOT
Elizabeth A. Amin, MD
T
o put it somewhat politely,
I have a history of strained
relationships with family fes-
tivities. Christmas has been
a recurring example. Some
Christmases have brought high points
of enjoyment. Some have brought mo-
ments of near disaster. Most, particular-
ly those of mid-adulthood, have simply brought TOO MUCH
EXTRA WORK. I suppose I can be a bit of a grinch at heart,
although I always promise myself I will do better next time.
From my own rather selfish perspective, the easiest Christ-
mas I ever spent was in Florida in 1986. Arriving at the EP-
COT Center with just my husband, our two boys and no
domestic responsibilities, I lived like a queen for five whole
days. In order to explain the wonder of this, I should contrast
it with the pattern of immediate preceding Christmases.
When the boys were small and not yet in school, my mother
would arrive at the beginning of December, when the weath-
er in the north of England began to turn particularly nasty.
She would stay for six months and during that time would
celebrate not only Christmas and New Year with us, but also
four of our five family birthdays and our (my husband’s and
my) wedding anniversary. The Christmas of 1985 followed its
usual pattern at our house. On Christmas Eve, we trimmed
the tree. We had garlands of Styrofoam peanuts interspersed
with green and red plastic beads. Most of our ornaments
were homemade but we had a few that were bought over the
years with the prospect of becoming cherished antiques. We
probably listened to the Boys’ Choir from King’s College,
18
LOUISVILLE MEDICINE
Cambridge. After dinner and baths, Mother took charge of
favorite Christmas Stories for bedtime reading, and I headed
to the kitchen to start preparing Christmas dinner (always
a mid-day meal according to our tradition.) With the rest
of the household asleep, Mother and I headed to church for
midnight communion. Very likely we sat up a while when
we returned home, discussing Christmases past. After a few
hours of sleep, I got up to start the cooking.
The mince pies and Christmas pudding had all been made
days or weeks earlier. That was the easy part. Over time, we
had gradually steered mother away from turkey for Christmas
dinner. This was something I regretted having to do but we
had eaten turkey for Thanksgiving, and no one in the family
was about to do that a second time in the space of a month.
I actually liked the challenge of finding new dishes to serve
and still have the well-worn recipe pages torn from Bon Ap-
petit, Southern Living and Food & Wine magazines - proving
that I really made the effort. But it was just not a Christmas
turkey. It still saddens me to think about this, that her cher-
ished tradition was sacrificed by my need to accommodate
the desires and expectations of our slowly growing extended
family. But lighted holly on the pudding - in those days always
homemade - and a glass of sherry surely put things right. (Of
course any discussion of the provenance of the suet for the
pudding was strictly confidential; it was usually discussed in
the privacy of the car on the way to or from church.)
So the day passed satisfactorily. The boys and their cousins
had fun. The dishes got done on either side of the 4 o’clock
tea-time hour and eventually Christmas was over. Yes, over.
Because Christmas 1985 fell on a Wednesday and Thursday