Getting into the Christmas Spirit by Cathy Shouse

My mother always made Christmas time feel special. When she hosted extended family gatherings, she would get out her festive tablecloths and use patterned china. Her big, plastic, lit-up Santa on the porch managed to look classy, and she placed her Christmas tree skirt so it caught your eye. Plus, she perfectly pressed dozens of those little green wreath cookies every year. Yet there was a light-hearted way she did things, so you never felt she was pressured about any of it.

Mom would get together with one of my aunts and make peanut brittle, and they’d laugh and chat as they worked. She seemed to enjoy it all and I try to follow her example. Although she’s gone now, if I want to get into the Christmas mood, I can simply channel Mom’s Christmas spirit.

Mom was always learning, and a true homemaker. If she took a ceramics class, she’d bring home a tree she’d made, to add to her Christmas décor. And probably four more so my sister and I had one, and mom’s sisters did too. Her knitted afghans were sturdy and warm to wrap in, but she also knitted little snowmen that stretched around Styrofoam balls and wore jaunty scarves and hats in bright red and green.

When I was first married and setting up housekeeping, Mom and I would go on shopping trips to find things for the newlywed apartment I had with my husband. Always pinching pennies, I looked for “designer” items at Kmart. One year, I bought a Martha Stewart comforter and matching bedding.

Martha Stewart intrigued me and I think Mom was one reason why. Martha was all about making a house a home. Sure, she might overdo it sometimes, with desserts that had ingredient lists longer than a shopping list for a state dinner. But I couldn’t wait to check out Martha Stewart Living magazine at the library and study every page. She might put a string of twinkle lights into a glass bowl, or position a candle a certain way, providing ideas for my own holiday touches.

One year, Martha designed a Christmas wreath for Kmart that I couldn’t resist, and still pull out every year. Her lacey curtain panels hung all around my house, and although my tastes have changed, I couldn’t part with them.

Martha might have had more money, and gone overboard on occasion, but her heart was in the right place, just as Mom’s was. I liked to think so, anyway. Martha loved her cake plates and so did Mom. When bringing snickerdoodles to a family gathering, I’d arrange them on a vintage glass cake plate my mom had given me.

Recently, while in Las Vegas for a conference, Martha’s image on a digital sign in the hotel brought her to mind. Three months earlier, she had opened her first restaurant, The Bedford, named after her farm located in Bedford, in upstate New York. (Supposedly, she’s near the fictional location where the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, was set.)

I felt as though I won the homemakers’ lottery when there was an opening for two reservations at 6:30 p.m. that night. The restaurant offered four kinds of pasta, starting at $28 a plate, about what I paid for that comforter all those years ago.

When a friend and I were seated in Martha’s restaurant within view of shiny copper pots hanging from the ceiling--like they do in Martha’s own kitchen--I felt a thrill. Gone was the memory of acorn squashes that I scraped out for candle molds, inspired by Martha Stewart Living--the only real craft of hers I ever made. (Once was enough.) In her dining room, I splurged on the salmon en croûte for $35. We discarded the idea of sharing the whole roast chicken for $89, rated the best ever by reviewers. It was pricey and we couldn’t bring home a doggie bag due to our early flights out.

Martha did not walk in at any point, as I had secretly hoped. But she was there in the pine tree decorations with the flocking that were everywhere. And then there were the wreaths, all the wreaths everywhere that resembled mine, at least a little bit. I saw her in the cabinets with their glass doors so we could view all of those cake plates.

The shiny rows of cake plates reminded me of when Martha went on Oprah’s show and brought her a piece of chocolate cake--on a fancy glass plate, of course. Martha claimed she had made the cake herself, and Oprah ate it on-air. Watching Oprah savor the sweet goodness was almost as satisfying as tasting it myself, or so I thought at the time.

We skipped the Upside-Down Lemon Meringue pie with whipped cream. The woman at a table next to ours pointed hers out to us, saying it was wonderful ($15.95 per slice). Don’t you love an upscale restaurant where the other diners talk to you? The Bedford was the furthest thing from stuffy, and downright cozy. That’s what I treasured most about the experience, the surprisingly down-to-earth elegance.

In the end, I had to agree with this excerpt from a review in the New York Times. “As one Twitter user wrote, ‘If you’re not trying to go to The Bedford by Martha Stewart with me don’t even talk to me.’”

Those were my thoughts exactly. Somehow, I think Mom would have approved.

All she’s ever wanted was another baby and he’s got two that landed unexpectedly in his life. He’s wounded by a bad break-up with someone only interested in his money.

Single Mom Annie York and eight-year-old Chloe live above the diner, where she works for her cousin. She’s given up on finding love and is hiding a secret. She’s a subpar housekeeper, in the extreme. When Annie has a surprise reunion with Caleb Galloway from high school, they must join forces to care for his sister’s twin babies.

He’s a guy with everything in its place. She has no idea where anything is. But seeing Annie with his niece and nephew has him wondering whether he belongs right next to her.

Excerpt:

Annie held her breath, turned the knob to let them in, and swung the door open. “Ta-da,” was all she could think to say.

Caleb’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. She’d seen that reaction before and it was the reason she didn’t have people over. He appeared to arrange his face into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe a dump truck to go along with that shovel?”

She let out a shaky breath. Two bowls with dribbles of milk and the cereal box sat on the large kitchen table, among papers strewn all over its surface. Chloe’s pajama bottoms were on the back of one chair and Annie’s T-shirt and jeans from last night’s practice were draped on the sofa.

Annie sprinted in, grabbed her sports bra that was snagged over a lampshade, and tucked it under a sofa seat cushion. More discarded clothes covered her one upholstered, yard-sale chair.

“To be honest, I used to kind of beat myself up about this…I mean, sure, I really wish things were neater right now. Who wouldn’t? But part of me sees some advantages to being impulsive. Spontaneity is good sometimes. She looked at Drew and then Ella, who wouldn’t be here with two adults caring for them if Annie hadn’t acted on impulse. “So I’ve gotta take the good with the bad. And sometimes I can’t tell the difference myself. I’ve accepted that I’d rather be flexible and messy than rigid and neat.”

She did a one-arm sweep with the papers layering the table, sliding them into a nearby chair. Then she gestured for Caleb to set the babies in their car seats down on the cleared table.

“So that’s what people mean by ‘there’s a fine line between a weakness and a strength,’ huh?” he asked

He had listened to her, really heard her. There was something really attractive about a man who paid attention.

“That’s exactly my point.” She was talking too much but couldn’t stop, like her life depended on him understanding.

~*~

Cathy Shouse writes inspirational cowboy romances. Her Fair Creek series, set in Indiana, features the Galloway brothers of Galloway Farms. Much like the characters in her stories, Cathy once lived on a farm in “small town” Indiana, where she first fell in love with cowboys while visiting the rodeo every summer. Please visit cathyshouse.com for more information on discounts and new releases or to sign up for her newsletter.