Christmas at Cousin Cousin's House

Cousin Cousin (third cousin, twice removed, on Zelda's side but not my cousin at all unless you take in the fact that she was once married to my great-nephew's mother's first cousin by marriage, but very briefly. It was a small town). Cousin was named Cousin because she had so many that all the other names were taken.

Cousin loved Christmas. It was quite a production. She decorated the barn like a stable (which wasn't as hard as it sounds, because it was one) and set aside a corner with sofas and tables and a huge tree which actually grew to twenty feet high right in the barn, or rather they built the barn around the tree so they didn't have to cut it down (the tree, not the barn).

All of cousin Cousin's cousins were invited, each to bring a food representing their own heritage. Well, since they were all cousins from a large family in the very small town of Forking, Georgia, everybody brought green bean casserole except for the few in-laws who brought macaroni and cheese, tuna casserole and a short-lived significant other of cousin Cousin's cousin who dared to bring Sloppy Joe's.

Cousin Cousin provided the meat (most often Vienna sausages, Beannie Weenies and roadkilled venison), drinks (moonshine for the wicked and sarsaparilla punch for the good-uns) and dessert which was a magnificent birthday cake festooned with ribbons of marzipan and nestled in a bed of crushed pecan shells. Anybody who asked, "who's the birthday kid?" was immediately relegated to the library to memorize the story of Christmas before being allowed back in.

Oh, the music! The games! People of every age coming together or one magical night! They danced under the stars, praying for a flake of snow. They huddled around the bonfire, half a house long and twice as high. At midnight cousin Cousin would lay the baby (not a real one!) in the manger, and everyone would sing "Silent Night" before heading home, shouts of "Merry Christmas" echoing all along the road, fireworks lighting the sky behind them. Cousin Cousin knew how to throw a party.

I don't know if the rumor is true--Zelda would be the one to ask--but I'd heard that cousin Cousin was once a heartless wench who made Ebenezer look like a philanthropist. Supposedly she stole from the Salvation Army clothing bins, slipped cayenne into the family cat's bowl (she tried it with the dog, but he liked it), put plastic fruit in Christmas stockings and substituted margarine for butter in her cookies.  Some say she went to church and changed, some say Oz gave her a new heart and a few claim she was abducted and sent back with a new soul.

Whatever it was, cousin Cousin's family is certainly grateful.

Merry Christmas, cousin Cousin. And to all of you, too.