December  24, 2012 – Monday morning

14 degrees/ partly cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

I love early mornings; especially the predawn hours during the holiday season, those times prior to the rest of the world waking. With all the lights, save for those on the Christmas tree, extinguished, the living room is one big shadow and the crackling of the fire in the wood stove sounds almost musical.

I was thinking earlier about these times as a young boy, the magic of Christmas and anticipation of the holiday activities. My thoughts skipped ahead to when my four sons were of the same age. As a young parent, I relived my childhood holiday excitement through them. And now that I’m a grandpa with my grandbabies so far away, I get excited for each, even if most of my excitement lies between my ears.

Christmas has always been about children. People forget we wouldn’t have it had it not been for the birth of Baby Jesus. It’s too bad we couldn’t keep the innocence of a young child and the birth of Christ in Christmas rather than suffering through the piles of advertisements and all the commercial hype.

Oh well, I’m sounding crusty and no one asked my opinion. I guess that’s why I like sitting here in the predawn hours, especially during the holiday season. It’s quiet, it’s beautiful, and you know, occasionally living between my ears isn’t all that bad.

Sunday was a pleasant one on Pentoga Road. The snow and wind gave way to sunny skies and light breezes. I was going to go ice fishing, but decided to stay glued to my recliner and keep Sargie company. The thought of doing anything else seemed like too much effort.

Not wanting the house to smell like fried pork, Sargie begged my deep woods culinary skills. I lighted the outdoors propane burner and was soon browning pounds and pounds of ground pork in the garage in preparation of making Christmas French Meat Pies. Since I’m certain I’ll help put a big dent in the pies tomorrow morning, I readily agreed to do my small share.

The early afternoon was spent watching Green Bay annihilate Tennessee. I think we’re going to be hitting our peak going into the playoffs. I’m feeling the love for my Packers this holiday season.

Sargie’s youngest son, Macrea, pulled into the drive shortly after noon. He helped his mother make meat pies and I could hear the two of them in the kitchen talking and laughing. It made me feel good to have mother and son enjoying each other and share each other’s events. I kept completely away and let them have their own moments.

We traveled to Iron Mountain to have supper with Mr. Milligan. Dressed in a holiday Santa cap, he was in a good mood and we laughed and talked through the dinner hour. I took a few minutes and pounded out some Christmas carols on the piano. Though everyone seemed to enjoy it, the performance was frustrating for me. In my head lie beautiful melodies, but my fingers seem to produce plenty of missed and forgotten notes. At times, its as though I forgot to take off my mittens before sitting down in front of the keys. Oh well, it is what it is and thankfully, it’s the thought that counts.    

Our friend, Kevin, a veteran himself, who works at the VA Hospital. I'm amazed that after a year-and-a-half of intermittent trips to the VA, how the residents and employees alike, all become family. Thanks for all you do, Kevin.

Macrea stayed with friends last night, but will be coming back this way later today. I may sneak out of here for a couple of hours of ice fishing. I’ll set out extra bibs and winter wear should Macrea want to join me later. Unless fishing is so good that I’d risk losing my life and limb when I return home, I won’t be on the ice that long.

Later this afternoon, we’ll be going to Auntie Trish and Uncle Donnie’s house for the annual Milligan Christmas Eve doins’.  There’ll be laughter, conversation, and food… lots and lots of food and later, exchanging of gifts. When the celebration is finished, Macrea, Cale, and possibly Shae and his family will be joining Sargie and me here on Pentoga Road.

Here's the finished product. I didn't get a picture of Sargie's new bench uploaded yesterday. 

Daylight has arrived. The magic the lighted tree cast over the room earlier has diminished and another log needs to be added to the fire. Mentally, I’ve packed up my grandbabies, my sons, and Baby Jesus, and at least for the next few hours, moved each from between my ears into my heart. Somehow, having them with me all the time makes this season even more special.

And so are the tales from Pentoga Road…

We bleed Packers green and gold on Sunday afternoons!