Christmas in Dixie

It wasn’t quite snowing in the pines as in the Alabama song, but it was still a typically Southern Christmas with too much food, giggling kids, waggle tailed dogs and wrapping paper all over the floor.

Holidays have been something to be endured since Jim’s death in 2002…kept mostly because of our sweet, young grand and grown children. But, they have not been something to which I looked forward. Getting trapped in old memories took the color out of the present. While I could find some pleasure in spending the time with my family and friends, the celebrations were viewed as if through a frosted lens.

Somewhere between the melancholy of October and Thanksgiving I found myself looking forward to the thought of the light, color and confusion reigning in this old house again. Renovations were almost to a point that guests could be comfortable and only the undone fine finishing might be noticed upon close scrutiny.

For the first time in years even before Jim’s death I looked forward to the shopping and bustle of getting things done. There were some challenges along the way, but it really all began with little Cindy Lou Who and How the Grinch Stole Christmas and that unexpected Dickensonian day trip to Biltmore House. Keeping her little cartoon spirit in my head and heart kept me from losing my own when road blocks jumped up and threatened to derail my refound joy in all the bustle, planning, decorating, shopping, cooking and wrapping that makes the holiday what it is.

Even the frantic Trading Spaces drive to complete the challenge fraught wall unit project had an element of happiness in it. The day and a half long plumbing emergency that cropped up requiring a complete toilet replacement the day before and of Christmas was a bit more daunting…yet…somehow…it all came together.


Traditional is neither a word that one would normally use to describe the Outlaw household…nor her family, for that matter. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner in the standard holiday tradition is an uncommon happening and is usually preceded by “let’s do something different and have turkey for Thanksgiving.” Therefore, the choice of lasagna, cheese and garlic biscuits, salad, carrot cake and home-made cheese cake were not seen as odd. (Go figure) What mattered was that there was food and lots of it.

As family and friends trickled in to a total of 13 (never an unlucky number since our son’s birth on a Friday 13th 25 years ago) this 1100 square foot cracker box of a brick ranch echoed with laughter, light and the sound of little feet and skittering paws across the newly refinished wood floors. Even the rain and cool temperatures could not dampen the spirit that seeped in from the very walls and settled in each person present. Jim’s presence was felt by me all day…I know he was smiling and I know he is happy that I am standing in the sunlight with feet planted beneath me again.

This place is hard fought and won for me. There have been moments in the last 3 ½ years that I have been certain I would finally flounder for the last time. I am a stubborn woman; I know no path other than straight through an obstacle. That stubbornness, Jim’s unconditional and abiding love, that of family and a very special group of widowed friends have been my lifeline throughout this journey.

My Handyman coming into my life at a time when I was finding solid ground is a gift I never expected. And, while perhaps farfetched, my reward for making it to a place where I can find both joy in what I had for over 30 years, what is now and what is to be for the time we are allowed to spend together. I am a most lucky and grateful woman to have experienced such wonderful love twice in my lifetime.

As I sit finishing this, looking at the yet to be dismantled trappings and listening to the rain drum the metal roof of this house, the memory of this season that sticks is the picture in my mind of my Handyman and Jim’s precious grand dress our homely, hastily purchased for $1 at Lowe’s the day before, “Frazer” fir on Christmas Eve. One - tall, almost olive skinned, blue eyed, gray headed with nearly full Santa beard and low toned voice gently guiding the other - dark eyed, dark haired, fair skinned and girly, pre-teen voice - to the perfect spot for each chosen ornament. I watched as the two worked side by side to take that wiggly trunked tree and turn it into the sparkling wonder before me now.
It is the first she has made with The Handyman that has no connection to her past. She and her Papa never decorated a tree together. She and I always rushed to have done all but the lights as a surprise upon his return home from work. (It was also the bane of my holiday season that we fought nearly every year over those blasted lights and is food for a story of its own.) This is a memory just for her and the new grandfather in her life. I wonder will it mean the same to her from the retrospective of years as it is to me now.

It is time to undress Frazer, put away the ornaments and give him his tenure as sanctuary for the birds, chipmunks and rabbits that inhabit the back yard. In a matter of months Frazer will compost and be gone having fulfilled his destined life cycle. Yet, he will remain a memory to treasure.

It’s late, I know. Christmas and New Year’s are fading into the past. But…Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from one down here in Dixie who is grateful and content for what she had and what she has. May we all have enough. As an aside: This cut crystal ornament is one of 6 that hung on Frazer in honor of my also widowed friends who have meant so much to me. They were purchased in Charlotte, NC 2 years ago on a magical day spent with a freshly widowed new friend. This is the first year they graced a tree. Randy...thank you for everything.