Christmas comes but once a year” — and we often have such high expectations for that special day. We want everything to be perfect – just the right gifts for everyone, outstanding decorations, tempting foods and special parties. Seldom do we achieve this goal; such perfection is a fantasy.
Sometimes the most memorable Christmases are those when something went awry. Every year when our family gathers for the holidays, someone will say, “Remember when we had potato soup for Christmas dinner?” Then everyone laughs as we recall the circumstances that caused such an unusual menu for that special meal.
A few days before Christmas our sewer stopped up. Until you have experienced this dire situation, you cannot appreciate what difficulty this can cause for a young family. Fortunately, our daughter was dog-sitting for the next-door neighbors and had the key to their house. Our other neighbors must have thought those dogs were getting a lot of attention from all five of the Shannons.
Other homes on our street had previously experienced the same sewer problem. We learned the builders of this subdivision used “orangeburg” pipe instead of iron pipe several years before we bought the house. Made of fiber, it was unable to withstand the pressure of six feet of red clay, and through the years had gradually flattened until it finally collapsed — a few days before Christmas!
The only solution was to dig it up and replace it. Since my husband is the sort of guy who does all the maintenance himself, he began to dig. School was out and our seventeen-year old helped his father dig. Deeper and deeper through the red clay they dug, until Harry could no longer reach the surface to empty his shovel. Now he filled a bucket, tied a rope to the handle and our son hoisted it up and deposited it on the mounds of red clay beside the trench.
To add to their discomfort, mixed snow and rain began to fall and they erected a shelter with tent poles and a tarp. But the digging continued. Meanwhile, I spread newspapers on the floor to keep muddy tracks from ruining our carpet, fixed sandwiches and canned soup for meals, and tried to adjust my expectations for a perfect dinner to the reality of the situation. It could have been worse, I thought. We still had water and electricity! And the key to our neighbor’s house!
At six feet plus, the pipe finally appeared. Harry relented and called for help since heavy equipment was necessary to excavate beneath the stone wall that bordered our lot and the sidewalk. These workers would also remove and replace the pipe, restoring our facilities and my sanity. But not before Christmas. I had to face the fact that without using the drain I could not prepare a big meal – or wash the dishes.
So I peeled some potatoes and made a big pot of potato soup. Our weary workers gathered around the table. Harry gave thanks for the soup, for the gift of the Christ Child whose birth we celebrated, and the way our family had worked together through this ordeal. I took some pictures of this momentous occasion for our Christmas album.
Several days later, once life was back to “normal,” we had our turkey and all the extras. But somehow we don’t remember much about that. After 36 years the pictures in our Christmas album are somewhat faded, but the memory of the Christmas when we ate potato soup for dinner is still vivid for each of us.
Ain’t life grand?
By Mary Jo Shannon [email protected]
