The Story

Ding dooong ding dong, ding doong ding dong

“Honey, I think it’s them again.”

“I know, I know. Just let it go to voicemail.”

She laid a worn hand on her husband’s shoulder, “I think you made the right choice.”

He leaned into her arm, nodding, “Thank you, love. It was time.”

She laughed and kissed his forehead, “It was time ten years ago! But my boys never know when to quit.”

“Oh love,” he chortled, “you know we can’t help it.”

Ding doong ding dong, ding doong ding dong

“Gertie, just take that damn thing off the hook.”

She did as her husband requested, flipping the switch on the back of the receiver. She allowed a small giggle as she did it. This night was a dream come true! He was home with her tonight, for the first time in ages.

“Now that I’ve done you a favor, come do me one!”

She listened to her husband’s slow shuffling into the kitchen, felt his warm arms wrap around her waist, and his white mustache tickle her neck.

“Do you one, you say?” he snickered.

“Oh you dirty old man!” She laughed, “I meant help with the cooking!”

“I’ll cook something up for you, good looking,” He spun her around and dipped her down before pulling her back up again.

“That’s not how the song goes,” she said with a smooch, “and now I’m all dizzy. How am I supposed to bake for the little ones while all dizzy?”

He kissed her again, “We’ll get some from the store, no need to worry about baking at all!”

She brushed off his tantalizing touches, “You know I can’t stand a bought cookie. Now take a seat and start rolling out dough.”

He gave an exaggerated huff before planting himself at the head of the oval table. She buzzed around him, setting up a flour-covered rolling pin, a collection of shaped cutters, and a bowl of cinnamon sugar.

His gaze peaked over the table at the dozens of already cooling batches. There were snickerdoodles and kringles, gingerbreads and rumballs. Iced shortbread and pinwheels.  Sugared biscotti and date-squares. Macaroons, Polvorones de Canele, cannoli, Anzac biscuits, kolaches…

“How do you get these all done in one night?!” He exclaimed.

“I’d think you of all people would know,” she laughed again, pulling hot Kourabiedes from the oven.

Ding doong ding dong, ding doong ding dong

They both paused.

“I thought you turned the phone off?”

“I did,” she stared at the receiver.

Ding doong ding dong, ding doong ding dong

“Oh, oh the damn cell. It’s here in my apron.” She pulled the small device from her laced pocket.

“Just turn it off,” he rolled his eyes while he rolled more dough.

“How about you just answer them?” She held the phone out to him, “That way they’ll stop trying to call.”

His blue eyes stared determined into her hazel ones.

Ding doong ding dong, ding doong ding dong

…

Ding doong ding dong, ding doong ding dong

“Fine,” He mumbled, taking the phone, “dang you and your gorgeous unblinking eyes.”

She smiled and kissed him on the forehead, taking her hot tray to the other side of the table.

He took a deep breath, then pressed the button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Major K! I finally caught you. What, Gertie have to convince you to answer my calls?”

“Yes general, she did,” He shot a playful glare at his wife, who was notably avoiding eye contact.

“You know I can’t help but check in, Major.”

“You certainly could help it, General. You just chose not to.” His words were harsh, but his voice was light.

“Ha! Sounds like I’ve made your naughty list. Look, I’m sorry for bothering you tonight. It’s just your replacement-”

“-is doing excellently.”

“Is he? We haven’t heard from him, and that’s concerning.”

The retired Major let himself pluck a pinwheel and began munching, “I don’t remember checking in with you regularly while I was on the job.”

“Well,” sighed the caller, “you’d been at it a while, we knew to trust your judgement.”

“Well then trust it now. I trained the boy myself.”

“I understand, Sir, it’s just-”

“It’s just that you’re a bunch of nervous nellies. I know, Todd. But I’m telling you, he’s doing great. He’s a natural, I can feel it.”

Gertie gestured from her mixing bowl.

“Yes, yes dear. Alright, Gertie is saying to promise you I’ll take over tonight if I sense anything wrong. But I’m telling you I won’t.”

“I appreciate that, Major.”

“It’s just Nick, Todd. I’m retired now- go ahead and call me Nick.”

“Ha, thanks Nick. Alright, I’ll run that up the ladder. You thank Gertie for me, that’s an order.”

“Will do, General. Will do.”

Nick set the phone down on the table, not noticing that it was into a pile of flour.

Gertie turned her mixer off, came and knelt at his chair. “You’re worried too, aren’t you, dear?”

He nodded to her, feeling each wrinkle and every white hair he’d gained over the years, “worried, but not concerned. He’ll do fine.”

“He will, dear. You trained him well. And he’s got the girls with him, they know the way.”

Nick nodded again, shaking off any lasting worry. “You’re right as always, love. Our boy is going to be just fine.”

“Yes he is,” Gertie smiled, “And you big boy, better get back to shaping that dough if you want to stay on my nice list.”

He smirked into her twinkling eyes, “Well my love, we can’t have that.”

The Word

Wish

(Verb): Feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; want something that cannot or probably will not happen.

There are lots of lore around the names of Christmas’s most jolly couple*. However, I just think “Gertrude and Nicholas” sounds the most correct in terms of a couple that has been around for centuries, which heavily Scandanavian roots.

If anyone can tell me what Santa’s ringtone is, I’ll send them a cookie!

Oh and ALSO, male reindeer lose their horns over the winter, soooo that means Dasher and Dancer? Prance and Vixen? Yep- all gals! There’s a fun fact for you to take to Christmas dinner 🙂

Please enjoy the linked recipes in the story. I made sure to only link ones I have successfully tried myself, or were highly rated by chefs I trust.

Merry Whatever, dear readers! May your holiday celebrations be merry and bright, and to all- a good night!

 

 

*Not excluding Mary & Joseph, but if we consider the research that states Jesus was most likely born closer to June than December and his birth celebration moved closer to the pagan holiday of Winter due to all sort of political nonsense and blah blah blah, as well as knowing personally several women who have given birth and none of them describing the event as ‘jolly’ I have chosen my above phrasing with purpose and hope no one is too upset about it.