A Christmas to Remember

Garrison Keeler mentioned on his Christmas program this year that there are only four Christmases that he can remember with distinction--the rest blend together in a haze of yuletide memories. I believe that the Christmas of 2004 will be remembered by my family in vivid clarity as the year of utter insanity. Let me start at the beginning...
My sisters decided it would be a cute idea to get my mom a kitten for Christmas. After taking them to the Humane Society of Pinellas County last Thursday to adopt an adorable little black and white ball of fluff, my car overheats on the way home. Nell's boyfriend is called to rescue three damels and one feline in distress. The cat is to remain a secret from my parents for a few days, so we hide him in my sister's room, where he crawls under a dresser and refuses to come out.
That night my grandma and her enormous, boisterous german shepherd arrive to stay with us for a few nights. Christmas Eve the whole family goes over to my sister's boyfriend's house for dinner. Our parents nearly come to blows over a political debate, but then everyone drinks a lot, so it's okay.
Christmas day is fantastic. Dad threatens to take back all our presents when he finds out about the kitten, but we know he doesn't mean it.
Monday morning our neighbor stops by at 6:30am because her car won't start, and she asks to borrow one of ours to get to work. My dad takes the second family car to work, which, oddly enough, breaks down a few blocks from the house. At this point we are out three cars.
That same day, my grandma's german shepherd has a fit of epilepsy and must be rushed to the emergency vet. (I will spare you the suspense--she's okay. Only one animal was actually harmed in the making of this Juergens-Brockman Christmas special, and I'll get to that later.) My hair stylist lends me her SUV for the week while I watch her pets. I drive it to T.G.I.Friday's, where I give my two weeks notice.
My hairstylist's 8 year old son has about 12 goldfish as pets. He wrote me this really cute little note before they left, which, loosely translated from little-kid scrawl, reads: "Please feed my fish. They like a pinch of food. Thank you Kate!"
Tuesday night I discover that one of the fish has died and managed to get stuck in the filter of the huge fish tank, which I have no clue how to clean. I promise myself I will take car of the fish corpse before I leave for our family Christmas celebration in Orlando the next day. That doesn't happen, however, because Wednesday morning my siblings and I get a phone call from our mom, saying that she, my dad, my grandma, and the german shepherd have been rear-ended by a van with no breaks on the interstate. The car is now decidedly more compact that it was designed to be, but no one seems too much the worse for wear. Especially not the dog, who thoroughly enjoyed being tossed from the back of the car to the front. Seriously, the dog was having a great time. Weirdo.
Anyway, so my brother and sisters and I decide to get on the road to Orlando, but first--we have to find the cat. Yes, the kitten who when first we brought him home was too nervous to venture from the safety of underneath the dresser has now ventured to escape from the house and hide himself in the shrubbery of our backyard. We spend about an hour climbing through the underbrush before we can catch him.
Cat found, we all pile in my newly-repaired-but-not-really car and begin the two-hour trek to grandmother's house. Three hours later we are still sitting in gridlock traffic with the heat on and antifreeze at the ready, praying that the car won't overheat again. (Oh yeah, and it was 75 degrees out. Good ol' Florida winters, stuck on the highway.) We arrive grumpy and disheveled to find my dad halfway through a bottle of scotch. We try to put ourselves in an equally celebratory mood, drink a lot, eat plenty of cookies, open some Christmas presents, and wake up this morning to make the hellish holiday drive from Orlando to Tampa again, this time in only 1 1/2 vehicles.
So here we sit, holding steadfast to Christmas traditions, determined not to let hell nor highwater, epileptic fits, dead fish, agoraphobic cats, car wrecks and rotten jobs ruin our holiday. Because when you think about it, there's nothing like the devastation caused by a massive tsunami halfway around the world to put a little car trouble in perspective.
Merry Christmas, everyone, and I wish you all an uneventful and peaceful New Year.

I will be moving to Sarasota on January 12. My new address will be:
2040 Alameda Ave. Sarasota, FL 34234.