It was colder than H-E-double-hockey-sticks, but my big ol' family managed to get together at the family farm for the holidays.  You know it's a special occasion when the pickled chicken gizzards are served on a glass dish. Next to them sat wafer-like Belgian cookies provided by my sister-in-law who migrated here on a ship from Belgium when she was six months old.  The story goes, her folks hung her from a peg on the wall and she traveled happily, swaying with the ship.

What with seven brothers and a sister, all grown up with kids of their own, the place was packed.  That's the way we like it. 

My dad told me about how it was when his family used to go to family holidays in the winter.  He said they travelled by sled, and his folks would cover the kids with blankets to keep them warm during the trip.  Then, while they were visiting, the blankets were put on the horses to keep them warm.  On the way home, the blankets wound up back on the kids.  "By the time we got home, the kids smelled like horses, and the horses smelled like kids."

My old dad spent a lot of time in his favorite chair, wearing the slippers my mom knitted for him, telling us stories and soaking up the energy only youth can provide.  There are over 90 years between dad and little Claire - the oldest and newest members of the family.

My brothers hashed out world affairs and worked out engineering details on whatever their latest projects were.  With three living rooms in the house, all plumb-full, I was able to dodge the group discussing politics and settle in with other groups discussing safer topics.

We are a big family, tall and in some cases broad. I saw this t-shirt on one of my nephews and I thought it was odd, but pretty funny.  There's no sense being just run-of-the-mill.

Of course my mom spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but I was happy to see her settle down for a game of scrabble.  She's good at it.

When you hear the phrase Happy Holidays, I'm pretty sure this is what they're talking about.