by Brenda Ethridge

Created on: January 06, 2010

Eve's Choice

"Twas the eve before Christmas when all through the house,

Sniffs, smells, and aromas would tempt even a mouse.

The talk in days before had taken on a spin,

Each his own palates wanting to please with no end.

The children hoping for menus, of sugar plums,

And visions of chicken nuggets for everyone.

And Mom in the kitchen, Grandma to lend a hand,

To please each before her, to dish out each command.

When Dad, Grandpa talked of what his mom used to make,

No one could compare to, each bread, pie, sauce and cake.

Away Mom rushed to Grandma, though no words were said,

Each knew of the dilemma and what lay ahead.

The thought coming to Mama, temptingly and quick,

She knew in an instant it just might do the trick.

When more rapid than microwaves turn cold to heat,

She whispered to Grandma how each need they could meet.

With putting all names in a hat to be drawn out,

As we once did for presents , so no one would pout.

More drawings continued till each held slip anew,

Only this time when they drew, they had not a clue.

Now Grandpa chose bread; Katie drew slip with dessert,

They all looked at Mom, but Mom said, "What can it hurt?"

To drawing focused, vegetables, salads, a snack,

And two meats were chosen, so now nothing would lack.

As brows furrowed in question; Mom raised up her hand,

"I know what you're thinking, but have faith; there's a plan."

So dishes chosen, here is now what you must do,

The part of the meal you chose belongs just to you.

And decide which bread you want, if that's what you drew,

And choose well as Christmas is not just about you.

As each person tells Grandma what food is to be,

Served on the family table, not left up to me.

He with his dish holds yet one more play in the game,

He gives his choice to be enshrined, with his own name.

A menu to be printed for each of us here,

To put in a scrapbook, to look back on with cheer.

His children will follow and add more to the book,

As generations go on, all can take a look.

His memories will serve him, when he tells of Sam's Yams,

Of Tom's Trusted Turkey or of Pam's Sweetened Ham.

The last rules were spoken with Mom, Grandma as cooks,

Two rules must be adhered to and told in the book.

He who prepares may choose and name more than one dish,

To balance the meal, he may, if he so does wish.

He as chef may enforce yet one more policy,

Power of veto, in rare cases, it may be.

A new tradition was born that night of the draw,

Where family became even tighter with new law.

He whose dish was on the table that special year,

Took pride when heard, please "Pass Mark's Mashed Potatoes," dear.

And Grandma's Gourmet Gumbo was so quite a hit,

Voted best dish of the Eve, with a bit of wit.

He who thought the idea just would never catch on,

Could not have guessed that he could not have been more wrong.

But each now longs for the Eve award for that year,

To pass along the following Eve of the year.

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