Eli had work to complete with his lab partner at BYU-Idaho.  The lab partner and his wife managed an apartment complex.  Eli went to the apartment, and was working with his partner.  The partner’s wife was absent, and midway through the work, the partner had to also briefly leave to take care of an errand.  That left Eli alone in the apartment when a knock came at the door.  Assuming it was his partner, who was either locked out or had his hands full, Eli answered the door.  To his consternation and surprise, standing there before him was a huge group of carolers who, without hesitation launched into their song.

Having no other recourse, Eli stood there with the door open, smiling sweetly until the song was finished.  Not knowing what else to say, he said, “Thanks a lot, even though I don’t live here.”

Glancing into the parking lot, he noticed his lab partner standing there waiting for the carolers to leave.

Caroling at your friends’ doors is a wonderful thought and gesture, but is also a bit awkward for the receivers.  You know that the carolers don’t intend to be invited in, so you stand there and smile and listen while wishing you could close the door so that the house doesn’t get cooled off.

You can identify with (and pity) Stacy Bingham as she answered her doorbell several days ago to find 12-year-old Caleb, and 10-year-old Wes standing on her doorstep.  They handed her a plate of sweets, and began slowly singing The Twelve Days of Christmas.  She slammed the door, and left them standing outside.

We had heard from others how fun it is to anonymously do the Twelve Days of Christmas for neighbors and acquaintances.  The object is to leave gifts at their doors on each of the twelve days before Christmas, and to not get caught in the act.  We decided as a family that it would be fun to do this for Venita Jensen, a spry, aging widow with a good sense of humor.

We came up with 12 unique gifts to leave her.  On the first day of Christmas I was working at our wood shop in Haines when I saw Venita drive by on her way to town.  I dropped everything and hurried to make the first deposit on her doorstep.  It was a bare tree limb inserted into a hole in a board to make it stand upright, and with an empty rifle shell hanging from a branch.  Accompanying the gift was a card that read, “On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a cartridge in a bare tree.”

I was delighted with the effect, and spent the next couple of hours giggling to myself as I imagined the look of consternation on Venita’s face when she arrived home and discovered her gift.  I should mention that, among other things, Venita had been a police officer.  A sharp one, I think.  In no time at all Venita came marching into my shop, and demanded, “James Kerns!  What do you know about the thing that was left on my doorstep?”

Oh, no, I thought.  How could she know?  How did she guess?

“I examined the tracks in my driveway, and they match your tires!”

I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances:  I lied.  I told her I had no idea what she was talking about.  I couldn’t have her spoiling our beautiful plans on the very first day of the project.

The next evening Venita got two purple gloves.  The third day was three French fries.  The next days were four loving words, and five on-i-on rings.  The seventh day was a perfect setup, and would throw Venita off our track.  We arranged for her neighbors, the Vaughns, to go caroling to her.  Thus, on the seventh day of Christmas, she opened her door to find “seven Vaughns a-singing.”

I don’t remember what the rest of the gifts were, but I’ll never forget how deflated I was when we finally fessed up that it was, indeed, our family who had given her all the strange gifts based upon the popular Christmas carol.

Her response?

“I never heard of it!”

Then there are ward Christmas parties.  Each of the three Baker wards held their individual parties this year, complete with dinner, program, and Santa Claus.  Ours was the first.  The dinner featured tri-tip meat.  I like my beef cooked.  This tri-tip was bloody.  Marjorie asked for an edge piece.  I simply hurried on by to the salads.

Adam was the chef for his ward’s tri-tip dinner.  He had something for everyone’s tastes, from rare to well done.

I asked Kelly how her Christmas party was.  “It was beyond horrible!” she exclaimed.  “There was nothing spiritual, you couldn’t hear what little there was, the kids ran wild, and Santa was late!  He didn’t even get there until 8:00, and half the kids had already gone home!”

I think, however, that Ivy’s ward Christmas party in La Grande might possibly have topped even that.  Every year a member of her ward insists on planning the party.  He brings his guitar and sings.  He’s 72 years old, and past his prime.  His guitar playing is superb, but his days of singing should be over.  All his life he has been a wannabe musician, and considers himself a professional.  Therefore, everyone should be thrilled to have him perform.

However, the ward finally rebelled.  Last year they told him that they’d like to do something different, and invited Ivy to perform with her violin.  She in turn invited Debbie and Kim Warburton to sing with her and to accompany her.  On the night of the performance, the wannabe musician showed up with his guitar, and announced that he was ready to play with her.  She declined his offer by explaining that she’d already asked her cousins to accompany her.  Their performance was a hit.

This year the wannabe arranged the party, did not ask for Ivy’s help, and proceeded to sing, and to play, and to recite cowboy poetry for the Christmas celebration.

Our Baker ward parties were full to overflowing.  For some reason, Ivy’s wasn’t.