My Friend Winny

“Claire, you haven’t touched your breakfast” Mom says on Christmas Eve morning. It is a family tradition to take the train from our home in Connecticut to New York City to meet Dad for his holiday office party. I am nervous about the event, there is a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I have no appetite for breakfast. I don’t make friends easily and usually end up feeling like a dork at these events. “Can I stay home this year” I plead with my mother. “Claire, you are 8 years old, you are not going to stay home all by yourself. You will have a good time, just wait and see” Mom adds. I am sure that my Mom has no idea what this feels like because she is beautiful and outgoing. Mom has an art degree and works two days a week at the Art Museum. Mom also likes to be outdoors and hikes and bikes with the twins. She enjoys her garden and there are fresh flowers throughout the house as evidence of her hard work. My Dad has a funny accent because he is from England. He attended college in Connecticut and that’s where he met my Mom. Dad is the managing editor at a book publishing company and, as a result, he is always reading a manuscript. He is probably what you would call a book worm because his favorite thing to do is read by the fire in his comfy leather chair or, on a warm day, in the sunroom. He is always losing his reading glasses, which are more often than not on the top of his head. I spend most of the party sitting alone watching my brothers laugh and talk with the other kids. A couple of Dad’s coworkers stop by and say hello to me, but none of the children speak to me and I decide that I would rather sulk than make an effort to have a good time. To cheer me up Dad suggests we trek along 5th Avenue to do what he calls a “loco for cocoa crawl”. We stop at three of Dad’s favorite coffee shops for a hot chocolate and eventually end up in Central Park for a carriage ride. Christmas lights and sleigh bells decorate the carriage and the two white horses wear red Santa hats. The carriage takes us past the Christmas window displays. One of my favorite windows has an animated display of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. They are inside their cottage looking at a Christmas tree decorated with acorns, pinecones, bird nests, and mushrooms. Festively wrapped gifts sit under the tree and a Christmas stocking hangs on the headboard of each of the seven beds. The woodland creatures peer through the window as snow falls all around them in the forest outside. I spot a piece of coal peeking out of Grumpy’s stocking and I wonder if I will get a piece of coal this year because I have been so grumpy. “Merry Christmas” I hear my older brothers Alexander and Henry shouting. I snuggle more deeply into my warm covers. It can’t possibly be morning already. Last night was such a late night and I don’t even remember getting into my bed. My twin brothers are three years older than me. They are not identical, but both are tall for his age, good in sports, and dislikes combing his hair. Alexander resembles Dad and me with blonde hair and Henry takes after Mom with hair that is dark brown. I must have fallen asleep on the way home because, all of a sudden, I realize that I am in my bed. My brother’s shouting and the scent of Mom’s homemade cinnamon rolls wafting upstairs to my bedroom wake me. “Happy Christmas sleepy head” my Dad says as he opens my bedroom door. “Come on let’s go downstairs to see what your brothers are up to”. “Just let me sleep a little longer” I groan. “No way” Dad replies “you are not going to sleep through Christmas”. “Claire look at all the presents” Henry calls out as Dad and I come downstairs. “After presents we are off to church for Christmas morning service and then Grand’s house for Christmas lunch. The weather is good so we will take the ferry, says Mom.” “I don’t want to take the ferry” I protest “it’s too cold outside”. “Stop whining” scolds Henry “it will be fun”. Grand is my father’s mother; she moved here after Grandfather died because she didn’t want to be all alone in England. Grand was a famous fashion designer in England and she made custom-made knitwear. That is a fancy way to say that she knits really well. Last Christmas she knit me a miniature copy of our family for my doll house with two boys, a girl, and Dad and Mom. Grand used yellow yarn to give the girl long blonde hair and blue thread for the eyes. “One last gift, let me get it” Dad says as he heads towards the garage. “Is it for me or me?” shout Alex and Henry. Dad came back into the room holding a little, brown, wiggly, puppy with a red ribbon around her neck. “It’s a hot dog” bellows Alex. “How are we supposed to play fetch with a wiener dog?” “You boys can roughhouse with each other; this puppy is for Claire” Mom answers. “Is she really mine?” I ask. “Yes, and you must take good care of her” Dad cautions “her name is Edwina, which means rich friend”. “I will call her Winny for short” I declare. “I will call her Ed-wiener” teases Alex as he and Henry roar with laughter. “Winny will be your very special friend” Mom whispers as she kisses the top of my head.