Christmas Memories

I’ve always loved Christmas. I can credit both my grandfather and my mother for my enthusiasm.
 

My maternal grandfather was passionate about the season, decorating his lawn long before the trend was commonplace. He started out with reindeer and a life-sized sleigh loaded with packages. Santa climbed the roof, and Ivory soap flakes created the snow.

 

The miniature houses on the wall eventually became a complete village with street lights and tiny picket fences. Unfortunately, I have no photos of that display, and the houses were lost in a garage fire in the 1950s.

 

In the world of my mother’s family, Christmas was magical, and as a child, my family always celebrated with them. I have few memories of the years before my father died, but the overall impression is one of being surrounded by love.

After dad died when I was seven, our financial situation changed dramatically, yet my mom’s family continued to try to make the day special for us.

Mom bought one of the first plastic trees. She got a white one because that color looked more ‘real’ than the bright green ones. Besides, I’m sure it was on sale at a terrific price after the season. She was fanatical about tinsel. We had two boxes of the ‘real’ metal stuff. Each year, she spent hours draping it, one strand at a time. When we had real trees, we spent hours after Christmas removing it. But once we got the fake one, it was unassembled after the holiday, and the pieces placed in the storage box with the tinsel attached. For me, the look of the old metal tinsel is far more attractive than the plastic version. It catches and reflects the light differently.

Our ornament collection included some of the old European hand-blown glass ones. A particular favorite was a blue bird with a tail made of tiny plastic bristles. It clipped onto the branch, and each year my brother and I argued about who would attach it.

We used a string of large old-fashioned light bulbs for years. We wouldn’t give them up for the smaller version everyone else converted to. (The smaller ones were still pretty big and much larger than the twinkle lights and LEDs of today.) We had to special bulbs, one in the shape of a Christmas tree and the other in the shape of Santa’s face. The tree went first, but until Santa burned out, we kept the old string. They were probably terribly dangerous, especially with the mountain of metal tinsel bedecking the branches, but we were (and continue to be) creatures of habit.

In fact, my brother still has the old plastic tree with all of the old ornaments. Several of the branches have broken over the years, and the tinsel is in shreds, but it’s the only tree he’s ever had, and he won’t give it up for anything. The poor little bluebird lost his tail years ago, but he is still attached in a place of honor every year.

On Christmas Day, the family gathered at my grandmother’s house. Because our resources were so limited, the cost of each gift was restricted. I think the restriction was not more than $5. However, in the 1950s, that amount still went quite far.

I remember the year when my gift was the largest one under the tree. Inside were more baking tools and mixes than I could have dreamed of. For years I kept the miniature rolling pin, baking pans, cookie sheet, cookie cutters, etc. I used them when Kim was little to bake with her.

 

The box also contained half-size cookie and cake mixes of all kinds.

Since I enjoyed cooking as a kid, this was the perfect gift. I also knew that my aunt and uncle had completely blown the dollar limit. It was their understanding of what I would truly love as well as being willing to endure my mother’s disapproval which made me feel very special and much loved.

After Dad died, our Santa gifts were usually things we needed: pajamas, new slippers, etc. Looking back, I realize how far ahead Mom had to plan and save in order to make the holiday special for us. And she did.

I took this same enthusiasm into the holidays for my own family. Fortunately, Larry’s family always celebrated on Christmas Eve, so we could still spend Christmas Day with mine.

His family gatherings were always festive and joyous occasions. The entire clan gathered at his aunt and uncle’s home, which looked as though it had come off a Christmas card. The adults drew names and each received a single gift, but all the kids received them from everyone. Since Larry’s father came from a large family, the party was always packed.

When his aunt and uncle gave up the big house, we hosted the family gathering in our home for many years. We often had forty or so people for a sit-down supper, followed by the gift exchange and lots of Christmas cookies. The youngest children helped an adult (often Uncle Rudy) hand out the gifts. I can close my eyes and hear the laughter and feel the warmth of family love.

This year, we will have the immediate family for Christmas Eve again. Our niece and her family will not attend since they now live in Utah, but Kim is here with us.

Once again, the love this family shares will surround each of us as we celebrate this very special time.

What are your favorite childhood Christmas memories? Which do you continue as an adult?

Pieces of Christmas

All the decorations are packed away. The carpets have been vacuumed, and the furniture is dusted. The house should be back to 'normal’, whatever that is.

But, sure as shootin', during the next month or so, I'll run across something left over from the holidays.

It happened this morning. I looked out the back door, and there was a holiday doormat.

One year, an angel I used to hang from the entry hall light managed to stay there until the following year. I hadn't noticed it for several months, and when I finally did, I decided to just leave it. Unfortunately, a couple of years later, it broke when I took it down, and I questioned the wisdom of removing it at all.

When it comes to angels, however, you'll find them all over our house at all times. I've collected them since I was in fourth grade when my teacher gave me a small ceramic angel in the form of a bell. That one went through a fire in our attic, broke, and was glued back together. I still hang it on our tree every year, and it's the oldest ornament we have.

However, few of the rooms in my home are angel-free zones. We call one of my guest rooms the 'angel room.' Angel figurines not only occupy most of the flat spaces, but much of the wall space as well. And you'll find them in place all year long.

No matter now thoroughly I think I've checked for seasonal decorations in January, a few of them creep in during the following month. How and where they hide out, I have no idea. But they do.

I actually don't mind stumbling across these little reminders of the holidays. They make me smile as I remember happy times. Even though I then have to find a place to store them, I still enjoy coming across them.

I occasionally wonder if perhaps I subconsciously leave a few out just so I'll run across them later on in the year.

 

Am I the only one who consistently fails to pack away decorations after the holidays? Or do other people do this as well?

Sharing Memories

Our new book, The Memory Keeper, begins, “In the end, only memories remain.”

This came home to us dramatically during the past couple of weeks.

A week ago Saturday, we attended Larry’s fiftieth high school reunion, where we saw many former schoolmates and renewed friendships. Since we grew up in the same neighborhood, and I attended the same school, graduating two years behind Larry, I also knew many of those in attendance.

Some people had changed; others hadn’t. But we all had shared life experiences. The economic and cultural differences in our childhoods seem to have disappeared along with the years. We found that what we shared was far more valuable than what we didn’t. And most of us still remembered how to sing the alma mater—which we did.

One of the folks had put together a short video with photos of the classmates we’d lost over the years, and our mutual sadness and sense of loss filled the room. At the same time, we also shared our gratitude for having known them.

That same sentiment recurred this week when we attended the celebration of the life of my former sister-in-law, Sheila, who died last week.

The event was held at her sister’s home with the entire family present. Since we’d all grown up in the same neighborhood and attended school together, there were few strangers.

When our kids were little, Sheila and I had been quite close, and Kim had been even closer to her auntie. So we felt a genuine loss at her passing.

The remarkable thing was that the three sisters (Sheila, her twin, Sharon, and their older sister, Sue) had all been married twice. And two of the three ex-husbands came. As one told me, “I’m still a member of this family. In fact, my ex-wife and I are better friends now than we’ve ever been.” That says a lot about the love that surrounded everyone.

Our nephew-in-law had put together a slide show of photos of the girls throughout their lives. It played all day. We enjoyed seeing everyone as children. Because the three girls were close in age, we’d thought they were triplets when they were small. They were all about the same size and dressed alike. In fact, their mother told us she often referred to them as ‘the triplets.’

We attended the event primarily to support our niece and nephew. We had a chance to talk to each one of them and were very pleased to hear that they’d been able to spend some quality time with their mom at the end, bringing closure to some childhood issues. We had certainly prayed for that, and our prayers seem to have been answered.

Many of those present had attended our high school, so we heard stories of mutually-shared experiences. Many conversations began, “Remember when…” And we did.

One of the couples looked familiar to us, but we couldn’t place exactly who they were. They finally approached us with the same question. It turns out that he is the brother of Sue’s husband, and he and Larry were in the same class. They had been at the reunion the week before, but we were seated inside and they were outside. We’d probably passed each other several times during the night, but we weren’t able to talk. On Saturday, we did.

Seated at the same table with us at the reunion was a woman who was the girls’ first cousin. Although our hometown of Alhambra, California wasn’t terribly small, our housing tract was. Most of the families bought their homes when the tract was first built, and the majority of them had small children. We’ve always referred to it as an extended family because we all knew each other.

This cousin’s sister had been in my grade, and she was in Larry’s. I said, “I guess you’ve heard about Sheila.”

She gave me a questioning look and answered, “No. What about her?”

At that point, Sheila was in a coma from which she did not emerge. I felt badly about breaking the news at this occasion, but I also felt she should know.

We then learned that the families had been estranged for many years following the death of the girls’ grandmother. The cousin, however, was deeply shaken to discover that Sheila was near death.

She took the initiative and called her cousin Sue. They have agreed to remain in touch and to get together soon.

On Saturday, Sue told me that she’d talked to her mother about her cousin’s call. Sue said she’d like to invite her cousin to come for a visit and that she’d like for her mother to be there.

Her mother’s surprising response was, “That would be very nice.”

So I expect that soon that the family will be sharing more memories and, hopefully, some much-needed healing.

In the end, only memories remain. And we all ought to be grateful that we’re still here to share them.