Over the River

It’s Christmas Eve… but it’s an odd year. My eldest and my mother in law are both flying in to visit on Dec 27th so we have postponed our family holiday. Maybe we’ll watch “A Christmas Story” or “It’s a Wonderful Life”.  We will go to church this evening and celebrate there but at home  Tuesday the 27th will be our Christmas Eve and the 28th will be Christmas Day.  There are all kinds of inadvertent advantages to delaying our celebration–from finding sweet after-Christmas sales to fewer crowds at the supermarket. Too bad I’m done with my shopping already! But you never know when you might need some extra cheese or french fried onions to top the green bean casserole!

But this post is not about this Christmas (mostly because it hasn’t happened yet). It’s a childhood memoir of Christmas Eve that likely will interest only close family members. So if you choose not to travel down this road with me, I will not be offended! Merry Christmas to you and yours!

When I was a little girl, we had many routines. Most Sundays, we went to my paternal Grandparent’s house for dinner where my sister and I would gleefully meet our cousin Beth and hold top secret meetings in Grandma’s master bathroom (It was a jack and jill style but did not let out to another bedroom but the tiny entryway of the backdoor.  There was also no shower so it wasn’t really what we think of as today’s master bath!).  Beth’s brother Chris was my age and we would play with him too a good bit but there was a special camaraderie between us three girls. I’m pretty sure Chris would have been thrilled if I had been a boy.

So while I was fortunate enough to grow up with both sets of my grandparents nearby and I have plenty of pleasant things I associate with each place, Christmas was an especially magical time at my red-haired Grandma’s house. She decorated with ornaments I can still recall in vivid detail: a clear plastic gumdrop tree stood on her amazingly gorgeous round cherry wood table (with drawers all the way around it). This dimestore delight held a rainbow of colorful dainties which sparkled and glistened like frosty snow on the bare branches of the big tree in the front yard. Next to this stood a small gold circle of cherubim which turned about–carousel style, when the candles beneath them were lit. It reminds me a bit of the Christmas pyramid that adorns my own table. There were gently clanging bells at the top that made a delicate little ringing sound proclaiming Messiah’s birth.

Down a set of precipitously steep stairs which we loved to bump down in our younger days, there was the family room and dining room and a very large utility room which was kind of a second kitchen. This is where we would spend most of our evening. The artificial tree was clustered with gifts galore.  There were five siblings in my dad’s family. One lived in California with his wife and wasn’t there most years, one was married but had no children and the only girl also lived out of state and had three children we dubbed the “weird cousins”, who tragically for Chris were boys much younger than himself. We just thought they were weird because 1. They were boys and 2. We only saw them very occasionally. To be fair the youngest was a girl and she was plenty cute but so much younger than us that we didn’t forge a strong relationship. Incidentally, it is not lost on me at all that my own children are now “the weird cousins”. Anyhow you can imagine all the presents crammed under the tree–especially for us kids.

My Grandfather enjoyed cooking so he and my Grandmother would have a feast fit for a King and then all the siblings would bring other delicious fare but among my favorites were carrot sticks (yes, really) and  my grandmother’s cinnamon sugar Pillsbury rolls.  She would take an egg and dip each roll in it and then coat it with sugar and cinnamon.  Shh!! Don’t tell anyone. I liked them better than her homemade cinnamon rolls…We also had seven layer salad,which I’m not sure I loved as a kid but I enjoy it now and an Ambrosia-type salad. Mashed potatoes were Grandpa’s specialty and of course we had Turkey and Ham. There was something to please even the most particular palate, which would in our case, be my cousin Beth. She was a very discerning eater and she also had quirky habits common to some children like not letting her food touch each other. “Going through the potato yard!” She would rhythmically chant.  I remember my sister and I would imitate her as my Aunt Linda ruefully shook her head and quipped, “It all ends up in the same place anyhow!”

After  a lengthy dinner, of seconds and thirds… agony of agonies!!! “The Moms” had to do the dishes before we could read the Christmas story from the Bible and open the gifts. What cruelty is this???  Torturous device of the distinctly uncompassionate! Thankfully my Grandmother had a dishwasher so our delayed gratification was minimized, though I don’t think we fully appreciate by how much, in those tender years.  Finally it was time! One of us was selected by Grandpa to read the story from the account in Luke and then–time for the stockings!  The warm-up before the Big Leagues–hanging by the nativity set on the bookshelf behind Grandpa’s place at the head of the table–each embroidered with our name.  Inside little fun trinkets like lip glosses and “jewlery”– we were always delighted by the simple niceties.

After this quaint formality, another of us was chosen to be Santa Claus and distribute from the paramount pile of parcels until it dwindled to the very last lonely present.  I want to say that we each opened one at a time and passed the spotlight around but I would need my sister or mother to corroborate that story. It seems unlikely that we would drag it out in that fashion since there were so many of us, but considering these were adults who made us wait til after dishes were done, it would be a plausible theory. It was so fun to make it last, hard not to compare, and exciting to find something you never even knew you wanted in side each beautifully wrapped box. Of course, the boys gifts were… yawn… BORING!  But the trio of us girls loved admiring each others new goodies. Adult gifts less than enthralled us. It was so boring to be an adult! Who could stand it  when there was so much fun to be had in the realm of childhood? And my Grandparents?? They always got REALLY hideous presents like refrigerators or  microwave ovens.  Just SHOOT ME! One can almost see the appeal of Peter Pan’s mantra!

By this time we all finished our extravaganza it was probably close to nine o’clock at night. The younger we were, the more delighted with our new treasures. As we grew into adolescence I remember being not quite so enthralled with every effort to secure the excited exclamation:  “It’s just what I’ve always wanted!” It can’t happen every time! But entitled children that we were, there was that wishful thinking… I remember in the anticlimactic aftermath desiring a few more minutes to play and admire my booty but alas! It was time to load up the station wagon and head back home and off to bed so that Santa could come and deliver more surprises.  And then my other Grandparent’s house…the home of socks, underwear, nightgowns… and football. How I would appreciate those kinds of gifts now (minus the football)! But that is another story altogether. For another time.

Today, though we have lived all over the place with our own brood.  We have carried on some of these same traditions though it is interesting to note that I do not require the dishes to be done before we open gifts.  We read the account from Luke. We open stockings first and have a lovely dinner using our best dishes and my gold flatware I’ve had since we’ve been married 28 years ago.  We’ve combined some traditions with my husband’s like getting up late on Christmas even to open a gift and we’ve formed some of our own such as buying each child an ornament each year so that when they have their own tree, they will have some meaningful ornaments to adorn its branches. I also have a collection of Christmas stories from a book called Christmas in my Heart  that I read each year and some of them–my very favorites I read aloud to any unsuspecting victim. I think they enjoy them nearly as much as I do.

My wish for you is that even as adult, you will enjoy the simple things of this Christmas Season and you will enjoy the magic of seeing it through a child’s eyes.

Merry Christmas Grandma and Grandpa!  I am happy you are where there in no more craziness and ugliness. No more pain. No more tears. Thank you for all the beautiful memories you have given me and all your grandchildren. They are truly more precious than anything I ever received from under your tree.