For My Sister.......A Teeny Little, Merry Little Memory

My Mama and Daddy had a very troubled marriage that dragged on for years.  Now I am not going to throw them under the bus or anything.  Maybe pre-kids I would have, but funny how children really make you reflect honestly on things, and that is not what this post is about.  It is easy to look at what all parents do or did wrong, but I want to share something my parents did right.  Absolutely right.  Christmas.  They had such a gift (har-dee-har) for getting Christmas right, year after year.  And while I do suspect I am looking at this through rose-colored glasses, the magic my parents created deserves to be treasured.  Especially for my sister, Jen, who packed away her memories long ago.  This is for you.

Christmas in the 1970's consisted of nights leading up to the 24th spent in front of the giant console television watching Rankin and Bass puppets learn lessons and sing songs that still get stuck in my head today.  A red plastic tray was always on our table, filled with nuts (uh, the unshelled kind....we had to do all the work.).  A green polyester macrame Christmas tree with wooden red beads was always on the wall.  That ribbony hard candy that  tasted stale was in the Holiday candy jar.  Boxes of Queen Anne's chocolate covered cherries were stacked on top of our (avocado green) refrigerator.  A live tree was usually purchased around the 18th of December.  It would have to sit in the garage overnight so the limbs would "relax."  That would be pure torture!  I remember my sister and I sitting on the cold, wooden steps just looking at that beautiful, dark tree, and smelling its wonderful aroma......so excited about bringing it inside to decorate.  Argh....it was all about patience.  Once the tree was brought inside, we had to wait for Mama and Daddy to test and string the lights.  That just about took 10 forevers.  When the lights were on, then Mama would get out the ornaments.  Glass ones she and Daddy hung.  The painted wooden ones, and the baked ones, Jen and I were allowed to hang.....as long as we spaced them correctly, and didn't get too many of the same kind in one spot.  All the while the Robert Shaw Chorale Christmas album was playing on the record player.   (It had scratches....so "The Little Drummer Boy" parumpapumpmed about a million times.)  After our tree was up, Jen and I would just admire it....my goodness.they were  so beautiful.  Mama almost always made chili-dogs when we decorated the tree.  We would eat them with Fritos.  If we were really lucky, we would maybe get Doritos with melted cheese and jalapeno's on them.  Then the four of us would turn off all the house lights, sit on the scratchy couch, and admire our amazing Christmas tree.  It was magic!


Most Christmas Eve's we went to church.  I recall the music  had lots of bells ringing and chiming.   I remember sitting in the pew, looking out the distorted glass windows, just praying for a glimpse of the mighty star, or Santa.  I really wasn't picky as to which I saw.  My Grandfather (who was our minister), usually kept Christmas Eve services short and sweet.  But ALWAYS at the end we would sing "Silent Night" a capella.  It still gives me chills to think about it.  All the church lights would be brought down, we would move in close to one another, and then sing.  The magic literally hung in the air.

After church, we would go to our grandparents for a "light" dinner.  It was really just eating all the Christmas goodies you can imagine.  And when your Grandfather is preacher at a large church.....people LOVE to bring over goodies.  I remember there was this one lady who made Christmas pickles every year.  They were so yummy.  And my Grandfather had a good friend who worked for Frito-Lay.  He would send over a big sample pack of chips!!  My sister and I adored that particular gift.  Not sure why....maybe it was the box they came in.  At any rate, we felt so lucky to get to eat chips AND have soda!!  Then Jen and I were allowed to open one gift.  Of course, it was Christmas pajamas.....but I remember being so excited to get them.  They usually matched, were fire-retardant, and itchy as hell.  But we would put them on, have our pictures taken, then we were ready to go home and go to bed........c'mon....Santa had to come!!!!

And come he did.........We would wake up at the crack of dawn Christmas morning.  We had to wait at the end of the hall, so Mama and Daddy could go start coffee and turn on the tree lights.  We could hear them talking:  "Oh my...wonder who that is for?"  And: "Look at those stockings....they sure are full!"  GAAAHHH....the torture was cruel....they moved SO slow.  Finally we were allowed to run in.......and there, in all its sparkling glory.....was proof that Santa had come!!  Stockings stuffed with the neatest things.  Barbies, roller skates, chalk boards, basket balls, Mousetrap, Toss Across, the Jaws game, Playdough.....whatever it was....it was ALWAYS perfect.  Some things were wrapped, some all set up (like the year we got the doll house....that was cool!)  Mama and Daddy always seemed just as delighted as we did with what Santa had brought us.  Then they would give us gifts from them (clothes)...then they would open gifts.  They never fought.  Mama would make a most amazing breakfast of country ham, redeye gravy, garlic grits and a fruit salad.  Robert Shaw Chorale would skip through both sides of the album......and family would come to us, or visa versa.  The day just nearly burst with love, excitement, and happiness.

Christmases stayed this way for years.  Our family grew, people moved, babies were born, Christmas stayed magic.  Even through most of high school.  Things eventually did change.  We grew.   Mama and Daddy divorced, remarried, more children came along....then boyfriends, husbands, children of our own.  Now it is up to us to build our own magic.  And it is really hard.  I have to hand it to my parents.  I don't know how they did it.  They fought a lot, and at times were terribly unhappy.  Yet they held it together at Christmas.   I am eternally grateful.  My own marriage is fraught with issues this year.....but I gotta believe in the magic.  Mama and Daddy set the bar high.  My children deserve nothing less than magic themselves.  And for my sister.....well, she deserves a few really sweet memories of our childhood.  Ones which I am so happy to be able to supply.  Merry Christmas Jen.............This is for you.

7 Year Itch

I am feeling unsettled.  I am feeling confused.  I am thinking of a conversation I had with someone at Christmas 7 years ago.  Yep, that's right...7 years ago!  This conversation floats through my brain periodically, because I have never, NEVER been able to make heads or tails out of the meaning....yet I don't think the attitude is that unusual.  Anyway, as best as I can recall it...here goes:

I had, at the time.  a 5 week old baby who was terribly colicky.  He was fussy and irritable, therefore I was fussy and irritable.  My husband had just found out that the job he had through a government contracting agency had basically totally fallen through.  Rent, bills, groceries, 3 children were consuming my every thought.  And it was Christmas.  Oh.......and I had a raging stomach virus.  Oh....and I was having trouble nursing fussy boy because he latched like a vortex.  I literally almost fainted every time I nursed him.  Oh....and one other detail.......a massive tsunami had just decimated parts of South Asia.  The images were completely heartbreaking.  The death and destruction were so random.

So.....I will make this little disclaimer....My husband and I were responsible for the situation that our family was in.  It was not luck or anything like that....just very poor planning.  But colic and stomach viruses happen....and I was sleep deprived and miserable.  Then a former family member starts talking about Christmas shopping.  He is going on and on about how he hates being at the mall and but that somehow he found himself there and was knocking stuff off his Christmas list like crazy.  Then he says this  "I was looking for this crazy, funky pair of tights for my niece.  I knew they had them at this store, but couldn't find her color or size.  There was all this rushing around in the store to find these perfect tights, but I wasn't having any luck.  SO I stopped in the middle of the store, lifted my problem up to the Lord, and prayed.  And when I opened my eyes after the prayer, there on a table close by, were the exact tights I was searching for.  God is good!  The Lord answers prayers."  He......was.....serious.

As I type this, I realize it was much less of a conversation than a sermon (maybe?).  I remember feeling literally sick.  Punched in the gut.  Yet I could not figure out exactly why I felt that way.  I think my mind was full of images of children being swept out of their Mama's arms, loved ones being pulled away by a natural force far stronger than love and desperation.

God is good.  The Lord answers prayers.  Prayers about tights.

I have NEVER been able to reconcile this "conversation."  Never been able to get a good sense of it.  But for 7 years it has haunted my heart.  Now I have it out of my heart, and on a computer.  Ready for anyone to help me make sense of it. 

I know there is so much suffering in the world.  But I also know there is SO MUCH GOOD.  So why does this odd episode from late 2004 refuse to leave my memory?  Why am I bringing it up now?  Maybe because there IS so much suffering in the world.  Maybe I am just wondering where prayers land.  Maybe I just do not know the answer.  Maybe I never will.  I have certainly been the recipient of answered prayers.  This just confuses me even more.  Trying to make sense out of a 7 year old conversation that just happened to take place after the tsunami.  Prayers about tights...............huh............still confusing me all these years later.