I have so many wonderful memories of the Christmas seasons in my life, of the family who are now gone that I shared this time of year with. It's this time of year that I miss them most. Mother was a Christmas catbird, wrapping gag gifts each year. One year she dumped an ashtray full of cigarette butts and gave them to Harold; another year she and daddy wrapped a cinder block to give me and I just knew I had the greatest gift only to watch them heehaw when I opened it. Another year a pair of dirty underwear for Neil that he'd left behind on one of his visits there, watching his face turn red when he opened it. Oh they got the biggest kick out of that. But also the gifts that Mother would make to give me that would make me cry when they were opened. Mother would make the comment..' this is Joanne's crying gift'. A handmade quilt; embossed sheet set (that I still use); knitted sweaters and ponchos for the kids. One year she knitted sweaters for every family member. The woman worked her fingers to the bone that year.
The Christmases when Harold and I lived in the mountains and we'd bundle the kids up after he got home from work on Friday, load up the station wagon and head for Raleigh. We'd arrive at Mother and Daddys, put them to bed and start putting their 'Santa' things out (or put them together), finally getting to bed in the wee hours of the morning, only to be awakened by the kids when we'd had two or three hours sleep. But we were still young and energetic so it didn't bother us to lose the sleep. What excitement to see their precious faces while seeing what Santa brought. Mother and Daddy usually stayed up with us and we'd eat some of Mother's famous fruit cake and drink whatever until time to go to bed, bone dead tired.
When my siblings married and moved away, they would all come back 'home' to congregate for Christmas. The presents were piled so high that it took hours to get everything opened. But the best times were the times we spent together, talking, hugging, relating the things that had been going on and having just plain old fun together.
Then we'd go to Harold's parents to celebrate. Grandmother prided herself on her Christmas tree and it was always beautiful. She would cook the best Christmas dinner's and we'd stuff ourselves with her homemade fruit salad after we'd finished. She would take fresh fruit, (bananas, oranges, apples,raisins) and cut them in small pieces, add nuts, then pour canned milk with a little water, add sugar and stir. It was so delicious and sweet with all the fruit juices and milk combined. As the family grew, there was more fun to be had with all the children around.
I'll never forget the Christmas when Harold and I had been married for a year. He gave me the engagement ring to match my wedding band. He had saved his extra money (not much left) and made payments on it all year so that he'd have it to give me that year...yes, I cried. Me, the emotional Christmas freak who always cried when opening special gifts. Everyone came to expect it.
The Christmases after our kids grew and we had grandchildren to celebrate with. In the early years while Harold was still here with us, Stephanie, Alixe and Ricky gave us so much pleasure and happiness at Christmas time. It seems that when there are children around to celebrate with, that it is so much more special. The old saying that 'Christmas is for children' is so true. Christmas is for adults to enjoy watching children.
Times pass, families grow, loved ones leave this earth, things change, but Christmas is always that special time of year. A time when we gather together, if we are blessed enough to have family to gather with. If we remember the meaning behind the whole season. Now I have great-grandchildren to celebrate with and I just wish that Harold were here to watch their little faces with me. It wasn't meant to be, but I am so blessed to be here with them. I am so blessed that I have the wonderful Christmas memories of the past.
Photo at the heading is of Shepherd and Josephine at Christmas 2010..my great grandchildren.
No comments:
Post a Comment