Not really feeling the Jingling or the Bells

I am trying not to be such a scrooge this year.  This has always been a struggle for me, but the last few years have been by far the worst.  My immediate family has always sucked to joy right out of me with their childish self-centered approach to the life in general so the holidays are no different.  My happiness always came from my Grandma and Grandpa.

These two lived the Christmas spirit.  They did it because they liked it of course, but every single thing they did was to make the holidays special for us children.  They did it despite my mother selfishly trying to make everything into a hassle rather than a fun tradition.


It would start with decorating my Grandma's house.  We would harass Papa until he would go up into the attic and drag down the boxes upon boxes of decorations.  I know he dreaded this part of Christmas because he really did get a raw deal during this time.  While us kids opened up the boxes and reminisced about each of the treasured decorations and discussed where each item should be placed, grandma fixed up some hot cider and put on her old Christmas records, poor Papa was expected to do the dreaded job of hanging the Christmas lights, both inside and outside.  He would mutter under his breath and shoot my Grandmother dirty looks, but to us he was all smiles.  God I loved his  mischievous smile.  I always felt like it was a secret just for me.  I loved their relationship actually.  She would pick at him relentlessly, but he always handled it so gracefully.  It wasn't until I was older that I realized that he had his own way of dealing with her;  turning down his hearing aide and hiding in his workshop, which we lovingly referred to as "The Mole Hole."

There was also the Christmas cookies.  It was a grand ordeal.  My Grandmother did not just make them for us, or for her dinners, she made enough for every single person she knew, so when we baked, we baked for hours on end.  I never got tired of it though.  She always took the time to let me stir in the ingredients and to pass on the little tips that I still use when I bake now as an adult.  It would have been much faster I am sure, just doing it herself, but she never rushed me, and she always let me try to do it myself.  I would sit on her counter, wearing one of her aprons that was much too big for me, various powders all over my face and in my hair, and just kick my feet happily waiting for the oven to go off telling us that it was time to start another round.  My Papa generally hid away on these days, or he would spend his time sifting through the shelves at the Salvation Army looking for treasures to come home and share with us.

All of these things just seemed so magical to me as a child.  I still as a teenager went over to their house to carry on our little traditions, not so much for me anymore, but for them.  It was just how it was done.  My mother saw all of this as an encroachment on her freedom as an adult.  Apparently she thought that she should be able to do whatever she wanted for her holidays not what her mother wanted her to do, which would be fine, if she made an effort to do something rather then just pout and be dramatic about it, so she usually was not a part of these things.

One of my most cherished memories of my grandfather was down in the mole hole on a cold December night.  We had walked to some store near his house and I had found my mother the perfect present.  He gave me the money, but he let my pay the cashier all by myself.  I carried the gift all the way home and down into the mole hole.  He told me that since it was my present, I had to be the one to wrap it.  I had never wrapped a present before so I was a little upset that it wouldn't look right.

My grandfather was patient and kind, his smile always reflected this when he looked at me.  I miss it every moment of everyday.  He smiled at me that day and told me to pick the paper I wanted for my present.  I selected some festive color and he laid it out on his work bench.  I was much too small to see over the top so he pulled up a stool and helped me hop up on it.  He patiently showed me how to measure out the paper, and how to use the scissors as a blade rather then using them to chop.  He held his hand over mine and guided me through the process.  His hands were so rough.  He carved wood into figurines so the years of wood and widdling had toughened them, I remember how small and clumsy my hand felt in his,  He then showed me how to wrap a gift.  I have yet to wrap a gift since and not think of how he showed me to carefully crease each corner and how to line it all up neatly to ensure the perfect present.

One Christmas I told my mom I didn't believe in Santa Clause.  She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and told me not to say anything to my little sister.  That night while I laid in my bed I heard something at my window.  It started with a crash, and then a scrape.  I was scared at first, but I peeked out.  There was Santa Clause... climbing a ladder.  Now I realize that Santa in theory should have been able to fly or something, but let me tell you, I was so scared that he would see me out of bed I darted under the covers, scrunched my eyes closed and hid.  I peeked at the window, where I saw him looking in smiling.  I scrunched my eyes closed and breathed slowly.  Moments later I heard him climb down and then there was just silence.  I was panicked.  Did he know?  Then I head "Jingle Bells" playing through my floorboards from our piano that was in our living room.  Even years later my grandfather would not fess up to this act which bought me a few more years of believing.  My grandma eventually told me a year or so ago about how he tracked down the costume and how she couldn't believe that he climbed that damn ladder in the snow.  

My grandfather has been gone a few years now.  I haven't really enjoyed a holiday since, which I know would disappoint him.  Our loss was sudden.  No one knew that our last Christmas as a family was to be our last.  I am not sure if knowing would have been any better.  I cannot even remember it really.  I do remember our first without him and the ones since.  The joy is gone.  My only Aunt and Uncle moved south and took with them my cousins, and my grandma has lost her warmth,  We still
try, but the difference is, we now really have to try, whereas before it just happened.

So I am adding to my list of things I am currently trying to accomplish.: Not be a sourpuss about Christmas.