No matter how cheesy it may be, I love to see pictures of what makes Christmas special to others. Facebook is full of friends and family and their decorated tree. I love to peruse through pictures of babies first Christmas stocking, Santa visit, Christmas cookie baking sessions. I love the whole season and grew up with many traditions of my own. Every year the traditions change a little bit and it makes my heart ache to give up going here, doing this and most of all seeing certain people.
I'm gonna jump around a little bit here but I want to ask you something.
Do you know Grandma Barb? Do you like her? If so...you would love Grandma Dort. Grandma Dort was my favorite relative growing up. She was the one who I got most excited to see and spend time with. She taught me a lot about the Christmas spirit.
Every year we would drive to Grandma Dort's house and spend a few days there. We would have a Christmas party or two and then spend the rest of the time playing games, eating, going to church and listening to her laugh. I miss her. And right around this time of year I let myself (usually silently) remember her and all the times we did have together.
Everyone always says that she was "ready" when we would arrive. If she was hosting the party for extended family members-she'd have the basement ready with the crazy long table cloth on her round (poker?) table, and the Santa that walked and rang his bell would be ready to go. She would (or so I've been told because I was too little to care) have her homemade cheese ball ready and say "what are we playing?". Give me a homemade cheese ball and crackers now and I'd be in my glory. Especially if I was sitting next to her to play Clue or The Gambler.
It's crazy how much I remember from her house. I can remember textures and colors and even the front door handle even though we always came in the backdoor. I know the playground equipment we played on across the street at the school. I can still feel her weird basement carpet and how it felt and sounded to spin around the painted cement (?) poles in the basement. I can remember the texture of the walls in the basement and the hard floor on the "other" side of the basement. The sound of the furnace kicking on would scare me. I can still remember the crazy green padded kitchen chairs and how the dishwasher had to move to the other side of the room to run. The white couch I would plunk myself down on and yell "Huck-a-buck-a-beanstalk!". The small bathroom downstairs is where we caught a cricket in a boggle case and right outside that door is where I slept between my brother and sister in our sleeping bags. We would chat. Read. Listen to our Walkman. Hear the adults walking around upstairs. This after a long day of arguing over the rules to Rook or catching my brother cheating or not being honest at the Clue game.
One year my Grandma must have had surgery on her hip or her knee. She needed help getting ready for Christmas. After Thanksgiving at our house, she let me ride home with her and my Great Aunt and Uncle to spend the weekend with her. I was her helper. I'll never forget it because it was a series of moments just shared between us two. I put up her artificial tree-every branch needed to be adjusted. We hung ornaments and wrapped presents. This was also where I learned to play penny poker with her strict you-better-follow-the-rules brothers and sisters. We laughed when we realized our chicken in our tv dinner wasn't bleeding but instead it was the color of the red potholder beneath it that was showing through.
A few nights ago I was showing Andy my little pillow I sleep with which is falling apart. It is literally falling apart and he wonders when I will get rid of it. But I had to explain that I got it from my Grandma Dort. I told him the story of how it fell out of my trunk on a trip once and I didn't realize it until my my mom and I were walking out of the movie theatre and cars were driving over it. Wheels---driving on top of my pillow...on the ground-in the dark. No, I can't get rid of it. So that night I told him more about my favorite relative. I told him how I wonder what our relationship would be like if she was still here today. Would we still be going to her house? Would I still get excited to see her white car round the corner? Would she love to teach Eli how to play "Who's It"? I told him how she unexpectedly passed away and all the details that I remember. I didn't realize I hadn't told him that story and he very seriously said "I didn't know any of that". I let myself have a few moments to feel sad but then my heart smiled as I visited her house in my mind. I went through each room and let myself crawl on the floors of the different textured carpet (Crazy green carpet in the living room) and remember her furniture. She has small touches in my house that I will never ever get rid of-including my little pillow.
I have moments where I truly believe it's not Christmas without her. I hope she can feel that and I hope it makes her proud to know how much she meant to me.
But then....I remember where life is now. What I have now is also something that could never be replaced. Now I have an Elijah and a Hugh-Lou. And these guys have a Grandma Barb and a Grandma Roeder. And there are traditions and carpet textures that
they will get to remember. And I get to watch it as an adult. I love to watch Hugh smile at Grandma Barb and hear Eli ask if he can pull out the different toys. I bet Eli will remember the brown table by the couches that he builds Lego's on with Grandpa Bob. Someday Hugh will remember the big bathtub that he gets to share a bubble session with his cousins. Some day, far in the future the boys will remember that there is usually a cooler on the screened in porch full of yummy drinks and that the bloody mary's are made on the washing machine. The park around the corner will be exciting and then boring as they age but they will still visit it-I know it. I see the joy when Eli hops up and down and says "Can we go to Grandma Roeders?". I know I'll never forget what it feels like to walk in the door and add my shoes to the pile of 30 other pairs. The stockingssss (because there are so many) are hung up on the ceiling rafter and there is always someone in the kitchen. Always. Although some of the rooms (remodeled) may look different this Christmas-one could never tire of watching the snow fall out the big front window while sitting at the family dinner (picnic) table together. Butt after butt after butt sitting right next to each other.
So...Grandma Dort...it's not Christmas without you. I miss you. Your house. Your lasagna. Your special mashed potato bake. Your grapefruit and comics/newspaper in the morning. Your basement. Your Christmas cookies. You and Aunt Ellie's hinders in the air as you snoop under the tree. The way you threw your head back and laughed when we played games. When you would say "Donit?" instead of "Don't it" which always made me thing of a frosted white donut. All of that and more. I truly know you and Andy would adore each other. I hope you are smiling down, watching us all continue some traditions and start new ones. As we pile into the house and spend time together.
