Christmas in July (so to speak)

A re-do from my former blog--July 2008

I love Christmas in July sales.  I love Christmas in general, so this post is timely enough.;)  In my last post, I talked about how summer reminds me of my paternal grandparents. My maternal grandparents make me think of Christmas, and, in my opinion, there's no inappropriate time to talk about Christmas! :)

Grandma and Grandpa K. lived in the same small town in Ohio as my paternal grandparents (see last post).  They were completely different people, but equally dear to me.  Grandma was an artist and had been quite a knock-out in her youth.  She played the organ in church and had a flair for entertaining.  I love to hear my mom's stories about how, when she was a child, Grandma would painstakingly prepare for each event, especially at Christmas.  For days, she would have the kitchen all set up with her supplies and ingredients and make all kinds of special cookies and other treats to entertain her guests, or give away during the holidays.

I remember driving up to their house on snowy winter's nights at Christmas time, and there was a sign they put up in their front yard each year.  It probably said, "Merry Christmas" and had a picture of an angel or something on it.  What I remember the most are the colored lights around the edges of the sign, and how the crisp, white snow reflected those lights in a faded, fuzzy kind of way. Oh how I WISH I had a photo of it to share with you. I know there's at least one somewhere.  I thought I had it but I seem to have been mistaken.  I probably have seen it among my parents' huge collection of photos.  The sign was simply welcoming.  And the inside of the house was so pretty, always tidy and nicely-decorated.

Now, this is going to probably sound weird, even for me, lol, but I LOVED the smell of Grandma's paper towels!  Oh, my goodness!  That sounds so funny to me, but it's true!  I don't know if it was a certain brand, or if they were stored in a closet that had a certain smell, but the smell was to die for!  I'm absolutely serious about that.

Grandpa.  Oh, that Grandpa of mine!  He always called me "Hot Shot," though I have no idea why!  He was very talented with wood.  My mom has many of the pieces of beautiful furniture, including a wonderful grandfather clock, he made in his woodworking shop in the basement of his house.  Grandpa's workshop was mysterious and off-limits because of the dangerous tools and all.  But I do remember him taking me down there at least once and feeling grown-up and important because I got the grand tour.

Grandpa was almost bald and one time, when I was just a tiny girl, we were sitting around the table after lunch, and I asked him why he didn't have much hair.  A completely innocent question at the time, but he pretended he was mad at me for asking.  Problem was, I wasn't discerning enough to know he was kidding!  So at first I thought he was seriously miffed.  I learned at an early age not to comment to a man about any shortage of hair he may have!

After Grandpa died when I was 8, Grandma came to live in an apartment about a mile away from our house in suburban Chicago.  Her apartment always seemed immaculate and I loved to stay overnight at her place.  She let me use her Oil of Olay, which I thought was big stuff, and she always had Kraft caramels in her cupboard, for visiting granddaughters, don't you know.  One night I inadvertantly offended her when she asked me to spend a Friday overnight with her.  I said, "Only if we can watch Donny and Marie."  I mean, you know, as far as I knew at that point, Donny was my future husband, and I needed that hour's time with him and, well, his sister.  After all, I was going to replace Marie as his singing partner so I needed to know the songs and the dance moves.  Um, yeah.  Anyway, Grandma was rather hurt that I was choosing Donny over her and I don't blame her.  I felt really bad, but I did sleep over.  I can't remember if we ended up watching the show or not.

As I grew a little older, Grandma and I didn't always see eye to eye.  We were both stubborn, and I don't really remember what we argued over.  But I do remember one night when she spent the night at our house, and I got so mad at something she said, I hung one of her bras on the Christmas tree!!!  Oh, yes, I could be a brat!  You'd better believe it.  Thankfully, I have learned more appropriate ways of dealing with conflict.

I can't believe I just confessed that.

Bless her heart.  Grandma sure had her sorrows.  But she passed down a legacy of hospitality and humor.  Gosh, my mom can make a bunch of different dishes for a holiday meal and have everything done at the same time, an art I have not yet mastered!  Mom's not quite so much into the fancy stuff like Grandma was, but she can make anywhere feel like home, and that's what it's all about!  And laughter?  Mom talks about how her parents would laugh and laugh at some of the old variety shows on TV.  And I remember like it was last year my grandparents laughing in delight at one thing or another.  The next generations sure like to laugh, too!  Humor is such a gift.  God is good!

BTW, thanks so much for your sweet comments re:  my last post about my other set of grandparents.  I'm so pleased that my post inspired happy and contemplative memories for some of you about your own grandparents.  Oh, my word!  Grandparents probably have no idea what they bring to the table, their wonderful influence on those precious grandkids.  I doubt my grandparents had a clue how much they meant to me, the memories they supplied me and the impact they had on my life.  I probably wasn't very good at articulating that.  To all the grandparents out there (I know some of y'all are grandparents and others will be someday):  Your grandkids LOVE your time and attention!  What a wonderful opportunity to influence their lives for the good, to teach them what you know, to help keep family traditions alive.  Redeem the time!  You are NEEDED!  You are PRECIOUS!  You are LOVED!!  You are APPRECIATED!!

This concludes my two-part series on grandparents.  ha ha

"She served 'til it hurt . . ."

From the archives of my former blog--July, 2008

Grandma's Attic painting, here

I miss Grandma's old house.  Well, I miss all my grandparents, the actual people, more than their homes.  But I find myself thinking a lot about Grandma H.'s old house once again.  Summer always does that to me.  Christmas makes me think of Grandma K.'s.  Next time I'll talk about Christmas.  Christmas in July--why not?!  :)

Anyway, Grandpa and Grandma H lived in this old, old house, which still had some of the original toile wallpaper in one of the rooms.  It was sooooo cool!  Looking back, I realize it wasn't a very large house, but it seemed huge at the time.  There was a wonderful wrap-around porch in front, complete with a porch swing.  In the back of the house was an enclosed porch, with a cement floor.  I remember a big, beautiful wooden cupboard, where Grandma stored her canned goods, and a HUGE roll of aluminum foil, from which she would cut smaller pieces as she needed them.  Also, the back porch contained a large terra cotta pot,.  In the pot was a bunch of dirt and Grandpa's pipe!  I don't remember him ever smoking it, but I'm guessing he did from time to time.  I can still remember how that porch smelled--old, musty, with a hint of pipe tobacco

These are photos of photos, from several years ago.

The family room actually had the original curtain in the extra-wide doorway, separating it from a downstairs bedroom, which was likely once the front parlor.  In a family room closet were Grandma's toys.  Oh, how my sisters and I loved to drag out those toys.  They were the BEST!  There were play dishes, dress-up clothes, a plastic badminton set, wonderful old books, you name it.  I have a few of those books now and my parents have many of the toys, for their grandchildren to play with.  It brings a lump to my throat when I see the old coffee pot, cups and saucers, and dress-up clothes now.

The attic--my favorite!  When you walked up some enclosed stairs, you ended up in the attic, which was divided into three sections.  The first section was the area we played in sometimes.  There were stacks of old National Geographics, sewing patterns, and books, all neatly piled against the wall, so there was plenty of room to play.  The closed-off section was unfinished and didn't have much in it, other than an occasional raccoon who might try to make a home for his family!  I only remember seeing that part once, when Grandma had that door open.  The third area of the attic was a bedroom.  There were two twin beds, a dresser and a WONDERFUL window to spy on the kids across the street.  Sometimes we would yell things at them, and they looked around, wondering where the voices were coming from.  It was awesome!

I grew up in suburban Chicago and my grandparents all lived in central Ohio.  So it wasn't like we could spend a day at Grandma's once a week or anything.  It was only a few times a year.

On the porch swing, my sisters and I would see how high we could get it to go, when the grown-ups weren't looking, of course.  We also jumped off the porch, without using the steps, just to prove we could.  It seemed so high at the time!  Behind the swing, was some kind of a viney plant, in which birds built nests to lay their eggs.  It was so sad to see little blue, broken eggs on the ground sometimes.

On the side of the house was a cellar,  I never went in there, but we loved to climb up the sloping door.  Why, it was a mountain after all, wasn't it?  Until Grandpa, whose chair was right by the window over the cellar, warned us to get down from there.  We always tried again, though, even though we knew if he was sitting in his chair, reading his paper, his reprimand would be coming through that window.

Grandpa's window, above the cellar door.

There were stone paths in different places all over the property, just right to pretend you were a beautiful bride, strolling down the aisle.  Or that you were a detective, following someone's trail.  Many Nancy Drew stories were acted out in those days!

The creek that ran along side their property was so quaint and lovely.  Ah, the daydreaming that took place by the sparkly, quiet water!  There was a rickety bridge over it when I was little, which we were not to cross.  It was replaced later and all was well.  I do remember one time when the creek was dry, my friend Lisa and I were playing detectives down in the creek bed and along the rocky bank.  When we went in for lunch, Grandpa made a comment about watching out for snakes in the creek.  That was the end of that!

The creek looks much different than I remember it--not as deep and rocky.  :)

Grandma's house is where I remember hearing my first mourning dove.  I believe I was sitting by an open window in the attic and heard that woefully beautiful song.  The gentle breeze moving the gauzy curtain--and my hair--was so comforting.  Weeks later, back at home in my own quiet backyard, I heard the sound again.  Did that dove follow me home?  Not likely, but I was young enough at the time to think it was a possibility.  Ever since, I have thought of Grandma's house whenever I hear a mourning dove.  I love that sound!

Grandma was a gentle, loving person who would do anything for anyone.  People used to tell her to stop doing so much for others.  I guess by worldly standards, she didn't put herself first nearly enough.  I used to think that was true, just because I heard so many people tell her that.  But now I see she had the right idea.  We are such babies!  We want to "serve" when it's convenient, comfortable, and well-noticed.  Grandma served 'til it hurt, like Jesus did.

There was a lot she could have chosen to feel sorry for herself over.  And no one would have blamed her!  But she chose life abundant.

Her gardens--oh, her gardens!  The flowers, the vegetables, the grapevines . . . she loved it all.  And I loved to work beside her, whether weeding a flower bed, or snapping beans on the porch swing.  I can't smell a scallion (green onion, spring onion--whatever they call it in your region!) without thinking of Grandma's vegetable garden.  Mmmmm. . . love that sharp, pungent aroma!

I remember lying in the soft grass, looking up at the clouds, hearing my mourning doves and the wind rustling through the grass and trees, smelling those green onions 'til I could practically taste them!  My senses were alive and I now believe that childhood should have plenty of those kinds of moments.  Times where there's no stimulation around you, other than the purity of God's creation.  There's so much to experience and enjoy, just in God's lovingly-made natural forms.  I watched TV as a kid, but I'm so glad for the majority of my time being outside, or reading books, or using my imagination.  Those are priceless memories that many future adults won't have had!

Grandma fueled my imagination with her stories of riding in a horse-drawn buggy to her one-room schoolhouse as a young girl (which she really did--she'd be at lest 100 years old if alive today), and meeting my grandpa at the county fair and stuff like that.  I loved her stories.  I wish she had written them down. 

The world would seem so chaotic to Grandma by now, I suppose.  It seems chaotic to me.  When I can't even let my child go outside unsupervised, like when I was a kid, or I am accused of being a racist because I don't support a certain presidential candidate (yes, this actually happened to me yesterday! I'm definitely the wrong person to try that tactic on--give me a break!), or I hear about Christians possibly being hushed from the airwaves . . . I know the world has grown colder, less safe, and more chaotic since my childhood.

But God, the God of Grandma and the God of me, is still the same.  Always has been, always will be.  Amen and amen.  :)