Christmas in Georgia

          Tomorrow is my grandparent’s Christmas celebration in Georgia.  It will be the first time in all my 26 Christmases that I will not be present.  This makes me a little sad, but more than that it makes me nostalgic.  Nostalgic for the 25 Christmas celebrations I have been a part of.  You see, in the last 25 years, as you can imagine, it seems like everything has changed.  But, when I think about it real hard, I realize absolutely nothing has changed.  That, although that tiny house on Smart Street might look different, it is exactly the same as it was on my very first Christmas all those years ago.

            Now, I can’t remember my first Georgia Christmas because I was only two months old, but I can remember so many others from my childhood.  I remember the Christmas in a red plaid, flannel dress, singing Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum on a new karaoke machine.  I remember the year there were four kids under that roof on Christmas morning, and we could all barely move for all the presents from Santa.  I remember (from home videos) the year that Georgia came to us in Idaho, back when the family was still small enough to make those trips during the holidays, back when I was the only baby, the first of the next generation.  

            Christmases in Georgia might seem a lot different now, but I know they’re really exactly the same.  I know when my parents pull up in the driveway, the girls will come out to meet them.  They don’t run anymore; they’re too old and mature for that now, but they are always the first ones on the welcome wagon.  Pa will greet them at the door, like he always does.  Ma will be in the kitchen cooking.  When she turns around to give them a hug, she’ll look surprised to see them, even though she knew they were coming.  That smile of hers, so hard to capture in photographs, truly does light up the room.  Riley probably won’t be on the computer playing video games this year; he’s a big college kid now, but he’ll be there towering over everyone just the same.  When the phone rings four hundred times this year, for the first time ever, no one will have to check the caller ID to make sure it’s not BSF.  When my aunts arrive, they will all hang around the kitchen offering to help my grandma, and she’ll say she doesn’t need any help, like she always does.  There will be divinity, and peanut butter balls, and Maw-Maw’s fudge on the dessert table; Christmas staples that will end up going home with everyone because we could never eat it all.  When my uncle and his family arrive there will be spinach dip to snack on and more hugs all around.  He might pick up one of his sisters and try to pop their backs and much yelling will ensue.  People who aren’t lucky enough to have the day off will pop in and out to say hello and eat a quick bite.  The kids will run around outside, they’re different kids now, but they’re still running.  My grandfather will say grace in a way that only he can.  Everyone will eat until they can’t anymore, and then they’ll go back for dessert. 

            When dinner is over, everyone will fight over seats on the couch.  My uncle will try to pass down his Santa hat like he does every year.  Presents will be passed around in a fashion that can only be described as organized chaos.  Wrapping paper will be thrown across the room as kids gleefully rip into presents.  My grandpa will get some glass bottle Cokes and a can (or 4) of cashews.  At least one of them will be gone by the end of the day. 

            When the presents are opened and everything is put away, we will all sit around again, maybe go back for fifths of a delicious dinner.  Someone  (probably Hayes) will turn on the bird ornament on the tree; everyone knows it’s not a real bird now, but once upon a time we didn’t.  Once upon a time I was convinced a bird was in the house. 

Finally, the crowd will start to dwindle, but only for a little while.  Before you know it, everyone will be back again, at least that’s what my grandpa says.  And I believe him.  Because even though I can’t be there tomorrow, I know it won’t be long until I see them all again, especially in a year with so much to celebrate. 

So, even though tomorrow isn’t really Christmas, it will be for my family down in Georgia.  And I really hope it’s a good one.  And even though I won’t be there, I’ll be living every moment in my mind.  From the sound of that old screen door closing behind each person as they arrive, to that melody of the bird ornament hanging on the tree.  I have my Christmases in Georgia memorized, because when you belong to something for as long as I have belonged to that Georgia Christmas, you just can’t ever forget. 

Christmas Past

For the last two days, my parents and I have been on a trek to the great state of Wisconsin. We have seen a lot as we traveled through Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, and soon to be Wisconsin itself. But I must say my favorite thing we have seen thus far is simply...snow. Granted, the flaming car on the side of the road was a very close second, but, snow, in all its simplicity, it just plain beautiful to me.

There is something about a fresh blanket of white on the ground that speaks of new beginnings and hope and innocence. I sat on the bed in our hotel this morning staring out the window in awe of the falling flurries. I couldn't stop smiling. For me, snow is reminiscent of my childhood. It reminds me of a time when life was simple and easy. Though I only spent five years of my very young life in states where we were lucky enough to have white Christmases, the memories of those years live vibrantly in my mind. I can still vividly see my mom and I walking home from church one December night when I was in second grade, the sounds of carols floating in the air behind us, as we spontaneously erupted into the best snowball fight I have had to date. The laughter mingled with soft melodies and the faint crunch of snow beneath our feet will always be one of my fondest memories.

There was just something about that winter, my last white December, that I will always remember as magical. Though that is one of the only white Christmases I remember, old home movies take me back to the rest. Movies where we are dressed to the nines in our snow gear: stocking caps, scarves, snow boots. Movies where my dad holds me in his lap as we sled down what seemed at the time to be treacherous hills on sleds the size of miniature umbrellas. Movies of me in onesie pajamas with the feet attached as I pop peanut butter balls into my mouth and grin cheesily at the camera. Movies of Christmases when I was filled with the wonder of a child, as snow gently fell outside the window.

Those are the winters I like to remember, and that is exactly what I have been doing as I stare wistfully out the window on our drive through the farmlands of Illinois. Snow blankets the fields as far as I can see, and I am hoping I will carry the feelings of hope and simplicity it brings with me for many days to come.

How I Almost Stole Christmas...

If you read my last post, you know that this Christmas break has been a lot different than many in the past. It is also very bittersweet because it is my last Christmas as a student, or as a “kid” as I like to think of it. Next year (if all goes according to plan) I will be out in the real world and on my own. I will have my own tree and decorations, and going “home” for Christmas will be a lot more difficult.

I think all the pressure that rests on this Christmas has caused me to hold it to a higher standard, one that maybe it hasn’t lived up to thus far. In four days, my family and I are embarking on our first ever winter cruise so the trimmings that surround Christmas have been much to adjust to. In all fairness to my parents, I completely understand why they didn’t want to pull down box after box of decorations from the attic and why they didn’t want to come home on the 2^nd to find pine needles strewn about the floor due to the dried up tree we left behind. It was just, shall I say, different, to come home at Christmastime and find only certain “zones” of the house decorated.

On Friday, I went up to the preschool where my mom teaches to watch her 4-year-old class perform their Christmas songs for their mommies and daddies. While I was there, her co-workers and I had a good laugh (all in good fun of course) picking on my mom about her lack of spirit when it came to getting the house prepared for the season. Somehow I don’t think she found it all that funny.

You see, my parents are looking at the bigger picture this holiday season. They are looking forward to our seven-day family vacation. They are happy that we are going to have that time together uninterrupted during a time of year that is all about being with those that mean the most to you. I approached the holiday season and Christmas break with a sour attitude because, in my eyes, this was my last Christmas to be a kid (not that I am in any way a still a kid). I wanted Christmas candy and cookies and a tree and all the trimmings. I wanted hot coco, apple cider, eggnog, and every Christmas movie imaginable. I wanted a cookie-cutter Christmas. I wanted real-live Santa with his bowl-full-of-jelly-belly to come sliding down our chimney for crying out loud!! Because didn’t everyone realize that next Christmas I am moving to Antarctica and becoming the Grinch?! THIS IS MY LAST CHRISTMAS!

Well, it didn’t take me long to realize that I was being my usual over-dramatic self. Surprise, surprise. Who would have ever guessed it? After my mom’s preschool program the two of us came home and cuddled up on the couch and started watching…you guessed it…How the Grinch Stole Christmas. And besides that fact that I realized that Grinches aren’t welcome in this house (Samantha HATED him and nearly knocked the TV over every time he came on the screen), I also learned a valuable Christmas lesson: that Christmas comes whether or not it’s cold outside or 100 degrees. That Christmas comes whether or not you have a real tree that’s 10 feet tall or a Charlie Brown tree or no tree at all. That Christmas comes whether you eat ham or turkey or hotdogs or pizza or a bologna sandwich. Because that’s not what Christmas is about at all…

“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow,

stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons.

It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags.

And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.

What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.

What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

Big Wheels Keep On Turning

“Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.”

People always say that the one thing that is always constant is change. I must say that I have never found more truth in these words than right now. I just came home for the holidays. It is the first time I have walked into my house in six months, a long time by most people’s standards. But I was shocked to find how much things had changed since the last time I was here. New pictures were hanging on the wall. One room is completely closed off…unneeded with only two people living here. The rug is gone from the hallway. Even our Christmas decorations are slimmer this year. All changes from what I am used to. And when coming home, I expect to be entering my comfort zone. A place where time has touched nothing. I am finding no place is safe.

As my mom and I drove around town today, I took in all the ways the place I grew up has changed. Once thriving businesses are now boarded up thanks to the sagging economy. New super centers have sprung up to counteract the degradation of the small town business owner. Even the high school traffic has now been pushed back 2 hours in order to maximize bus usage. Everything is built for convenience. Nothing is as it was.

After we dropped a bundle of nativity costumes off at the church, I turned to my mom and made the only comparison I could to the depressing observations.

“I feel like I’m in the movie ‘Back to the Future’ after they go to the future and mess everything up.”

When they get back in the present Biff has taken over and made everything commercial and cheesy and nontraditional and disastrous. Not the way it should be at all.

“I feel like I know the way things should be, and I just need to find a way to get back to the future and fix it all,” I said.

My mom just laughed at my silly comparison and we continued running our errands. But when we got to Wal-Mart and even it (old faithful, trusty, Wal-Mart for crying out loud) was all turned upside down and rearranged to the point where we couldn’t find anything, even she couldn’t help but agree when I chalked it all up to Biff.

But even with everything constantly changing, I still haven’t gotten used to it. I guess with the world spinning as fast as it does these days, I expected to come home and find one thing that was like my own personal time capsule. For now, that place is my bedroom, which remains closed in the months that I am not home. It is, in so many ways, untouched by the hands on time.

I guess this is just one of those lessons you have to learn in life: everything changes. And maybe there is some peace in that, we just have to look closely and find the patience to wait for the change we need.